The Marauders, a Harry Potter Prequel
by Holly Marsh
Summary: Three animagi and a werewolf. The story of the marauders - where they came from, where they went, and what happened along the way. Partly AU, because I began writing this before OotP was released.
1. Part 1: Moony

Prequel, Part 1: Moony  
  
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1 - Prologue  
  
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In the middle of the moors, there was a small wood. In the middle of that wood, there was a clearing. And on the edge of the clearing stood a house.  
  
This house was not a house like any other house. In fact, it wasn't really a house. It was a cottage - but no ordinary cottage. It looked like something out of a fairy tale: A crooked, two-storied building made up of white bricks, with faded red shutters on its windows and almost as many chimney pots perched higgledy-piggledy on its thatched roof as there were flowerpots stacked in the tumble-down greenhouse.  
  
The people that lived behind the little red door in the overgrown front garden, where a tabby cat lay sunning itself among the rose bushes, were not what most people would call 'ordinary' either. Instead of bicycles, they kept bristly broomsticks in the cellar for Sunday outings. They had no central heating, but a merry fire in the living room warmed the whole house. They had no telephone, but a pot of some strange powder stood on the mantelpiece. In the kitchen, the washing-up brush was scrubbing away at the pots and pans all by itself. A feather duster was dancing along among the many strange ornaments on the shelves, and a violin floated in the corner of the room, playing by itself.  
  
This was because the owners of this cottage were the Lupins, and the Lupins were anything but ordinary people. They belonged to a hidden world of magic and mystery. Mr. John Lupin - a tall and handsome young man with black hair and clear blue eyes - was a wizard, and worked for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures at the Ministry of Magic. His wife, Faith Lupin, had wide brown eyes and light-brown hair, which she was at this moment stroking back over her shoulder to pick up their son Remus, aged three, who had his mother's eyes and hair colour.  
  
"Say good night to Daddy," said Faith Lupin.  
  
"Night, Daddy," said little Remus.  
  
"Good night, son," said John, ruffling the boy's hair before sitting down in an old armchair and picking up his newspaper, the front page of which showed a moving picture of several people on broomsticks under the headline Wimbourne Wasps Win Once More - Seeker Sneaker Snatches Snitch.  
  
His wife took the boy to bed and returned, smiling.  
  
"I had to let him sleep in our bed, John," she said quietly, sitting down opposite her husband.  
  
"Oh?" He looked up from the Daily Prophet. "He's not still on about last night, is he?"  
  
"He had a bad dream," said his wife defensively. "About a monster coming for him in the dark. Honestly, John, I've never seen him so frightened."  
  
John smiled at his wife's anxious expression.  
  
"All right, dear. But I'm not having him in with us tomorrow night. He's got to learn ... What?"  
  
He broke off, seeing the grin on his wife's face.  
  
"I was just remembering who it was who went and brought him over to our room last night," she replied slyly.  
  
John grinned back. Faith sighed.  
  
"I'm going to miss you both this weekend," she said.  
  
"You could come with us."  
  
"You know I can't. I promised your mother ages ago that I would help her organise the Witches' Weekly summer fête. I can't turn round and say I'm not going, not now."  
  
John laid aside his newspaper. "Poor Faith. My mother does make you suffer, doesn't she?" He smiled. "You paid a high price when you married me."  
  
Faith smiled back warmly. "No price is too high for the best man in the world. Not even arranging bazaars for middle-aged witches and long- suffering local celebrities while you and my dear brother go off hiking with little Remus."  
  
John got up and came over to kiss her on the forehead.  
  
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2 - A Hike on the Moors  
  
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So it was that, come Saturday, Faith was tying red woollen hat strings under her son's chin, dressed in her best maroon robes.  
  
"Now you will look after him, won't you?" she said for the umpteenth time, looking anxiously at John and her brother. Aged thirty-one, Malcolm Marley was as tall as John, though broader shouldered and more muscular. His hair was the same shade of light-brown as his sister's, his face clean-shaven and roguishly attractive.  
  
"Of course we will," said John.  
  
Faith looked uncertain. "I do hope I've remembered to pack everything for you. You've got the sausages, and the bacon, and the sauce?"  
  
"In the hamper," said Malcolm, his brown eyes sparkling.  
  
"And the tent?"  
  
"Outside with our brooms," John replied.  
  
"And the magical mess remover?"  
  
"In my rucksack."  
  
"And Remus's spare trousers?"  
  
"In the hamper with the sausages, bacon and sauce," Malcolm grinned.  
  
Faith frowned at her brother.  
  
"It's all right," John assured her. "We'll be fine. We're not going for ages, anyway. It's only for one night . and you're going to be late, if you don't hurry."  
  
Faith looked uncertainly from one to the other of them, and shrugged. "Oh well, I expect you're right."  
  
She kissed Remus on the cheek. "Be a good boy for daddy, won't you?"  
  
"Yes, mummy."  
  
Malcolm rose from his chair and gave his sister an affectionate hug. "He'll be fine. We'll look after him."  
  
Faith's frown deepened.  
  
"Goodbye, dear," said John, kissing her gently.  
  
She smiled then and finally turned to go. Taking a hand full of floo powder from the pot by the mantelpiece, she stepped into the fireplace and, taking a deep sigh, she cast the powder to the floor and said, "Diagon Alley". The very next instant, she was gone.  
  
John felt a familiar sadness at seeing her leave. But then he looked at his young son, and his mood brightened. This weekend would be fun. There would be just the three of them - a boys' outing.  
  
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After several hours of floating across the moors on their broomsticks, John and Malcolm decided it was growing too dark to continue. They set up the tent with the wave of a wand and lit a fire in the same way to fry their sausages and keep them warm. A full moon was shining and the moors were unusually bright for such a late hour. It was gone eleven by the time little Remus finally lay tucked up in the tent and the two adults sat back down outside. John sank down onto a log and opened a bottle of butterbeer.  
  
"Little tyke asleep at last?" Malcolm asked.  
  
"Yes. Our outing got him rather wound up, and I think he's still frightened about this dream he had recently."  
  
"Dream?" Malcolm looked up from his plate, now holding the remains of his eighth sausage and sixth rasher of bacon.  
  
"He woke up crying the other night, saying he'd dreamt about some monster coming to get him." John grinned. "At least that's how your sister interprets his babbling."  
  
Malcolm laughed and took a long draught of butterbeer. Then he almost dropped it and his plate. A howl rent the night. John sprang to his feet, his face as pale as the moon above.  
  
"What the hell was that?" Malcolm exclaimed.  
  
"Shhh!" John hissed.  
  
They waited in silence for another sound. Before long, they heard the blood- curdling sounds of a wild beast, a monster, and of another creature, probably a helpless moor pony. Judging from the sound, the beast was attacking the pony. They heard its final whinny before silence fell . and then another long, lonely howl followed.  
  
"Quick," John urged, "pack the bags. Only the important things. Leave anything we don't need."  
  
Malcolm came out of his momentary stupor and hurried to help John pack all their things together, not caring what a mess they made. John chucked the tea water on the fire, dousing the flames and hoping that the monster would not be able to find them so quickly without it. He was about to pick up the last of the bags and hitch it over the front of his broomstick when they heard the ripping of canvas. Malcolm froze.  
  
"Remus!" John yelled.  
  
He flew into the tent, Malcolm at his heels, and found a huge wolf-like creature bending over his son. It raised its shaggy head as they entered and snarled.  
  
"Oh my god! It's a werewolf!" Malcolm screamed.  
  
John didn't answer. He was staring at the unmoving shape of his son on the floor at the monster's paws. Whether he was alive or dead, he couldn't tell. But his left side was a sticky red, and there was a pool of blood on the floor beside him. Heedless of the danger, he charged forward and grabbed the boy, before the werewolf quite knew what was happening, while Malcolm drew his wand and used a spell to send sparks flying at the beast. It growled deep in its throat, and John heard it behind him as he raced out through the flap. He laid Remus down by the fire, and cursed his own wits for having doused it so hastily. He hated the thought of leaving his son lying there right now, but the continuing shouts and growls, the snapping and ripping from inside the tent made him take out his wand instead and rush back in. Malcolm had backed against the canvas and was gripping his wand frantically. Without hesitation, John raised his own wand and pointed it straight at the werewolf's back.  
  
"Incendio!"  
  
Flames sprang up along the creature's back, and it writhed and turned to try and shake them off, howling and setting the sheets and the canvas on fire in the process. Malcolm and John watched it warily. Finally, still howling in pain, the werewolf bolted through the hole in the back of the tent and vanished into the night. The two men fled from the burning tent and returned to where John had left Remus. But even as they drew close, the little boy, still lying unconscious on the ground, began to change before their very eyes. His face became elongated. Fur grew on his bloodstained hands. He had been bitten . and within moments, in his place lay a smaller version of the monster they had just chased away. John approached him slowly and dropped to his knees.  
  
"No," he whispered, his trembling hand hovering over the limp shape. He made to pick him up, but Malcolm grabbed his shoulders and pulled him to his feet.  
  
"No, John. Don't touch him. If he wakes up, he'll turn on you."  
  
John was shaking his head desperately.  
  
"No. No, this can't be true. It can't have happened."  
  
He fought Malcolm, who had to hold John with all his strength to stop him returning to Remus's side.  
  
"Remus!" John cried, pulling free at last. He stopped a few paces away from his son and stared from him up at the moon. "No!" he screamed. "Noooo!"  
  
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3 - Father and Son  
  
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Eight-year-old Remus Lupin sat with his back to a tree trunk, listening to the slow trickling of a small woodland stream and the twittering of the birds in the branches above. The setting sun shone through among the leaves, casting a green light on the boy's light brown head and on the thick pages of the book in his hands. He paused to stroke a rebellious strand of hair out of his eyes and turn the page. Somewhere in the deep forest a woodpecker was hammering at intervals.  
  
Remus's brow was furrowed. This book was hard reading, even for a hungry young bookworm like him. Oh, he wasn't one of those pale, indoor boys who spent all day with their noses glued to the pages of some boring old story. No, Remus was as keen to be out of doors and climb trees, to build dams in woodland streams and design tree houses as any other healthy boy his age, and did so sometimes with his mother. But that wasn't the same as having a boy his own age to play with. The nearest he ever got to that was when Uncle Malcolm came to visit - Mum always said he behaved just like an overgrown child. But Remus didn't mind that. He liked Uncle Malcolm, in fact he sometimes wished his dad was more like that. But Dad was so close and quiet always. So Remus went outdoors alone, roving through the woods until he reached this spot, some fifteen minutes' walk from the house, where he would then settle down with a book, either leaning against the tree trunk, or up amongst the branches, where two of them created a fork that you could sit in quite safely, without falling off even if you dozed for a while.  
  
Usually he would read an adventure story, but today Remus had sneaked something from his father's bookshelf, a heavy old volume with pages and pages of thick parchment, entitled A Study on Werewolves. Dad had many books with titles like that. He would often spend hours and hours poring over them, until Mum reproached him gently and reminded him that Remus wanted playing with. Then he would kiss her, and lay his book aside reluctantly. He would come to find Remus, and they would play together - quiet games. There was hardly ever any laughter to be got out of Dad. The rare occasions when he even smiled were when, reading in one of his many books, in papers like Medical Magic Monthly or on the wireless, John Lupin read or heard of yet another possible cure for his young son's complaint. They had tried many such miracle cures over the years, but they had all led to nothing. Yet John Lupin - and Faith, too, though she made a better job of concealing her concern - had still not accepted that Remus was destined to be a werewolf to the end of his days. Faith had tried to explain to her son, when they had returned from the most recent ineffective treatment that had robbed them of much of their savings and even more of their nerves, that his father's obsession with finding a cure for him was because he felt Remus's predicament to be his fault. Remus had not understood that. How could it be his father's fault that he was what he was? No. The way Remus saw it, his father was simply ashamed of what he was. After all, he always made such a fuss about people not finding out what had happened to his son. Yes, that was it. He was ashamed. And Remus couldn't bear his father to be ashamed of him.  
  
So Remus had decided that he must be cured, convinced that it was the only way to win his father's true affection. And to find a cure for himself, he must read the books his father had read, to get an insight into the matter and hope against hope that he would spot some release that his father had missed.  
  
But it was hard work for a child of his age. And the hour was growing late, which meant the moon would soon be coming out. Remus feared the moon. It made him shiver just to look at it. And tonight it would be a full moon, and that meant the now familiar though still unbearable pain. He sighed and looked up at the darkening sky. Yes, it was almost time. He bent forward and dug with his small fingers among the roots of the old tree, bringing a metal-bound chest to light. He opened it and carefully laid the book inside, then he closed and locked the chest. The last thing he wanted was to accidentally tear up Dad's book. When he had reburied the chest, Remus stood up and looked around him, taking in the peace of this place that he loved so much. Right now, Mum would be locking up for the night, as she did every month. The woods were as safe a place as any for Remus when he transformed. They were lonely and deserted. No one lived there but his parents, and they knew what precautions to take.  
  
It was growing dark. Remus felt a burning sensation in his eyes. No, he would not cry. He knew it would hurt, as it always did, but that was just his lot, and it was no use weeping over it. He brushed a speck of dirt off his worn trousers and waited. Not long now .  
  
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The next morning dawned bright and warm. Faith Lupin flung open the front door and hurried out onto the path, expecting her son Remus to come running to her as he always did on the mornings following his transformations. But he didn't come.  
  
"Hiding, probably," she thought to herself, and smiled.  
  
"All right, Remus!" she called out loud. "Don't come out of your hiding place. I'll give your breakfast to the cat then, shall I?"  
  
There was no answer. Where had that boy got to? Frowning slightly, but still unconcerned, she walked further into the woods.  
  
"Remus!" she called. "Come on, love, your cocoa's getting cold!"  
  
Still no reply. Shrugging her shoulders, she turned back towards the house. Remus had probably just buried his nose a little too deeply in one of his books again. He'd be along when his stomach called. Boys!  
  
She stepped back into the house and found John standing in the kitchen. He looked bewildered about something.  
  
"What is it?" she asked casually.  
  
"Have you seen Buttons this morning?"  
  
"No. Why, isn't he under the table as usual?"  
  
She pulled the cat's usual chair out, but there was no cat there. Puzzled, she looked under the kitchen table, checking all the chairs.  
  
"That's strange," she said at last. "He always sleeps there. Malcolm was complaining only the other day about that time when he pulled the chair out and sat on the cat. He claims he's still got the scars ."  
  
John looked around the house, but there was no sign of the cat anywhere. He returned to the kitchen, where his wife was still staring at the empty kitchen chair.  
  
"No sign of him," he said. "Oh well, he'll come when he's hungry. What's the matter?" he added, seeing the distressed look on her face.  
  
"I couldn't find Remus, John," she said.  
  
"What?"  
  
"He didn't come when I called him." She turned to face him, and the rims of her eyes looked reddened. "John . you don't suppose ."  
  
John stared, but thought long and hard before he spoke. "I'll find him," he said at last.  
  
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Remus climbed up the tree trunk and hid among the foliage. He had heard his mother call him, but been unable to go to her. He found the safe spot between the two forked branches and sat there, pulling his legs up in front of him and wrapping his arms around them miserably. His shirt was torn in several places and his eyes were red and swollen. There were damp patches on his cheeks. He peered nervously through the leaves to the ground below and, shuddering, closed his eyes quickly. There were still patches of blood and fur down there, all around his chest. Remus was miserable, more miserable than he could ever remember having been. With his eyes closed, he sobbed silently to himself for what felt like an age. Suddenly he heard a noise. Someone was coming through the undergrowth, walking on last autumn's dry leaves.  
  
"Remus!" his father's voice called. He sounded quite near.  
  
Remus scrambled up among the branches and lay flat on his belly. From this position, he could see his father come through among the trees below and stop close to the spot where . Remus swallowed hard. Below, John Lupin looked around him.  
  
"Remus!" he called again. "Come on out. Remus?"  
  
He broke off as his eye fell on the sticky brown patches in the grass. Bending down, he picked up a tuft of soft, long brown fur. Clinging to his branch high above, Remus trembled. His father was examining the fur.  
  
"Good god," he muttered under his breath. He crouched down and examined the ground. He found an area of loose soil and scraped it aside with his hands, revealing a small chest with a metal lock and key. The initials R. J. L. had been scrawled on the lid in a childish hand. Slowly, John Lupin turned the key and began to raise the lid. But then he seemed to think better of it, and closing the lid, he relocked the chest and replaced it in its hole. He stood, looking around more urgently now.  
  
"Remus! If you can hear me, come out, please!"  
  
His voice was trembling, and he paced around the small clearing, crossing and re-crossing the stream. Finally, he stopped under the very tree in which Remus was perched and ran both hands through his hair. Remus caught just a brief glimpse of his father's face - it looked strangely worn and feverish, the eyes heavy and the cheeks hollow. Remus had never realised how anxious his father looked these days, until now. The boy gave an involuntary gasp. John Lupin looked up into the leaves, shielding his eyes from the rays of sunlight that penetrated the foliage with his hand.  
  
"Remus?" he called.  
  
"G-go away," the child stammered.  
  
"Remus!" his father exclaimed, relieved. "What are you doing up there? You had us worried. Come on down, now."  
  
"N-no."  
  
"But ..."  
  
"I can't come down," Remus mumbled. "Y-you'll only be cross with me."  
  
"Don't be silly, Remus. Why should I be cross with you?"  
  
The poor boy started to sob, and the branch he lay on shook so violently that John was quite alarmed.  
  
"Remus, come down from there, before you fall."  
  
"N-no," Remus sobbed. "I won't. I can't. I . I did something really bad last night, and I ... I ."  
  
He burst into tears again. John looked up helplessly, then began examining the trunk. He found a few good holds and began climbing up slowly, cautiously.  
  
"No!" Remus yelled when he realised what his father was doing. "Don't come up, don't come near me!"  
  
He tried to get higher up among the branches himself, but he was already so high there was nowhere to go. And then his father reached the spot where the two branches forked.  
  
"Remus," he said, and his voice was much softer than the boy had ever heard it. "Don't run away from me. Whatever's happened, it can't be as bad as all that. Come here."  
  
"No. Y-you don't know what . what happened last night."  
  
John looked down at the patches on the ground below. "I can guess."  
  
Remus looked at his father then. He sat there, in his best work robes, perched among the leaves, with twigs sticking in his arms and legs from all angles, his blue eyes fixed on his son, and there was none of the anger there that Remus had expected to see, no reproach.  
  
"Y-you'll hate me," Remus said slowly. "I know you will. I know y-you're ashamed of me anyway, and you . you hate me. You hate me for being a - a werewolf."  
  
"Ashamed of you?" John looked truly upset. "Hate you? Is that what you think of me?"  
  
He looked away. "My god, what have I done?" he sighed, raising one hand and burying his face in it. "How did this happen? Why? Why?"  
  
Remus stopped sobbing with shock and stared at his father. His broad, strong shoulders were trembling, he looked lost and . and so very hurt. Slowly, the boy crept back down the branches, towards his father. He put out a trembling hand and touched his shoulder.  
  
"Dad?" he whispered.  
  
John turned towards him so suddenly that Remus nearly fell out of the tree.  
  
"I was never ashamed of you, Remus," he said with a tremor. "Ashamed? Quite the contrary. I'm proud of you."  
  
He gave a sad smile.  
  
"I'll wager there aren't many kids your age who could go through what you've had to put up with these past five years and come through it none the worse in their nature and heart."  
  
His smile broadened at the bewildered expression on Remus's young face.  
  
"Hate you?" he went on. "I could never hate you, my boy. And I'm sorry if I created that impression. I know I haven't behaved well towards you. I've been too obsessed with finding a cure for you, perhaps, to do what really matters - to show you that whatever happens, whatever you are - I love you, son."  
  
Tears started back into Remus's eyes, and suddenly he found himself in his father's arms, in the warmest embrace he had had from him in over five years.  
  
"I love you too, Dad," he whispered. "I'm so sorry I upset you."  
  
"It's all right," John laughed, stroking his back, and Remus leaned back to see that a change had come over his father's tired face. He looked much younger, somehow, and much friendlier.  
  
"Come," his father said at last, "let's get back to your mother. She'll be worrying about you."  
  
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4 - The Young Scholar  
  
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Remus Lupin looked at himself in the tall mirror in his parents' bedroom. Like most things they owned these days, it was slightly cracked and worse for wear. What little money the Lupins had once had was gone, wasted on useless attempts at curing their son of being a werewolf. Remus smoothed out the new black robes his mother had sewn for him in the traditional Muggle manner she had learnt as a girl, using an old set of his father's. He ran a hand through his fringe, trying to smooth away a strand of light brown hair that would insist on falling into his eyes, no matter what he did. The sunlight streaming in through the window warmed the side of his face and caught a flicker of silver in his hair. The first of these grey hairs had appeared about a year ago, when he was ten. He had tugged it out quickly, before anyone spotted it. But another had grown in its place, and another, until by the age of eleven, he now had several such silvery strands. His mother had seemed concerned when she had first spotted them, but his father had said with a smile that he thought they suited him, and his mother had agreed quickly, and now indeed seemed to have grown quite used to them. Remus was glad. He didn't really mind them himself, and tugging them out was always so painful. He could use a Severing Charm, but that didn't last long enough. They grew back. Still, he was glad he hadn't grown any fresh strands like that for some time. He didn't want to end up completely grey-haired by the time he was twelve.  
  
He sighed, gazing at his reflection.  
  
"You look smart today, dear," the mirror said.  
  
Remus frowned. A skinny, sickly-looking boy he thought he looked, though his mother frequently assured him there was no boy as handsome as him in the whole wide world. Personally, Remus thought it was just his mother's fondness for him that made her blind to his faults - he even suspected her of having bewitched or persuaded the mirror to offer such encouraging remarks. Though it was true he didn't usually look as bad as this, but he had had a rough night under the full moon two nights ago.  
  
He left the bedroom and made his way slowly down the rickety old staircase, wondering secretly why his parents had insisted he should put on his best robes and manners today - and spend the day indoors. That last was a nuisance. He had planned to go to his favourite spot again today. He had a new - well, second-hand - book on ancient runes in his 'treasure chest', and was dying to learn more about them.  
  
Remus was only halfway down the stairs when there was a knock at the front door. He heard the rustle of his father's newspaper as he laid it aside, and heard his mother's light footfall echoing through the hallway as she went to open the door. From his place on the stairs, Remus could see the bright sunlight stream in through the doorway, though he was half hidden from view himself, and stared in wonder at the strange man who now entered their little cottage.  
  
He was tall and thin. Dressed from head to foot in long elegant robes of deep mauve, on his head was perched a tall wizard's hat that forced him to bend low in order to walk through the door. His hair and beard were long and white, but what most fascinated Remus were his eyes. Small and blue, they sparkled behind a pair of spectacles shaped like two half moons. They were bright eyes, and friendly, yet the boy at once felt that they were also very shrewd eyes, eyes that could 'see through' you in some way. He had the strangest feeling that even now, though he was still half hidden by the wall, those eyes were in some way penetrating him.  
  
So this was Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Oh yes, Remus recognised him at once. His father often brought him home some chocolate frogs, though Remus could never bring himself to stuff the squirming, squiggling bits of chocolate in his mouth and bite them. But he did like to collect the cards. He had at least four Dumbledores in his treasure chest, but none of them had eyes quite like the real thing. He almost feared coming directly under their gaze, yet at the same time he felt curiously drawn towards them, as though he longed to trust the person behind them with all his innermost secrets.  
  
"It's very good of you to come, Professor," Faith Lupin was saying.  
  
"Not at all," said the professor in a soft, kindly voice. He sniffed the air. "Your cooking is always worth a visit, Faith."  
  
Remus's mother laughed. "Thank you, sir. Though I'm afraid that praise is due more to my excellent pots than to my humble skills."  
  
She led Professor Dumbledore through into the living room, and Remus heard his father's voice join the other two. He sneaked down the stairs, avoiding the creaking step, and crept quietly up to the half closed door. His parents and Professor Dumbledore were talking. It seemed quite casual talk, all about the Ministry's latest feats on international magical co- operation, the most recent game of the Wimbourne Wasps and the outrageous new witches' fashion of wearing knee-length robes.  
  
"So," Professor Dumbledore said finally, when there was a lull in the conversation, "how is your son getting on?"  
  
"Oh, he's doing really well," Faith said. "Would you like to meet him?"  
  
"That is why I came," Dumbledore said simply.  
  
Remus felt a rush of warm blood in his face. At the same time, he heard the familiar creak that meant his mother had just got up from the arm of Dad's chair.  
  
"I'll go and call him," she said.  
  
This was it. Remus would have to be quick, or he'd be discovered. He tiptoed back across the hall, then walked back normally to the door and knocked.  
  
"Ah, here he is," his father said, seeming surprised to see his son's head pop round the corner right on call.  
  
Remus stepped nervously into the room, and at once felt the appraising stare of those pale blue eyes as they studied him over the rim of Professor Dumbledore's half moon glasses.  
  
"Remus, dear."  
  
His mother came over and, laying a hand on his shoulder, led him towards the headmaster.  
  
"This is Professor Dumbledore, Remus."  
  
"I know," he blurted out. "Er. I mean, it's an honour, sir."  
  
Apparently completing his scrutiny, the old wizard smiled at Remus.  
  
"Well, young man. I have long been eager to make your acquaintance, you know."  
  
Remus was puzzled, and it must have shown in his face, for Dumbledore chuckled.  
  
"Oh yes, I have heard a lot about you, from your father for one. Very proud of you, your father is."  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, Remus thought he could see Dad go slightly red at these words. Dumbledore went on.  
  
"I hear you're something of a young scholar, Remus Lupin. Never far from a book or two, so I've been told. And not just simple children's literature, either. School books, many of them."  
  
"I read some school books, yes, sir," Remus replied. "But not all of them. I tried a Potions book once, but that was ." He broke off, embarrassed.  
  
"Rather boring, I suppose," Dumbledore guessed. Then he smiled again. "Never mind, Remus. We can't all be interested in the same things. Which subjects do you prefer?"  
  
"I like ancient runes, and history of magic, and defence against the dark arts. I tried reading A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration once, but that was hard to follow without being able to try the actual spells."  
  
Albus Dumbledore nodded approvingly, and Remus found that he was suddenly much less nervous of the professor. As long as he kept on familiar ground, things that he knew - his books - he couldn't embarrass himself or his parents too much.  
  
"And have you thought what you will be doing with yourself this coming year?" Professor Dumbledore asked.  
  
"Well, er . I got my wand last year, and I've already been doing some basic spells with it. Mum said she'll try and teach me some more, the kind I'd learn if I were going to wizard school. Of course, I'll never be as good as your students at Hogwarts, sir."  
  
"Ah, you've heard about Hogwarts, have you? And what do you think of it?"  
  
"I think it the best wizard school in the world, Professor," Remus said enthusiastically. "I mean, both my parents went there, and if I'd been a normal boy I'd have wanted to go there too, but of course I can't. I've read some of the books used there, and Hogwarts - A History, though."  
  
"Really?" Dumbledore chuckled once more. "Then you have done more than many a seventh-year Hogwarts student ever did, I dare say. Very well. Thank you, Remus, for showing me a little of what is in your mind. We will talk again, perhaps - later."  
  
Surprised, Remus took this as a dismissal, and set out to find his chest, and the book he had tucked away inside it.  
  
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The sun was high up in the sky and Remus was engrossed in his book, the world around him forgotten. His best robes were dusty with pollen and dry earth, and his brow was furrowed. He turned a thick page, then flicked back again. He turned the book, and let out an exclamation. Ah, so that was it. He had failed to see the connection before, but now all was crystal clear. This was a good book. It explained everything so well, and it was so fascinating. So fascinating, in fact, that he didn't hear anyone approach until a shadow fell on the page. He looked up with a start and found Professor Dumbledore looking down at him.  
  
"Ah," he said, "so this is where you bury yourself with your books, is it?"  
  
"I like to read here," Remus said, starting to get to his feet.  
  
Dumbledore waved him back, and sat on a tree stump beside him.  
  
"I have been talking to your parents about your future, Remus."  
  
"Oh?" Remus replied politely, closing his book.  
  
"Yes. They seem to think that it is a great burden for you that you must face the prospect of never going to a proper school and learning more than basic magic. Is that so?"  
  
Remus thought for a moment. "I suppose so. I am eager to learn. But I know it would be too dangerous for me to mix with the other students. It wouldn't be safe for them. It's bad luck, but I have to make the best of it."  
  
"You have an unusually gentle disposition for someone circumstanced as you are. Most boys would be bitter and angry. But then, you have your parents to bear it with you, and they love you very much."  
  
"I know," Remus said earnestly. "And I love them."  
  
Dumbledore smiled. "You seem to me to be both a very patient and an intelligent boy, Remus. It would be a pity to let your talent go to waste. So I have spoken to your parents, and we have come to an agreement. I have told them that I will make arrangements. We will make use of an old house that stands empty now in Hogsmeade. There you shall spend the night of the full moon each month. I have already sent an owl to our Transfiguration teacher, Professor McGonagall, who I am making my deputy headmistress this year, instructing her to begin preparations. A tunnel will be dug, leading from the grounds of the school to the house. Our Herbology teacher, Professor Sprout, has recently acquired a very rare seedling: a Whomping Willow. This we will plant over the entrance to the tunnel, to ensure that no one comes across you by chance while you are in your transformed state. If we take all these precautions, there should be no danger in your coming to Hogwarts."  
  
Remus laughed dryly. "You're joking."  
  
"No, I am not," Dumbledore replied.  
  
Remus's mouth dropped open. "H-Hogwarts?" he stammered. "Me? Go to Hogwarts? But ."  
  
"Do you approve of the plan?"  
  
"Approve?"  
  
Remus jumped to his feet, half laughing and half crying. "Approve? This is . it's ."  
  
Lost for words, he looked down at the headmaster, now smiling up at him from his seat on the tree stump.  
  
"Thank you, Professor," Remus choked. "I won't let you down, sir."  
  
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5 - Journey to Hogwarts  
  
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Remus Lupin wished his stomach would calm down. It felt like a hundred butterflies were dancing a jig in there, and there was a strange knotted feeling in his throat. He was going to Hogwarts! He didn't know whether to sing for joy or faint from nervousness. His mother stood beside him, and she looked very much on edge.  
  
"Oh dear, I do hope I've remembered to pack everything you'll need. If there's anything else you find you need when you get there, you must promise to let me know, won't you?"  
  
"Yes, Mum."  
  
At that moment, his father came back from where he had been speaking to a porter. He smiled at his wife and son.  
  
"Look, Remus," he said, "there she is."  
  
Remus shot a nervous glance at the big red steam engine as it puffed into the station. The Hogwarts Express. He swallowed hard. It was magnificent, much better even than he had imagined it. He still couldn't quite believe it was real, though. It was the 31st of August, and he, eleven-year-old Remus J. Lupin, was travelling to Hogwarts today. All the other students would be arriving tomorrow, of course, but tomorrow night there would be a full moon, so it had been arranged that he would go a day early. He heard his mother sigh deeply.  
  
She smiled down at him, though her eyes were damp.  
  
"Well, Remus. It's time."  
  
Remus nodded tightly and looked at her. He had so often dreamt of going to Hogwarts, had longed to go away and meet new people, other boys his age, to study and learn . but now that it came to it, and he saw his mother and father standing there, half full of happiness for him, half aching to see him go, he found a horrible fear creeping into his heart. His mother kissed his cheek, and his father lifted his trunk and cauldron and carried them towards the train. Remus followed slowly, but just as he was about to get on, his footsteps faltered. He stopped, and ran wildly back into his mother's arms, tears running down his face.  
  
"I can't do it, Mum," he sobbed, "I can't go to Hogwarts after all. I can't bear to leave you."  
  
His mother hugged him, then she made him stand up straight and pushed his hair out of his eyes.  
  
"Yes you can, dear. You're going to make lots of new friends at Hogwarts, and you'll study such a lot you'll be wishing you'd never set eyes on a book in all your life. You'll do fine."  
  
"But - I'll miss you, Mum," he said.  
  
Faith smiled. She had known this moment would be hard for Remus, who had never been away from his parents in his life so far.  
  
"I know, my love," she said. "I'll miss you too. But it's not all that long until the holidays, and then you can come home and see us." She sighed. "Now run along, and have a good time."  
  
She turned Remus around, and this time he got onto the train and followed his father into a compartment. John Lupin lifted the trunk up onto the rack.  
  
"There," he said, "You'll be all right in here, I think."  
  
"Thanks, Dad," Remus said uncertainly.  
  
John smiled. "I never thought I'd see the day when my little boy sets off all on his own to be the first werewolf at Hogwarts."  
  
He fumbled for something in his pocket.  
  
"I've got a little something for you here. It's not much, but ."  
  
Remus ripped open the brown paper eagerly. Inside was an old, but highly polished gold locket. He opened it. Inside it were the small smiling images of his parents.  
  
"I know it's not the kind of thing for a boy to have, really. But your mother and I thought you might like it as a keepsake anyway."  
  
Remus hugged his father. "Thanks, Dad."  
  
"I'm proud of you, Remus," John said, ruffling his son's hair.  
  
Then, with one last smile, he went back out onto the platform.  
  
As the Hogwarts Express pulled out of platform 9 ¾, Remus stood with the locket clasped tightly in his hand, his face pressed against the window. His father stood with his arm around his mother's shoulders, and the last thing that Remus saw burned into his memory as the train gathered speed and chugged merrily northwards was her sweet face, watching him out of sight with mingled pride and sorrow.  
  
The train had not trundled far and Remus had barely forced himself to tuck the locket away in a pocket of his robes when there were footsteps in the corridor, so heavy that for a moment he thought there must be an elephant on the train. Then the door was pushed open, and there stood a man so big he ought not to be allowed. His face was a shaggy mass of dark tangles and he wore a gigantic moleskin coat. But above the mess that was his beard two kindly eyes like black beads smiled at the young boy.  
  
"'Ello," said the stranger, "you must be Remus Lupin. Professor Dumbledore told me you were coming ter Hogwarts a day early. 'E thought you might be lonely, travelling all by yerself, it being yer firs' time away from home an' all. Thought you might like a bit o' comp'ny. So I came along down ter London to see ye safe there. Mind if I join ye?"  
  
Recovering from his first shock at the sheer size of the stranger, and discerning his strange countrified speech with difficulty, Remus at last muttered a polite "Please do."  
  
"Arr."  
  
Somehow, the huge man squeezed into the compartment and placed a pink umbrella on the rack over his head. He sat down, taking up at least three seats and making the compartment seem impossibly small. Remus seriously worried that, if he moved too quickly, he might cause the train to derail.  
  
"Rubeus Hagrid's the name," his travelling companion said, "I'm Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts."  
  
"Pleased to meet you," said Remus.  
  
One of Hagrid's dinner-plate hands disappeared in a gigantic pocket and he pulled out about a dozen chocolate frog wrappers.  
  
"'Ave a sweet?"  
  
"No thank you," said Remus. "I don't eat them. I don't like eating things that act like they're alive."  
  
Hagrid looked stunned. "But you collect the cards, don't ye?"  
  
"Yes," Remus admitted.  
  
"Ah, I thought so. Never met a boy in all me life as didn't. Tell ye what, I'll eat the frogs, and you can 'ave the cards. We never 'ad em when I was your age, and I'm sorta too old ter start collectin' 'em now. All right?"  
  
For the first time since the train had left the station, Remus smiled. "Okay."  
  
And so their journey continued with Hagrid eating chocolate frogs, three at a time, and Remus gathering a pile of Morgana Le Fays, Merlins and several other famous witches and wizards.  
  
"Ah, now 'ere's a good un," said Hagrid, unwrapping the last frog. "Albus Dumbledore. You've met him, haven't ye?"  
  
"Yes. He came to our house this summer. He very kindly let me come to Hogwarts although . although I'm a ."  
  
"It's all right," Hagrid said quickly. "Ye don't have ter tell me anything. I know, ye see. Professor Dumbledore told me. 'E trusts me."  
  
His huge chest swelled, if that was possible, to twice its size.  
  
"That's the wonderful thing about 'im, see. 'E believes in people. Gives 'em chances. Even people as others would shun - people like you an' me."  
  
Remus looked up sharply, but Hagrid became very preoccupied with some Every Flavour Beans he found in another pocket just then, and he didn't bring the subject up again.  
  
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6 - Welcome to Hogwarts  
  
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It was dark out by the time they finally pulled into Hogsmeade station. Remus was just wondering how he was going to get his trunk and cauldron up to the castle, when two large hands whipped the trunk from the rack and Hagrid tucked the cauldron under his arm as though it were a tiny vase.  
  
"I'll take those," said Hagrid kindly. "Come on."  
  
Remus followed the Hogwarts gamekeeper out of the station and through the darkness until they reached the edge of the black lake.  
  
"We go across by water ternight," Hagrid said. "It's traditional for firs' years ter enter Hogwarts that way, an' Professor Dumbledore wanted ye ter be able to have a welcome near as possible to what the others'll get tomorrow."  
  
He dropped the trunk into the boat, and Remus climbed gingerly in after it. Then they set off across the silent lake. As they drew nearer to the castle, Remus saw lights twinkling in several windows, and the moon came out from behind a cloud, silhouetting the castle and its many turrets and towers against the briefly illuminated night sky.  
  
"What d'ye think of it then, eh?" Hagrid asked.  
  
"It's beautiful," Remus answered, awed.  
  
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If possible, he was even more awed by the sight of the great staircase when they finally reached it, and the Great Hall - empty but for four long tables with candles floating above them, and the teachers' table up front - took his breath away. He gazed endlessly at the enchanted ceiling, which was far more magnificent than it had ever been described in Hogwarts - A History.  
  
Hagrid left the trunk by the door and led Remus all the way along the Hall to the teachers' table, where two people stood waiting for them. One was Professor Dumbledore, dressed tonight in sky-blue. The other was a middle- aged, very stern-looking witch in tartan robes with thin lips, piercing eyes appraising him through her square glasses, her hair tied back in a strict bun.  
  
"Ah, Hagrid. I see you've brought us our new pupil," Dumbledore said.  
  
"Yes, sir, Professor Dumbledore. Professor McGonagall." Hagrid bowed slightly to the stern-looking witch.  
  
"Excellent," Dumbledore continued. "Has Hagrid been keeping you well, Remus?"  
  
"Yes, sir. Thank you."  
  
Remus felt all the cheer and courage he had regained on the train journey dwindle under the sharp eyes of Professor McGonagall.  
  
"Well now," the headmaster went on. "You must be tired, and I expect you will want to retire to your dormitory early tonight, since you will not get much rest tomorrow night. But first we must find out where to put you."  
  
Remus looked slightly worried at that. Dumbledore smiled indulgently.  
  
"Don't worry, we will find room for you somewhere. The question is where. Minerva, the Sorting Hat, if you please ."  
  
Professor McGonagall stood aside to reveal a wooden stool and a battered- looking old hat. This she raised and motioned to Remus to sit on the stool. He did so, and immediately she dropped the large hat on his head, so that it fell over his eyes.  
  
*What's this?* said the Hat in his head. *A student already? But the Sorting is not due until tomorrow, I prepared my rhyme especially. Ah . *.  
  
It seemed to ponder something it had found in his mind.  
  
*A werewolf, is it? So that's why you're a night early. Well, well. Whatever next? Now then, where shall I put you? Let me see . You have a lively mind, young Remus Lupin. An inquisitive mind. You seek to learn, but also to please. Now that does make it difficult. Your cleverness almost makes me think I'd better put you in Ravenclaw, and yet . the Hufflepuffs are keen to serve, but no, for that you are too daring, too fond of going your own way. I think perhaps . yes. Yes, I see it now. There is a lot of courage in you. You will endure much, but never falter. Yes .*  
  
Remus trembled. He wondered how the Hat could claim to know so well what was inside him, when he did not know himself. And he wondered what the Hat would say. It seemed to be taking an awfully long time to decide. But then, at last, it said quite clearly, for all to hear.  
  
"Gryffindor."  
  
Professor McGonagall pulled the Hat off his head. Professor Dumbledore was nodding.  
  
"Yes," he said, "I guessed as much. Very well, Minerva. That puts him in your care. I think you had better have a bite to eat now, Remus, and then go to bed. Good night."  
  
And with that, Dumbledore turned and left, taking Hagrid with him. Remus was left with Professor McGonagall. She looked down at him, and for a moment it seemed to Remus as though she seemed slightly less stern than before.  
  
"Well, Lupin, you had better come with me," she said in a voice that could have frozen glowing embers.  
  
He followed her quick footsteps out of the hall and up several flights of stairs. Then they reached a hallway where hung a portrait of a fat lady in a pink dress. She looked mildly curious to see them approach.  
  
"What's this? An early bird?" she enquired.  
  
"Tiddlywinks," Professor McGonagall said.  
  
Remus stared, but the lady in the portrait merely shrugged her amply proportioned shoulders.  
  
"Very well, Professor," she said, and swung back on her hinges to reveal a hole in the wall.  
  
Remus climbed through after the professor, and they came out in a circular tower room where a merry fire was crackling in the grate. A plate of cold ham, cheese, several slices of toast and jam stood on a table in front of it, along with a glass and a large pitcher of milk.  
  
"This is the Gryffindor common room," the professor explained. "Your dormitory is through that door. Go right up the stairs until you reach the very top. You'll find your trunk is already up there. Enjoy your supper. Good night."  
  
And with that, she was gone, and Remus was left all alone. Yet he found he did not mind so much. The fire was warming not only to the body, but to the heart as well. And tomorrow the other students would be arriving. He sat down in one of the large armchairs and drew the table closer to him. Suddenly he felt extremely hungry, and there was not a crumb left on the plate nor a drop in the pitcher by the time he finally made his way up the stairs to bed. 


	2. Part 2: Wormtail

Prequel, Part 2: Wormtail  
  
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1 - Prologue  
  
There are many professions among the wizarding community that, at first mention, would not strike a Muggle as peculiar. A wizard may be a landlord, for instance, or a ministry official, or even a bus driver. So long as the Muggle never hears that the pub his neighbour is the landlord of sells butterbeer, or that the ministry in question is the Ministry of Magic, or the bus bears the name Knight Bus, he will detect nothing out of the ordinary. So it was with the profession of Norman Pettigrew.  
  
Norman Pettigrew was an apothecary. He owned a comfortable house in a quiet side street of a small town up North, and was envied by the townsmen for having not only a good-looking wife, Anthea, who engaged locally in good works and went to church every Sunday, but also two charming twin daughters, Philippa and Paula, aged nine. 'Pippa' and 'Polly', as they were familiarly known, went to the local primary school, where they achieved good marks, always did their homework and never gave the teachers cause to scold or reproach them.  
  
Yet behind the façade of their whitewashed and pebble-dashed house with its glass-fronted porch, behind the lace curtains and porcelain figurines in the bay window out front, the Pettigrews concealed a life that was very different from that of a Muggle family. It was true, as Norman told his neighbours, that he commuted to work. What he did not tell them, however, was that his idea of commuting was to disappear from his living room and almost instantly reappear in his apothecary in York, which could only be seen by members of the wizarding community, and sold such essentials as boomslang skin, frog spawn and bezoars.  
  
His wife, meanwhile, did not mention that her failure to attend the long- anticipated car boot antiques sale last Easter had been due not to a bad cold, but to her having a prior engagement with the Yorkshire branch of the Miniature Cauldron Collectors' Club - a venue not to be missed, for attendees were promised the gift of a beautiful gold-plated cauldron (self- stirring) about the size of a large egg cup.  
  
And as for their daughters . Polly was learning to teach her fountain pen to write, while Pippa had long laid it aside completely, and sat with her tongue between her lips and her brow furrowed, poring over a Maths book whose pages turned by itself, a long eagle-feather quill clasped tightly in her left hand.  
  
Such was the life into which, one wet and windy morning in late April, Mr. and Mrs. Pettigrew's third child was born.  
  
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2 - Little Brother  
  
Peter Pettigrew kicked off his shoes and dropped back onto his bed in mingled relief and sadness. Relief, because the school year had begun at Hogwarts, and that meant a Polly-free house all the way through till Christmas. Sadness, because with Polly, Pippa had gone too. He would miss Pippa.  
  
Peter got up and walked over to the window. He looked down into the small back garden. There stood a swing with a wooden seat that had orange paint peeling off it, and a slide that had once been red but by now showed little evidence of the fact. Muggle toys. The sort of toys Muggle people in a Muggle town like this expected a family like the Pettigrews to have in their back garden. If they only knew!  
  
At least once a day, every day when there was a bit of sunshine, his mother chased him out there for appearance's sake. Not that he minded, really. He quite liked the slide. What he wasn't keen on, however, was the swing. Ever since that time when, while he was seeing how high his short stocky legs could make it go, his sister Paula had stood behind the kitchen door with her wand and made it go higher, higher, higher . so high he had been seriously afraid he would fall off. Polly was always pulling tricks like that on him, and Pippa was forever having to defend their brother. For Pippa had greeted the arrival of her parents' youngest child with joy, happy to have a little brother to play with and look after, even though he was many years her junior. Polly, on the other hand, had not seen the point of having another child so late, had resented his presence, the noise he made - and the mess - and hated having to look after him when their parents went out.  
  
Peter's mixed mood in his sisters' absence was therefore not surprising. He was glad to see the back of Polly, but Pippa . He wished sincerely that Polly could have gone to Hogwarts alone, and that Pippa could have stayed here with him. All through his young life, Pippa had been his protector. And even at the age of six, when he knew he should be learning to stand up for himself, he still needed Pippa to defend him - which, without fail, she always did.  
  
With a sigh, Peter dragged himself away from the window and walked towards the door. He supposed he had better go downstairs. Mum would be wondering where he had got to.  
  
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3 - Letters  
  
"Mother! Mother!" Pippa Pettigrew cried, waving a thick sheet of parchment in the air.  
  
She burst into the kitchen, a broad grin on her pale face. Now aged twenty, Philippa had become a kindly young woman with a friendly rather than a pretty face. She stood now, her small watery-blue eyes sparkling like two bright beads and a strand of straw-coloured hair detaching itself from her ponytail. Anthea Pettigrew turned away from her flower arranging to look at her daughter. Peter poked his head around the garden door and began to sidle in.  
  
"Guess what!" Pippa gasped.  
  
"Well, what?" Polly enquired as a matter of form, swallowing a mouthful of apple pie and looking up from a thick book propped up against the salad bowl in front of her.  
  
"I've been accepted!" Pippa declared excitedly, squeezing her sister's shoulder before coming around the table and holding the letter up for her mother to see. Anthea took her glasses from the pocket of her apron and put them on.  
  
"We are happy to inform you that your application for a position as a student teacher at Beauxbatons school has been accepted. We expect your arrival some time before the beginning of the next term, that is in August of this year. Yours sincerely, Olive Maxime, Deputy Headmistress," Anthea Pettigrew read.  
  
She returned the letter to her daughter and removed her glasses.  
  
"Congratulations, my dear," she said, receiving a kiss on the cheek from Pippa.  
  
Pippa glowed.  
  
"It's so exciting," she exclaimed. "I'm going to Beauxbatons! I'm going to be a teacher! Isn't it wonderful, Peter?"  
  
She looked around to discover that her brother had sneaked back out into the garden.  
  
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Peter was sitting in bed with his covers pulled up under his chin. He had turned off his light so that the room was dark but for the faint glimmer of the moon that showed through a gap in the curtains. His eyes were burning. He heard the knock on the door and recognised it at once. It was Pippa. Sliding down quickly under the covers, he pulled them tight about him and turned his face to the wall, shutting his eyes and pretending to be asleep. The door opened and light poured in from the hallway. Pippa came in and stopped for a moment, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. Then she came over to the bed.  
  
"Peter?" she called softly.  
  
He held his breath.  
  
"I know you're awake, Peter," she said, coming over to sit on the side of his bed.  
  
Reluctantly, he turned around to look at her.  
  
"Why are you sad, Peter?" she asked. "I thought you'd be pleased for me that I'm getting what I've always wanted."  
  
"I am," he answered quietly. "But I - I don't want you to go away. I don't know what I'll do without you."  
  
"You'll still have Mum and Dad and Polly."  
  
The boy pulled a face.  
  
"I wish Polly were going away instead of you," he said.  
  
Pippa smiled. She whispered,  
  
"Well, if you're lucky, she'll hurry up and marry that most disagreeable boyfriend of hers and you'll be rid of both of us. Anyway," she added, "you won't have to put up with her too much longer. It's almost July already, and you'll be getting your letter for Hogwarts soon, I expect."  
  
Peter pulled a face.  
  
"If they'll have me at Hogwarts. I don't know, Pippa. I don't know if I'm clever enough."  
  
"Of course they'll have you. As for cleverness - they took Barry Beacher, and I'm sure you're ten times as clever as he is."  
  
The reference to an old school fellow of Pippa's, of whom he had heard many tales so ridiculous he seriously doubted if all of them were true, made Peter smile.  
  
"Come," his sister said, smoothing his covers, "shut your eyes now, and get some sleep. And remember, however far away I am, I'll still always be there when you need me, okay?"  
  
Peter nodded and, shutting his eyes, he fell asleep almost immediately.  
  
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The letter came on a Monday. Anthea Pettigrew peered anxiously out of the window when a large barn owl came soaring in through the kitchen door. But it appeared no one in the street had seen it, so she drew her head back in and returned to the breakfast table. Peter sat with the parchment in his hand, reading the address that was written in green ink. Yes, it was definitely addressed to him.  
  
"Ah, and about time too," said his father, waiting while the milk jug emptied itself over his cereal.  
  
Polly lowered her copy of the Daily Prophet and peered at her brother over the top of a glass of orange juice. Anthea sat down beside her husband, and whisked her wand at the tea pot, which obligingly flew over and filled her cup. Peter looked around at their expectant faces.  
  
"Go on, open it," Pippa urged.  
  
With a trembling hand, her brother undid the seal and unfolded the parchment. Sure enough, there it was in plain green and white. Mr. Peter Pettigrew was invited to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Pippa squeezed his arm and kissed his cheek happily, Anthea and Norman Pettigrew congratulated their son, and Polly studied him doubtfully. Peter, passing the letter across the table to his father, gave a nervous laugh - and knocked the milk jug out of balance. 


	3. Part 3: Padfoot

Prequel, Part 3: Padfoot  
  
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1 - Prologue  
  
The black-haired little boy sat dangling his short legs off the side of a sofa. A very depressing sort of old man dressed all in black with a circle of glass in front of his eye was standing across the room, talking in a whisper to a grey-haired witch in a pointy hat and a tall man with a stern face and cold eyes, also dressed in black. The boy yawned and rubbed his eyes. Why did they make him sit here like this? And who was that woman, anyway? Why was she standing in the middle of his mum and dad's front room? The old man he had seen before - looking just as depressing - not long ago, when Nanny had 'gone to heaven', as his mother had said. That was when he'd seen the other man as well. The child remembered he was supposed to call that one 'uncle', but he didn't know why. He certainly hadn't seen him very often in his young life. And where were his parents? Why hadn't they come home? And why had Ellie, his baby-sitter, run off crying into the kitchen when these people had arrived, and not come back? He liked Ellie. He decided that he would go and find her.  
  
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"Ellie?"  
  
Ellen Cole dabbed her eyes and turned as she heard the child's call.  
  
"Hello, Sirius."  
  
She tried to smile. Sirius came closer and looked up at her out of big, questioning eyes. Ellen lifted him onto her lap and held him close, knowing that it may well be the last time she did so. Tears dripped from her heavy eyes onto his dark head. Sirius was only two, he didn't understand what was happening around him. But he knew that Ellie was sad, and that made him sad too. She was his friend - his only friend in this world apart from his parents. So he let himself be cuddled by her, like he had let Mummy do when she was upset because Nanny had gone away.  
  
It was thus that Mr. Mortis the undertaker, Miss Dolesham and Duncan Black found them some time later. Sirius gazed up at them warily, and instinctively snuggled closer to Ellen.  
  
"It's time, my dear," Miss Dolesham said.  
  
"A sad business," added Mr. Mortis, wiping his monocle.  
  
Duncan Black just stood by, frowning.  
  
"W-what will happen to Sirius, now that - now that his parents .?" the girl asked.  
  
"He will live at my orphanage," the grey-haired witch replied.  
  
"But ."  
  
Ellen looked appealingly at Mr. Black.  
  
"Couldn't you take him, sir?"  
  
"Me?" Black answered scornfully. "What would I want with him?"  
  
"But - sir, he's your nephew. Your own brother's flesh and blood."  
  
"Thomas was a freak," the man said bitterly. "Oh, I know you people called him a 'wizard', but my parents and I saw him for what he truly was. We were glad when he left to go and join the 'magical community', and I can't remember a blacker day than when he insisted we should all come to his wedding, see him married to - to one of his kind. So no, I will not have his child. He can go to the orphanage and stay there for all I care, and good riddance."  
  
Ellen stared at the man with wide-open eyes, hardly able to believe her ears. If only she had been older, she would have taken the boy herself. But what could a young witch of sixteen do? So she let Miss Dolesham take him, and took a last longing look at his sweet face as he was borne away.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------------------  
  
2 - Leader of the Pack  
  
"Well, who was it?" Miss Dolesham snapped, glaring at the row of boys in front of her.  
  
"Who let off that dungbomb in Mr. Featherstone's office?"  
  
She let her eyes swerve along the line. The boys all stood with their backs straight and their chests thrust forward, their eyes cast to the floor.  
  
"Pringle!"  
  
A nervy, fair-headed boy jumped.  
  
"Yes, Miss Dolesham?"  
  
"Tell me who let off the dungbomb."  
  
The old witch's voice was almost persuasive.  
  
"I d-don't know," the poor boy stammered.  
  
"Oh, don't you? Well, in that case, perhaps we should just assume it was you. Mr. Featherstone's cane, I am sure, will soon find out how little you know."  
  
The boy called Pringle trembled miserably under her stern gaze. He looked near to tears, but he was obviously determined to say nothing.  
  
"Very well," said Miss Dolesham, taking him by the scruff of his neck, "let's go, shall we?"  
  
They got as far as the door before a clear voice suddenly said, "Wait!"  
  
Miss Dolesham stopped by the door, a crooked smile on her face, and turned back.  
  
"Yes, Black?"  
  
Sirius stepped forward out of the line with his chin up, his eyes holding her stare.  
  
"Pringle didn't let off that dungbomb. It was me, miss."  
  
Miss Dolesham eyed him appraisingly. His eyes were cold and unblinking, and she smiled inwardly. She had known this boy since he was two years old. She knew he was full of mischief, and many had been the time she had caught him up to one of his tricks - that was why she had known from the start that he was guilty in this case. Yet whatever young Black's faults may be, disloyalty was not one of them. He was usually the moving hand behind the mischief that was made at the orphanage, but unlike your typical gang leader, he never laid blame on others for things he had done or instigated, and she could not help but admire his courage in speaking up in defence of his friend Pringle, who was five years his junior and totally unable to stand up for himself. Releasing Pringle, she said slowly,  
  
"I see. You had better come with me, then."  
  
Sirius followed her obediently out of the room and along the corridor towards the offices. He knew what was coming, or thought he did. But it was not into Mr. Featherstone's office that he was led, but into Miss Dolesham's own.  
  
"Sit," she commanded.  
  
Sirius obeyed. Miss Dolesham took a seat behind her desk and leaned back in her chair.  
  
"Black," she said at long last, and her voice was much gentler than it had been before, "what am I to do with you? You are a bright boy, and could go far, if you wanted. Why do you always have to hinder your own advance with such childish pranks? Mr. Featherstone would have made you a prefect long ago, if only you would show some sense of responsibility. You could have been above the other boys by now, trusted and depended on by your elders. Why do you insist on plaguing us like this?"  
  
Sirius thought for a moment, then he said,  
  
"I mean no disrespect to you, Miss Dolesham, nor to Mr. Featherstone or any of the others. But I enjoy mischief, and I also don't think I would like to be above my friends. I like to be one of them, not responsible for them. They're my friends, I couldn't boss them about."  
  
Miss Dolesham surveyed him for a moment and sighed.  
  
"If that is how you see it, then I must tell you that, for what it's worth, I understand your feelings. But please, Black, try to be less - difficult in future, at least for a little while."  
  
She leaned forward confidentially and lowered her voice.  
  
"I may as well tell you," she said, "that I persuaded Mr. Featherstone to put your name on the list for Hogwarts."  
  
Sirius gasped.  
  
"Hogwarts, miss?"  
  
"Yes, Hogwarts. But if you continue with such pranks as dropping dungbombs in his office, I may well find it beyond my power to persuade him out of taking it straight back off again. Be patient, Sirius, and be good. Please."  
  
Her stern face softened into a smile.  
  
"At least until you receive your letter," she added.  
  
"You - really think I have a chance of being accepted?"  
  
"Oh yes," said Miss Dolesham briskly, "I have no doubt about that. When you receive your letter, come straight to me. I will make all the necessary arrangements, come with you to purchase your books and things - and I am determined to see you off on the Hogwarts Express."  
  
Sirius grinned. Hogwarts! That was a prospect it was worth being good for. As long as it didn't take too long for his letter to arrive. 


	4. Part 4: Prongs

Prequel, Part 4: Prongs  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------------------  
  
1 - Prologue  
  
Bridget pushed open the door and peered out anxiously into the hallway. She listened intently, her ears picking up every tiniest sound and enlarging it, until it became a threatening noise in her mind. Yet she was sure - as sure as she could be - that there was no one in the house except her at this moment. He had gone out as planned.  
  
She picked up her rose-patterned hold-all and placed a hand to her middle. Here rested the only good that had ever come of her relationship with that . that odious man. Sometimes she wondered how she had ever been able to let herself be blinded by someone so evil. Why hadn't she seen what he was before she married him? Surely, his choice of best man should have shown her . Perhaps her father and her friends had been right, after all. Maybe she was too young to know what was good for her.  
  
Well, she had made her bed, but she was resolved not to remain lying on it any longer. She hated breaking the solemn vow she had made in church, but no way could she let her child grow up with such a father. She had to keep it safe, away from this monster. Luckily, she hadn't been forced to let him know yet that she was pregnant, it wasn't that obvious yet, otherwise .  
  
No, it didn't bear thinking about. She had to get away, and quickly, before he came back.  
  
----------------------------  
  
One rainy evening about two months later, Mrs. Hilda Hammersmith of Cheapside, London, was startled to find the slumped figure of a young girl dressed in a shabby-looking cloak on her doorstep when she came home from a very pleasant visit to her friend Maureen Dodd, whol ived just around the corner.  
  
"Really," she thought, automatically jumping to the conclusion that the girl must have had too much to drink, "young people nowadays have no decorum."  
  
"Excuse me," she said out loud in a haughty voice.  
  
The girl jumped and struggled to her feet, holding her stomach and clutching a large bag to her. The light from a street lamp fell on her face, pale and beaded with sweat. Her brown curls hung limp with rainwater, sticking to her hollow cheeks, and a pair of large brown eyes turned away. She stumbled on the steps, and Mrs. Hammersmith's heart immediately went out to her.  
  
Disapprove of these young girls who had no sense of dress, nor seemingly of survival, she may - they drank like men in a pub on Saturday nights, and even took drugs, so she'd heard. But she liked to think of herself as a good Christian, and therefore considered it her solemn duty to aid those in need. And never since the War had she seen a young person in as much need as this girl. She was obviously pregnant, and all alone in the world on a wet and windy night in London. Why, she hadn't even an umbrella!  
  
"Steady there," she said, taking the girl's arm and guiding her back under the roof of the building.  
  
"You shouldn't be walking out there in the rain alone like this. Let me call you a cab."  
  
"No," the girl answered in a weak voice, staggering back against the wall. "Thank you."  
  
"But - then at least let me ring your husband for you, so he can fetch you home."  
  
"No!"  
  
The young girl seemed to come to her senses for a moment.  
  
"No, not that," she begged, with a hard grip on the old lady's arm.  
  
"Please, you mustn't tell him where I am," she insisted, a wild look in her eyes. "He mustn't find me, or the child. You - you won't tell him where I am, will you?"  
  
"Very well," Mrs. Hammersmith agreed reluctantly. "But there must be someone else. Your parents, friends ."  
  
The girl hesitated a moment. Her father. There was her father. But no, she decided. He had renounced her when she had chosen to marry the man, against his advice. Relaxing a little and leaning once more against the wall, she answered resignedly,  
  
"No. No parents. No friends. No one."  
  
She gave a subdued sob.  
  
"I had better go."  
  
"Oh no, you don't," Mrs. Hammersmith objected, catching hold of her arm and unlocking the front door.  
  
"You're coming indoors with me, until we can find a place to put you. You're wet and feverish, you shouldn't go walking out in this rain in your condition. Come on."  
  
Too weak to protest, the girl allowed herself to be dragged indoors and up to a flat on the fifth floor. She would remember little of the rest of that night, or the days that followed. By the time she opened her eyes and became aware of her surroundings, it was the following Saturday.  
  
----------------------------  
  
Bridget blinked. A ray of sunlight was shining onto the bed through a rain- splattered window. She looked around her at the unfamiliar room. A small clock stood ticking on the bedside table. It read 9 am. Where was she? She could hardly remember anything since she had left her husband's house. It had been an endless stream of days slipping into one another, one as full of worry as the next, always turning, always looking over her shoulder, half-expecting him to be standing there, come to take her back, and make her pay for trying to leave him. Oh, and how he would make her pay, if ever he found her!  
  
She heard footsteps outside the room, and presently the door was pushed open slowly, and an elderly woman came in, dressed in a tweed suit, with round, horn-rimmed glasses on her straight nose and a dab of grey hair on her head.  
  
"Good morning," said the strange woman.  
  
"G-good morning," Bridget stammered.  
  
"I am Mrs. Hammersmith," the lady went on, sitting on the edge of the bed. "And you?" she asked, smiling.  
  
"My name is Bridget," came the hesitant reply. "Bridget Potter."  
  
Yes, that was the name she would use. Her mother's maiden name. Surely he wouldn't think of her using that. She had left her husband and his name behind her, though she suspected that the old lady guessed she was not being entirely forthright.  
  
"And how are you this morning?"  
  
"Much better, thank you. I am sure I am greatly indebted to you, though I must confess I have no memory of how I got here."  
  
"I should think not," Hilda Hammersmith chuckled. "You have been in a fever for several days.  
  
"A fever? Oh no, I ."  
  
She stared helplessly, but the old lady, seeming to guess her fears, smiled reassuringly.  
  
"Don't worry. The doctor says the baby is quite well."  
  
Bridget sighed with relief, and at last gave a small smile herself.  
  
"I am even more deeply indebted to you than I realised, Mrs. Hammersmith. I wish I knew how I could repay you. I fear I haven't a penny to my name."  
  
"I never thought you would have, my dear," Mrs. Hammersmith replied. "Now don't fret. You've been very ill this past week, and you must regain your strength. You can stay here for the time being. I have always regretted leaving this room empty. Spare bedrooms are so rarely needed in a London flat, and as I never had any children of my own . Well, you're welcome to stay, if you want."  
  
"Thank you," said Bridget. "That is very kind of you."  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------------------  
  
1 - Friday's Child  
  
Bridget stayed living with Mrs. Hammersmith for quite some time. She had nowhere else to go, and could hardly go job-seeking in the Muggle world with a fatherless child on the way. But living with the old lady had its own dangers, for Bridget was determined that on no account must she discover anything unusual about her tenant.  
  
Her baby boy was born one Friday late in June. Mrs. Hammersmith took to the child uncommonly. Her enthusiasm for his tiny fingers and the little gurgling noises he made was, however, nothing like what Bridget felt.  
  
Often she would sit cradling him in her arms, just watching his face while he slept peacefully, secure and unaware of any dangers in the world around him. In his mother's eyes, he was the most gorgeous thing that ever breathed, and as he grew to a toddler and then a young boy, she found that while he had inherited his father's thick black hair, he thankfully bore far more of a resemblance to her own father in his nature.  
  
When her son was a year old, Bridget decided it was time to move out. She had intruded too long on the kind hospitality of Mrs. Hammersmith, and she feared that a growing wizard might have strange accidents about the place that could not be explained away. So, when a flat became empty on a higher floor of the same building, she and the little one moved there, and a very happy flat it became, for the boy loved his mother just as much as she loved him, and he gave friendship and good humour to everyone he met. He was affectionate and good, in his heart if not always in his actions, for there was nothing he loved better than to play pranks on their fellow tenants.  
  
On many such occasions, Mrs. Hammersmith was his victim, but she only laughed with him at the childish tricks he played on her.  
  
"You have a fine boy there, my dear," she said once to Bridget, "and a good man he'll be when he grows up. Friday's child, he is for sure, and you know what they say, don't you?"  
  
Bridget turned a politely enquiring face to her.  
  
"Friday's child is loving and giving," said Mrs. Hammersmith.  
  
Bridget smiled proudly. Yes, that described her boy.  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------------------  
  
2 - Off to School  
  
James Potter ran down the stairs of the inconspicuous block of London flats and came to an abrupt halt just before he collided with Mrs. Hammersmith, coming up the stairs from the fourth floor.  
  
"Oh, sorry," he panted.  
  
The old lady chuckled.  
  
"That's all right, my lad. I wonder what can have got into you though? You look like there's someone after you."  
  
James shoved his classes back up his nose and grinned.  
  
"Not yet, Mrs. Hammersmith. But I reckon there will be if I don't hurry up and get outside. Mum's going to be furious with me if I make us miss that train."  
  
"Well, better run along then, boy. You start your new school tomorrow, don't you? Where was it you're going again?" she asked slyly.  
  
"Sorry, Mrs. Hammersmith," he said evasively. "I really must dash."  
  
As he hurried down the last flights of stairs, trying but failing as usual to make his straggly black hair lay flat in the process, James secretly thanked his lucky stars that he had managed, once again, to avoid telling the old lady what school he was going to this summer without appearing too impolite.  
  
And he really couldn't tell her, though she was a nice old lady, and he had known her all his life and was very fond of her. But she was still a Muggle, and that meant you couldn't casually answer her with "I'm going to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry". He felt like shouting for joy just thinking about it. Hogwarts! He had been thrilled when his letter had arrived. His mother had glowed with pride, and now they were off to Diagon Alley to buy his things: two sets of black robes, a cauldron, books - and his very own wand. He raced out into the street with a broad grin fixed on his face.  
  
"Ah, there you are," his mother said. "I thought you were never coming."  
  
"You're joking, Mum!" he laughed.  
  
His mother hailed a cab, and soon they were crawling along in the London traffic, headed for a place the driver didn't even know existed.  
  
----------------------------  
  
The Leaky Cauldron. James had been here before, but it still fascinated him every time. Having spent all his life living in a Muggle-style flat with his mother, he found it a rare treat to see so many un-Muggle people assembled in one place. As usual, it was crowded with wizards and witches of all sizes and descriptions. Wizards with tall hats, witches with ribboned bonnets. Wizards with bowlers, witches with tall pointed affairs on their heads. There was even the odd hag and goblin about today.  
  
James and his mother walked right through and out the back door. They found themselves in a small backyard, and his mother took out her wand and tapped the bricks. The wall gave way, and the next instant they were in Diagon Alley.  
  
It was like something out of an old Dickens tale. Houses of all shapes and sizes stood crammed side by side into a narrow street, and there were people everywhere, chattering and nattering, bustling to and fro, pushing and jostling to peer into shop windows. There was a screeching of owls and a humming of birds, not to mention a strange kind of music on the air. James's mother took hold of his arm, and they made their way through the crowds to a tall, white building on the corner - about the only building that didn't look completely crooked. Gringotts, the wizard bank.  
  
James stared up at the goblins behind the long counter. He wondered briefly why such small creatures insisted on having such high desks, but when he and his mother approached one of them, and a hook-nosed, shrivelled face peered over the top of it sternly, James understood that it was probably to make them appear more awe-inspiring and mean. Not that they needed it, in his opinion. Ugly little blighters.  
  
His mother named the vault they wanted, and soon they were leaving the bank again, the knuts and sickles and galleons tinkling in their pockets and James's stomach feeling a bit like he'd been eating too many ice-creams. Really, those carts that took you down to the vaults were much too fast.  
  
"Well, dear," his mother said, drawing him aside and lifting his hand palm upwards to place some coins in it. "This should be enough for your robes. Madam Malkin's is right over there."  
  
She pointed.  
  
"Now, I'll go and buy your books for you. You go and get your robes. Just tell them you're for Hogwarts, they'll know what you need. I'll meet you in there. All right?"  
  
"Sure, Mum."  
  
James stuffed the money in the pocket of his jeans and strolled along the alley, feeling completely content.  
  
----------------------------  
  
He entered Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions with a light step and was immediately greeted by a friendly witch with bright cheeks and a full figure.  
  
"Good morning, dear. Hogwarts, is it?" she said.  
  
James nodded.  
  
"This way, please."  
  
She led him to the back of the shop. There was another boy there, taller than James, with black hair and a devious look in his bright eyes. The assistant stood James on a small pedestal.  
  
"Hi," the boy said.  
  
"Hello," said James.  
  
"Come for your Hogwarts robes?" the other asked him.  
  
"Yes. Is this your first year at Hogwarts too?"  
  
"Yep. I'm Sirius. Sirius Black."  
  
The other boy grinned broadly. It was an open, inviting smile, full of mischief, but also very charming.  
  
"James Potter."  
  
"Well, James," said Sirius, paying the witch who had served him, "Got to go and get my books now. See you tomorrow, on the Hogwarts Express?"  
  
"Sure," James answered, feeling somehow that he'd found a friend already. "Bye." 


	5. Part 5: September 1st

Prequel, Part 5: September 1st  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------------------  
  
1 - Welcome to Hogwarts  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------------------  
  
James sat back happily in his seat on the Hogwarts Express. He was sorry to leave his mother behind all alone on platform 9 ¾, but he was also thrilled to bits that he was off at last. As the train pulled out of the station, he leaned out of the window to wave, and he stayed there long after King's Cross was out of sight, feeling the breeze brush against his face and watching the steam fly away overhead. He didn't turn back, in fact, until he heard the door slide open behind him. Sirius Black's head of thick black hair and ready smile were peering in cheerfully.  
  
"So there you are!" he exclaimed. "I've been looking for you everywhere!"  
  
James smiled back. "Hi, Sirius."  
  
"Want to come and explore the train with me? See who else is about?" Sirius suggested.  
  
James nodded eagerly, and the two of them set off along the corridor together while the train chugged along merrily. As they went, Sirius said hello to several of the other students the passed in the corridors.  
  
"Do you know everyone already?" James asked at one point.  
  
Sirius laughed.  
  
"No, not everyone. But I met some of them back at platform 9 ¾. It never takes me long to get to know people."  
  
They passed a plump witch pushing a trolley of sweets, and bought several chocolate frogs each. They strolled further along, munching happily, until they heard quiet whimpering noises from behind a door, and a squeaky voice saying,  
  
"No, no please, don't. I didn't mean to bother you, I'm sorry."  
  
James and Sirius looked at one another and nodded. They pushed the door open and entered. There were two boys inside the compartment. One was a tall, greasy-haired kid with a hook nose and a wicked smirk on his face. The other was small and a little podgy, with thin fair hair and small eyes that looked scared out of their wits. The tall boy was pointing a wand at him. On the floor in the corner stood a small box containing what looked like a very ugly, large grey rat.  
  
"Hello," Sirius said, "What's going on here?"  
  
"None of your business," said the tall boy. "Go away."  
  
Sirius placed his legs apart and his hands on his hips. James, meanwhile, was watching the other boy. He had turned towards them and looked excessively grateful for the interruption.  
  
"H-hello," he said nervously. "I'm P-Peter Pettigrew."  
  
"Hello, Peter," James answered. "I'm James Potter and this is Sirius Black. We were just stretching our legs out on the corridor. Like to join us?"  
  
Peter Pettigrew shot an anxious glance at the scowling boy behind him and nodded eagerly.  
  
"Come on then," said James, leading him to the door. "Sirius ."  
  
But Sirius was still standing frowning at the other boy, who was still clasping his wand tightly in his hand.  
  
"What are you staring at?" the other boy asked.  
  
"Sorry. I've just never seen anything quite as ugly as you before," Sirius replied.  
  
"You take that back!"  
  
The boy raised his wand, but Sirius spread out his arms.  
  
"Just in case you're thinking of trying a jinx on me, I'd better warn you I'm not carrying a wand right now," he said. "So you might want to reconsider. Might not look too good on your record, if you jinx a defenceless student before you even get to Hogwarts."  
  
The other boy looked about to burst with wrath. James grabbed hold of Sirius's arm.  
  
"Come on. Let's go."  
  
Reluctantly, Sirius let himself be led away, back towards James's compartment.  
  
"Stupid ugly git," he said, dropping into a seat by the window.  
  
"Yes," James agreed, "but that's no reason to pick a fight on our first day."  
  
"I don't like bullies," Sirius snarled.  
  
"Nor do I," James said, taking the opposite seat. "But unfortunately, you seem to get them everywhere."  
  
"Yeah, we had one like that at the orphanage where I grew up," Sirius answered. "I hate kids like that."  
  
"You grew up in an orphanage?" James asked, surprised.  
  
"Yup. Lived there practically all my life. My parents worked for the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad. They were killed at the site of a really bad accident when I was about two. Luckily they were both magic, though, so I didn't have to go to a Muggle orphanage, thank goodness. It wasn't too bad, really."  
  
"I've never met my father," James said slowly, "and I don't really know much about him. But I can't imagine being without my mother."  
  
Sirius shrugged.  
  
"It's okay, when you can't remember it any other way. How about you, Peter?" he added, suddenly remembering that they weren't alone.  
  
Peter Pettigrew sat down gingerly on the edge of a seat.  
  
"I've still got both my parents," he began, "and two sisters. Philippa and Paula. They're twins, and both left Hogwarts three years ago."  
  
"That's a big age gap," James remarked.  
  
Peter grimaced. "Yes. It's not always easy, being that much younger than them."  
  
There was a pause before Sirius asked,  
  
"So what was the problem with that slimeball in the other compartment?"  
  
Peter blushed.  
  
"I . err . I was coming back from the toilet, and I went in the wrong door. He was sitting practising some spell or other on his rat. I think he was cross because he thought I'd seen what he was doing, but I honestly don't know what he was up to."  
  
James frowned.  
  
"Must have been something nasty, I expect. Judging by the look of him."  
  
"I think he was about to something nasty to me, too," Peter agreed. "I . I'm glad you two came by when you did. Th-thanks."  
  
"Don't mention it," said Sirius and James together.  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
There was much excited chattering when the train reached Hogsmeade station. Crowds of older students climbed off the train and disappeared into the night, leaving their luggage behind them, so it seemed. James, Sirius and Peter followed onto the platform, glad that it was quite a mild night.  
  
"Firs' years over here!" a loud voice bellowed.  
  
They turned and saw a giant of a man in a moleskin coat waving a large lantern in the air.  
  
"Who's he?" Sirius wondered.  
  
"I think that's Hagrid," Peter replied. "My sisters - told me about him. He's the gamekeeper. Polly - that's Paula - said he's really fierce. But Pippa said she was just trying to scare me. She says he's really very nice."  
  
"Hm. Well, I hope Pippa's right, then," said James.  
  
They followed the swinging lantern to the edge of the lake, and clambered into a boat together. It rocked gently as it carried them towards the castle. The full moon shone brightly, as though eager to welcome the first years to their new home.  
  
Sirius nudged James in the ribs. "Pretty awesome, isn't it?"  
  
James nodded. Yes, that about described it. It was great to be coming to Hogwarts at last. He thought of Mrs. Hammersmith, back in the London block of flats, and grinned as he imagined what she would say if she could see him now.  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
The tables in the Great Hall were already packed full when the first years were led in through a side door by Professor McGonagall. They filed through, feeling nervous and excited under the staring eyes of all the older students.  
  
At the teachers' table, Professor Albus Dumbledore rose from his seat and beamed on his students, new and old. The blue eyes behind his half moon spectacles sparkled.  
  
"Welcome, boys and girls, teachers and new students. As ever on this first day of the new term, now is the time we discover where our new first years will begin their career at Hogwarts. I am sure we all look forward to receiving them in our midst, wherever the Sorting Hat may put them. Professor McGonagall ."  
  
Dumbledore sat down again. Professor McGonagall brought forward a wooden stool and an old, battered wizard's hat. The first years stared at it anxiously. A tear above the brim opened suddenly and the hat began to sing.  
  
"Hello new students, girls and boys,  
  
Welcome to wonders and to joys.  
  
I am the Sorting Hat, you see,  
  
Of Hogwarts School of Wizardry.  
  
Before you eat tonight I'll tell  
  
Which house of ours will suit you well.  
  
For Gryffindor, brave Godric,  
  
The ones with courage I must pick,  
  
While Ravenclaw, Rowena's lair,  
  
Only the wisest can go there.  
  
Helga Hufflepuff won't spoil,  
  
The ones willing for honest toil.  
  
Salazar Slytherin, at last,  
  
Demands ambition from his caste.  
  
So place me now upon your head,  
  
And where you'll go shall soon be said."  
  
The Sorting Hat's song ended there, and the Hall erupted with applause. As soon as the clapping and cheering had subsided, Professor McGonagall took out a scroll and began to unroll it.  
  
"First years, I will call out your names now, one by one, and you pill put on the Sorting Hat, which will sort you into your houses. Anderson, Catherine ."  
  
James Potter watched interestedly while one student after another went nervously forward to sit on the stool, and listened while the Hat called out the houses they would be in. Some people seemed to sit for a long time while the Hat debated where to put them, others barely had time to wriggle onto the stool properly before it was time for them to get up again and join their house tables that greeted them with storms of applause.  
  
"Baker, Arnold."  
  
A short pause.  
  
"Slytherin!"  
  
"Berry, Eugene."  
  
A long silence, then,  
  
"Hufflepuff!"  
  
"Black, Sirius."  
  
Sirius took a deep breath and went forward. He sat on the stool, and McGonagall dropped the hat over his eyes.  
  
*Ah,* said the Hat into his mind, *a young whirlwind they've sent me to sort. Yes, you'll have fun at Hogwarts, my boy.*  
  
The Hat chuckled, then called out loud, "Gryffindor!"  
  
The Gryffindor table made a deafening row as Sirius went and took a seat.  
  
"Crimple, Mary."  
  
"Ravenclaw!" cried the Hat.  
  
The Ravenclaw table exploded with clapping as the first Ravenclaw to be sorted this year went to join them, her face flushing beetroot red.  
  
James and Peter stood side by side, watching one first year after another be sorted. All the tables clapped each student - all except the Slytherin table, James noticed. The Slytherins cheered their own newcomers rather solemnly, he thought, and seemed to look down their noses at anyone who wasn't sorted into their house.  
  
"Diggle, Damian."  
  
"Hufflepuff!"  
  
Cheers and clapping from the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables accompanied the shouts and whoops of the Hufflepuffs. The Slytherins scowled.  
  
"Evans, Lily."  
  
"Excuse me," said a timid voice behind James.  
  
He jumped, and stepped aside to let a red-haired girl walk by him and up to the front, catching only a brief glimpse of the greenest eyes he had ever seen.  
  
"What house d'you think you'll be in, James?" Peter whispered while Lily Evans was made a Gryffindor.  
  
James shrugged. He hadn't really thought about what house he would be in. Now that he was beginning to think about it, he felt like all the chocolate frogs he'd eaten on the train were playing leapfrog in his stomach. The line of first years continued to grow shorter, all too quickly, it seemed. What house would he be sorted into? James wished he knew. He sincerely hoped it wouldn't be Slytherin.  
  
"Jorkins, Bertha."  
  
"Hufflepuff!"  
  
Jorkins. So they had reached J already. Just K - not many of them - L, M, N, O ... and then it would be Peter's turn, and his own soon after.  
  
"Longbottom, Frank."  
  
The Hat took a bit longer this time. Then,  
  
"Gryffindor!"  
  
James felt Peter begin to tremble beside him.  
  
"It's going to be my turn soon. Oh, J-James, do you think .?"  
  
But James had no time to answer.  
  
"Pettigrew, Peter," said Professor McGonagall, and shaking like a leaf, Peter went forward.  
  
*Hello,* the Sorting Hat mused. *Now what do I do with you? Hm.*  
  
*Put me in with Sirius, please,* Peter thought, *I don't want to go anywhere where I don't know anyone.*  
  
*Gryffindor?* the Hat said back. *Are you quite sure? Only the stout- hearted should go there. Do you really think you are strong enough? Don't you think you might be safer in Hufflepuff?*  
  
*No, no! I can be strong, honest I can, as long as I have a friend who will help me. Please, please put me in Gryffindor,* Peter begged the Hat.  
  
It seemed to him as if the Hat sighed before it said out loud, "Gryffindor."  
  
Sirius clapped hard while Peter came and joined him, his face brick-red, looking rather shaken. James drew himself up. Any minute now.  
  
"Potter, James."  
  
He looked over towards the Gryffindor table. Sirius was grinning at him, and held up crossed fingers. James smiled meekly. He suddenly felt very sick. But there was nothing for it. He went forward and closed his eyes before the Hat landed on his untidy mop of hair, knocking his glasses askew. He waited for something to happen, but the Hat remained silent for what seemed like an age. At last it said slowly,  
  
*So. James Potter you call yourself, do you?*  
  
*That is my name.*  
  
*Is it? Well, well. If you say so. I remember your parents, James Potter. Your mother sat on this very stool, and I had no doubts when I put her in Gryffindor. It was in the blood she had inherited from her father. Yes, nowhere else to put her. A brave family, that. Brave and good. But your father - your father wasn't of the same kind. No. He was something quite different, wasn't he?*  
  
*I . don't know,* James confessed.  
  
*Don't you now? Well . your father, too, was brave, in his own way. But he was also ambitious. He desired greatness, and to that end allied himself with one whose lust for power may yet lead to much adversity in the future. But enough of that. We were talking about you. You have the potential to become a great wizard, you know. Yet there are different kinds of greatness. Which will yours be, James Potter? Will you follow in the footsteps of your grandfather, or are you, after all, your father's son? Gryffindor or Slytherin?*  
  
James gulped. Slytherin? Oh no, not that! He closed his eyes still more tightly, feeling more sick than ever. For the first time in his life, he wished that he had been more insistent on being told about his father. At least he might have known what was coming to him. But the Hat was not yet finished with him.  
  
*Your potential for greatness would be well served in Slytherin, I think. Yet perhaps . yes, I think you deserve a chance to be better than that, and to that end .*  
  
There was a pause, a tortuously long one in James's opinion. Then, at last .  
  
"Gryffindor!" the Hat called.  
  
James heaved a sigh of relief and hurried over to the Gryffindor table. Sirius jumped up and thumped him on the back, then dragged him down in the seat next to him.  
  
"You were ages!" he exclaimed. "I was beginning to think you'd gone asleep under there or something. What took the Hat so long?"  
  
James shrugged. He felt dreadful. He didn't want to tell anyone what the Hat had been saying, not yet, anyway. Maybe he would tell Sirius later. He was so deep in thought about what the Hat had implied that he never even bothered to look up when Sirius groaned, "Oh no, it's him", and Severus Snape, the greasy-haired boy from the train, was made a Slytherin.  
  
At last the line of first years dissolved, the last of them had been sorted. Professor Dumbledore waited until the applause died down, then he rose once more.  
  
"Now that the first years have all been sorted," he said, "it is almost time for me to announce the feast. But before I do, I have the usual notices to give out."  
  
James wrenched his thoughts away from the Sorting Hat's words for a while to look at the headmaster. A tall and wise-looking man he was, standing there in his wizard's hat and elegant robes. Beside him sat Professor McGonagall, looking most strict and disagreeable. James looked along the line of teachers. There was a plump witch with a round face and an out-of- doors kind of expression. An old wizard with grizzled hair dressed in black robes with a long scar down his left cheek. A younger, colourful and exotic- looking witch with huge glasses that made her look like an overlarge insect. A tall wizard with a long, pale face and cold, steel-grey eyes. A tiny little wizard. If that was what he was, with a dark mop of wiry hair. And at the end sat Hagrid the gamekeeper, making the gigantic table look like no more than a low bench. James turned his attention back to Dumbledore.  
  
"On no account," the headmaster was saying, "must students enter the Forbidden Forest beyond Hagrid's cabin. Also, Professor Sprout has acquired a very rare whomping willow, which has been planted in the school grounds. It is a somewhat - temperamental specimen, and I would advise you all to steer well clear of it. Our caretaker Mr. Filch has asked me to inform you that he has added laughing out loud in the corridors and looking cheerful during the lunch hour to the list of forbidden actions. As usual, you may feel free to examine the complete list in his office at any time. Finally, before we tuck in to plenty of good food and pumpkin juice, it gives me great pleasure to announce that Professor McGonagall, whom all but the first years already know well, has agreed to act as my new deputy headmistress and head of Gryffindor house in addition to her duties as Transfiguration teacher."  
  
There was polite clapping at all the tables, though many Gryffindors felt far from pleased at the prospect.  
  
"And now," Dumbledore announced with a smile, "let the feasting begin!"  
  
The students stared eagerly at the empty golden plates and platters, which in an instant were filled with delicious ham and chicken and dumplings, not to mention enough gravy to float an ark, as Sirius aptly put it.  
  
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2 - Gryffindors  
  
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After the feast, James, Sirius and Peter followed the Gryffindor prefect out of the Great Hall feeling very full, very pleased and not the least bit tired. They stared with wide eyes at the moving paintings along the walls, and watched in amazement as the staircases to right and left changed directions at whim. Finally they reached the corridor leading up to the portrait of the fat lady. She smiled a welcome at the first years.  
  
"Password?"  
  
"Tiddlywinks," the prefect replied.  
  
The portrait at once swung back on its hinges, and the first years filed into the Gryffindor common room after the prefect. The room was already crowded with Gryffindor students of various ages.  
  
"Gather round, gather round," said the prefect impatiently.  
  
There was much giggling and pushing and shoving before everyone was finally near enough to listen to what he had to say.  
  
"Now," the prefect continued, "this is the Gryffindor common room. Boys, your dormitories are through that door and up the stairs. Girls, your dormitories are through there."  
  
He pointed.  
  
"Your luggage has already been brought up to your dormitories. The password to Gryffindor Tower is tiddlywinks. Please don't forget it, but don't write it down. We don't want it falling into the hands of unauthorised persons - Slytherins, in particular. You'll be given your timetables tomorrow morning at breakfast. And now off to bed, first years. Come on."  
  
They were ushered up the staircase into their dormitory. James looked around. Five four-poster beds stood in the room. He found his trunk and cauldron standing at the foot of the bed against the far wall, nearest the window. Sirius was already flinging himself onto the bed beside his.  
  
"Comfy," he remarked approvingly.  
  
Peter Pettigrew was in the third bed, and another boy had followed them in. He was short and slightly stocky with short dark hair and a friendly face. James remembered having seen him join the Gryffindor table not long before Peter.  
  
"Hello," Sirius was saying to the boy, "you're Frank Longbottom, aren't you?"  
  
"Yes," he answered.  
  
"Great. I remember cheering you when you joined our table. I'm Sirius Black, this is James Potter, and that's there's Peter Pettigrew," Sirius introduced the three of them.  
  
"Hello. So," said Frank, smiling, "seems we four are stuck with one another for the next seven years at least."  
  
"Five," James corrected, indicating the fifth bed. "There's another trunk and cauldron there."  
  
"That's odd," Sirius said, sitting up. "I didn't see any other boys being sorted into Gryffindor, did you?"  
  
The other three all shook their heads. 


	6. Part 6: Life at Hogwarts

Prequel, Part 6: Life at Hogwarts  
  
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1 - The Fifth Boy  
  
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James was wakened the next morning by someone pulling back the heavy curtains around his bed and letting the sunlight stream in. He yawned and fumbled on his bedside table for his glasses. Pushing them on his nose, he sat up in bed.  
  
"Oh it's you, Sirius. What sort of time is it?"  
  
"Time to get up, sleepyhead," Sirius said. "Frank's already up and dressed. I woke him up about twenty minutes ago. I couldn't bear him snoring any longer."  
  
"I don't snore!" Frank protested, pretending to be hurt. "It's Peter who snores."  
  
James smiled and looked across to where Peter Pettigrew was lying, his eyes still shut tight and his mouth hanging wide open. It was true he was making a lot of noise.  
  
"We'd better wake him up," he suggested.  
  
"I'll do it," Sirius offered.  
  
He grabbed hold of James's pillow and lunged it straight at the sleeping boy's head. Peter sat up with a fright.  
  
"Rise and shine!" Sirius laughed, "It's our first day at Hogwarts, people. Come on James, get dressed. I can't wait to find out what lessons we've got today. I hope it's something good, not History of Magic or something. I met a second-year down in the common room earlier and he says it's taught by this ghost, Professor Binns, who's a dead bore."  
  
He laughed at his own pun.  
  
"Oh, very funny," James said with a smile, getting up and looking at himself in the mirror. His hair, as usual, was sticking up in all directions. He and Peter got washed and dressed hurriedly, and soon all four of them were heading down the stairs and into the Great Hall.  
  
----------------------------------  
  
The enchanted ceiling was a bright blue this morning and clouds floated along the walls. The tables were laden with huge bowls full of cereals and plates piled high with toast, bacon, sausages, scrambled egg and everything imaginable. They sat down and tucked in. Professor McGonagall came round during their third helping of sausages and handed out their timetables.  
  
"Charms and Herbology with the Hufflepuffs. Transfiguration with the Ravenclaws . oh no, and History of Magic with the Slytherins!" Sirius groaned through a mouthful of toast.  
  
James just smiled. He didn't care if they had a boring lesson on their first day. It was too much fun just being at Hogwarts.  
  
After breakfast they fetched their books from the dormitory and made their way to the Charms classroom. James, Sirius, Peter and Frank Longbottom squeezed into the seats behind the wooden desks. They unpacked their books and wands and waited expectantly for their teacher to come in. The door at the back of the classroom opened, and for a moment they thought it must have done so of its own accord. But then they heard a scrambling noise behind the teacher's desk, and the next minute the tiny little wizard James had spotted at the teachers' table the night before stood there, atop a pile of books, and peered around at them eagerly from under his tangled brown hair.  
  
"Ah, welcome, welcome, my first-year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. Well, well. I am Professor Flitwick, your Charms teacher. Before we start with basic charms, I'd like to read out the register, just to make sure you're all here," he said in a high-pitched voice.  
  
"Barnes, Beatrice."  
  
A dark-haired Hufflepuff raised her hand.  
  
"Black, Sirius."  
  
Sirius's hand shot up.  
  
"Diggle, Damian."  
  
The small Hufflepuff sitting the other side of Frank Longbottom called 'here'.  
  
"Evans, Lily."  
  
James looked round and saw the girl he had let pass last night raise her arm behind him.  
  
Professor Flitwick went on that way, until after "Jorkins, Bertha", "Keynes, Anna", "Osmond, Olliver", Longbottom, Frank" and "Pettigrew, Peter" he reached "Potter, James" and last of all "Truffle, Tina".  
  
Then he put the register away, and James wondered why he hadn't read out the name of the missing Gryffindor boy. All the people he had called up had been there. He didn't have time to wonder for long, though, for they were soon instructed to open their books, and Professor Flitwick summoned a large cardboard box onto the desk. It turned out that this box contained a collection of long white feathers, and the professor soon sent one soaring onto the desk in front of every student.  
  
"Now," he said in his squeaky voice, "I thought we would start with Levitating Charms. The important thing to remember, apart from the magic words, is of course the wrist movement. Watch closely, and then I want you all to copy what I do. So ..:"  
  
He lifted his wand and, accompanying his words with the appropriate movement of his own short arm, said,  
  
"Swish and flick. Go on, try it, all of you."  
  
They did, and repeated it several times before Professor Flitwick pronounced himself satisfied. At last he told them to rest their wand arms for a moment, and was just about to continue speaking when there was a knock on the door.  
  
"Come in," he chirped.  
  
The door opened, and Professor McGonagall appeared, ushering in a boy of about James's height with light brown hair and tired eyes. James thought he looked ill.  
  
"Sorry to bother you, Professor Flitwick," said McGonagall. "I've brought you your missing student."  
  
Professor Flitwick thanked her, and she withdrew again. The new boy came forward uncertainly.  
  
"Remus Lupin, isn't it?" Professor Flitwick said.  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
James noticed that the boy's voice was soft and friendly, though it sounded a little weak.  
  
"Good. Well, I'm sure we can find a seat here somewhere for you."  
  
Remus Lupin looked around a trifle shyly under the inquisitive stares of the other students. James caught his eye and, nodding, removed his bag from the seat beside him. Remus came over and sat down.  
  
"Thanks," he whispered gratefully.  
  
Professor Flitwick now went on with the lesson as though nothing had happened, reading them a paragraph from the book.  
  
"Well," he said at last, "let's try the charm, shall we? Lupin, here's a feather for you."  
  
A white plume raised itself from the box and landed on the desk in front of Remus. The students all picked up their wands and pointed them at their feathers.  
  
"Remember," Professor Flitwick squeaked. "Swish and flick. And don't forget the words. Wingardium Leviosa."  
  
All around the classroom, students nervously began 'swishing and flicking' their wands. James was quite surprised when, as he flicked his wrist upwards and said the words, his feather actually left his desk and floated up to the height of his nose before sinking back onto his desk.  
  
"I did it!" he exclaimed.  
  
"That was good," Remus said.  
  
James turned his head to look at the new boy, and discovered that his feather was floating mid-air, totally under the control of his wand. He stared.  
  
"How can you do that?" he asked. "You missed all the practice we had before you got here."  
  
"I've been doing a few charms at home," Remus admitted. "My Mum showed me this one."  
  
He smiled, and for a second his face looked less weary. Then it went back to that tired paleness. James studied him side-on, and spotted the grey streaks in the other boy's hair.  
  
"We wondered why you weren't in the Great Hall or in the dormitory last night," he said conversationally.  
  
There was such a lot of noise in the classroom with frustrated students trying to get their feathers to float that there was no need to whisper. Remus Lupin's expression seemed to close.  
  
"I wasn't very well yesterday," he answered quietly.  
  
"I'm sorry," James said. "I hope you're feeling better now."  
  
"Yes. Thanks."  
  
James let the matter rest, but he had the distinct impression that Remus Lupin was still far from well.  
  
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2 - Adversaries  
  
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Herbology with Professor Sprout proved quite as much fun as Charms had, and Sirius and James in particular proved so skilled in Transfiguration that even Professor McGonagall seemed to show a hint of pride. But now they were all walking dispiritedly towards Professor Binns's History of Magic classroom.  
  
"Perhaps it won't be as boring as we've been hearing," Remus suggested hopefully. "I've read a bit about magical history, and some of the stuff is actually quite interesting. All about goblin rebellions, you know. And the Pixie Protection Act of 1643."  
  
He had brightened up considerably over the morning, and was looking a little healthier now.  
  
"I don't know," Frank answered mournfully. "I bumped into Damian from Hufflepuff after Transfiguration. He's got a brother in third year, and he says Professor Binns is lousy."  
  
"Oooohh, I wouldn't say that so loud if I were you, ickle firsty," an evil voice trilled.  
  
Startled, they stopped short and looked around them. A colourful creature with a huge and ugly bow tie came bursting out of an empty classroom to their right. He stopped just in front of Frank and eyed him with a wicked grin on his face. Then, so suddenly that it made them jump, he stuck out his tongue and made a rude noise. He zoomed round them and came to a halt, hanging upside down in front of Remus.  
  
"Who are you?" Remus asked.  
  
The creature snorted.  
  
"Not very polite, are you?" it complained. "I'm Peeves the poltergeist, if that's anything to you. And who are you, if I might ask?"  
  
"Remus Lupin," Remus answered.  
  
"Remus Lupin?"  
  
Peeves chuckled evilly and did several somersaults. When he stopped, this time he was the right way up.  
  
"I've heard about you," he said with a menacing tone in his voice. "Oh yes I have."  
  
He paused, and when he went on it was in a strange, high and chanting voice, barely audible but none the less unpleasant for it.  
  
"Loony, loopy, Lupin. Loony, loopy, Lupin."  
  
"Oh shut up, Peeves," Sirius barked, striding past the poltergeist. "Come on, you lot, or we'll be late."  
  
The others followed him at a run, for Peeves was now grabbing hold of everything he could find and hurling it after them, still repeating the little chant that seemed to amuse him so greatly.  
  
They reached the History of Magic classroom just in time, and slumped into some empty seats at the back. Looking around while getting his breath back, James suddenly felt a pair of cold, hard eyes on him. He looked across the classroom, and his eyes connected with those of Severus Snape. James held the other boy's gaze and wondered vaguely what it was about the lad that instinctively made him dislike him so much.  
  
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3 - Mischief and Mystery  
  
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Over the weeks that followed, James tried to overcome his dislike of Severus Snape, but found that he could not. Quite the contrary. However much he tried to be polite, if not actually friendly, the more Snape seemed to endeavour to make himself disagreeable. He spoke to Sirius about it, but Sirius just shrugged.  
  
"I don't know why you worry about it," Sirius said. "He's obviously just not willing to be civil."  
  
James had not been satisfied with that, but had let the matter rest, especially when even good-natured Remus had agreed with Sirius.  
  
And so they had decided to avoid Snape and his fellow Slytherins as far as possible. School work came easy to James, Sirius and Remus, who had already studied some of the spells they were learning now at home, and they all did their best to help Peter along quickly, so that they had plenty of time to spare after lessons. They had set about exploring the castle and grounds of Hogwarts, sketching down every new staircase and hidden room they came across on a sheet of old parchment.  
  
The end of their first month at Hogwarts was now nearing to a close, and it felt to the four friends both that the time so far had flown by, and yet also as though it had been a lifetime of friendship and fun and mischief, for never in as long as any save perhaps Dumbledore himself could remember had Hogwarts known a set of mischief makers as devious as "Potter and Black's little gang". Frank Longbottom and his friend Damian Diggle from Hufflepuff were sometimes included in the pranks they played on the teachers, but mainly the four of them kept to themselves.  
  
They were sitting at the end of the Gryffindor table together one afternoon in October, enjoying some scones and tea, when Professor McGonagall suddenly entered the Hall and came straight over to them.  
  
"Sorry to interrupt," she said briskly. "Could I have a word, Lupin?"  
  
Remus looked around at his friends, then got up and followed the professor out of the Hall. His friends waited for twenty minutes, but he did not return. Finally, Sirius got up from the table.  
  
"Well," he said, "I'm not spending the rest of the day in here. I'm going outside for a bit. Coming, James?"  
  
James shook his head, looking puzzled. "No, I'll wait here for a bit longer. When Remus comes back, we'll come out and join you."  
  
"James, I think if he was coming back down, he'd be here by now," Sirius objected.  
  
"Perhaps Professor McGonagall's not finished with him yet," James said. "I'm waiting here."  
  
Sirius shrugged. "Suit yourself," he said. "What about you, Pete? You coming out?"  
  
Peter shot a glance at James, but then he rose and followed Sirius.  
  
James stayed behind, his brow furrowed, waiting. He sat there for about half an hour, but still Remus did not come back. At last, James got up and made his way back to their common room. He climbed the stairs to their dormitory and pushed the door open. The room was quiet, but a boy was sitting alone by the open window, the crisp afternoon breeze playing in his hair.  
  
"Remus! Here you are," James exclaimed. "We were waiting for you to come back."  
  
Slowly, Remus turned to face him. He looked tired and care-worn, though James found it hard to make out his expression properly in the gloom of the tower room.  
  
"What's the matter, Remus?" James asked gently.  
  
Remus swallowed and hesitated, as though he didn't quite know what to say. He turned back to look out of the window.  
  
"It's - my mum," he said at last, still not looking at James. "She's ill."  
  
"Oh," said James. "I'm sorry."  
  
"I have to go home and see her," Remus went on.  
  
"Yes," James agreed. "Yes, of course."  
  
He stood in silence for a while, unsure how to react. He thought that Mrs. Lupin's illness must be pretty serious to make it necessary for Remus to leave school.  
  
"Is there anything I can do for you?" he asked at length.  
  
"No. Just - just tell the others for me, will you?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
James hesitated, then he began to stretch out a hand to touch Remus's shoulder. But just at that moment, Remus rose and with a hoarse "I'd better go," he snapped up his cloak and hurried from the room.  
  
--------------------  
  
James found it hard to sleep that night. He tossed and turned for what felt like hours. An owl hooted somewhere outside. James rubbed his eyes and sat up in bed. He pulled the curtains around his four-poster aside a fraction and peered out with blurry eyes. Finding his glasses on the cabinet beside his bed, he put them on and went over to the window. There he sat on the window ledge, staring out into the night at the grounds below. They were unusually bright tonight, for a full moon hung over the Forbidden Forest. James liked to look out of this window. From here he could see all the way down to Hagrid's hut, and to the whomping willow, its leaves rustling quietly in the night breeze. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, thinking about Remus, and how worried he would be in Remus's place, if his own mother were ill. 


	7. Part 7: The Making of the Marauders

Prequel, Part 7: The Making of the Marauders  
  
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1 - Holidays  
  
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Sirius sat on a bench beside the frozen lake wrapped in his winter cloak. He was listlessly kicking up the snow with the tip of his boot. It was a late afternoon in early December, and the festive spirit had already got hold of Hogwarts. Everyone was busy wrapping up presents in hidden corners, Hagrid had dragged several huge Christmas trees up to the castle, the suits of armour in the corridors were practising Christmas carols under the skilled direction of Professor Flitwick, and most of the students were looking forward to going home for the holidays. Sirius Black, however, was not feeling the yuletide spirit. Having no family to go to, he would be spending a lonely Christmas here at Hogwarts. James would be going home to his mother, Remus would be spending Christmas with his parents and Peter, naturally, would be at home with his parents and sisters. No, Sirius was not looking forward to Christmas.  
  
Suddenly there was a shout behind him, and Sirius heard familiar footsteps running his way.  
  
"Sirius, Sirius!" James shouted, laughing happily and, skidding to a halt, dropped breathless onto the bench beside him, waving a sheet of parchment. "Sirius, guess what."  
  
"Well, what?" said Sirius testily.  
  
"This is a letter from my mum," James puffed. "And do you know what she says?"  
  
"No."  
  
Sirius was looking like he didn't care what Mrs. Potter had to say, but James just grinned.  
  
"I'm going to wipe that scowl off your face, Sirius," he said eagerly. "You see, I wrote to Mum and told her all about you - well, actually, not all. I didn't tell her about the bubotuber pus you smeared on Snape's scarf last week. And I sort of forgot to mention the time you dropped a tickling potion in Professor Flitwick's tea. And the time ."  
  
"Oh, get to the point, James," Sirius begged. "I'm not in the mood."  
  
"Well, you will be. The fact is, I told Mum what a great friend you are, but that you've got no family and all that, so you're upset because you'll be on your own here at Christmas ."  
  
"I'm not upset!" Sirius barked.  
  
James went on, undaunted. "Oh, shut up for a minute, can't you? I'm trying to tell you my mum says why don't you spend Christmas with us!" he finished.  
  
Sirius stared. "You're kidding!"  
  
"Nope," James grinned. "Not a bit of it. What do you say, will you come?"  
  
Sirius sat stunned for a while, then a grin spread across his face. "You try and stop me," he said.  
  
"Hello," said a voice behind them, "you two look pleased."  
  
"Remus!"  
  
James turned to face their friend. "You're back! Come and sit down. You look exhausted."  
  
It was true that Remus looked much as he had done when they had first met. It seemed strange to James how his friend always looked so ill when he had been away. Several times that had happened since they had known each other. Back in October, his mother had been ill. Then he had been to his grandmother's - his mother's mother's - funeral. And yesterday evening his mother had been taken ill again. Yet whenever Remus returned from these brief visits to his family, it was he who looked ill. It worried James. He hoped it wasn't an indication that his friend suffered from whatever serious disease his mother seemed to have.  
  
"How's your mother?" he asked when Remus had joined them.  
  
"Not too bad," Remus said tightly, then quickly changed the subject. "But you two look like you're celebrating."  
  
"Sirius is coming to stay with me for Christmas," James explained.  
  
"That's great," Remus said, pleased for his friend. "That way we'll all be able to travel to London together. All four of us in one carriage - the Hogwarts Express will never be the same again."  
  
They laughed.  
  
---------------------------------  
  
The last school days stretched endlessly, but at last it was time for them all to pack their trunks and go down to Hogsmeade station. James thought the school must be practically empty, judging from the amount of students who stood shivering on the platform.  
  
He, Sirius, Remus and Peter found an empty compartment and passed a very pleasant trip to London, discussing all the things they would do at home, and wondering what presents there would be. Time seemed to fly by, and before they knew it, the Express was slowing down, drawing into platform 9 ¾. Sirius was first off the train, and the others passed the trunks down to him, one after another. Then they climbed down onto the platform and began looking around for their families.  
  
A fair-haired girl near the porter's hut was waving in their direction. James noticed she had a short, slightly upturned nose and small bead-like eyes. She caught Peter's eye, and he waved back.  
  
"It's Pippa!" he cried. "Well, I'll be off then. See you all after Christmas."  
  
He heaved one end of his trunk off the ground and walked away. James, Sirius and Remus shifted their trunks out of the way of the train doors to where they could get a better view. Sirius, being the tallest, stretched as high as he could and tried across the heads of the crowd to spot anyone who looked like they might be related to his two friends. Finally he spotted a woman with shoulder-length brown hair, dressed in what to him was unusual attire: a pale grey trouser suit, as worn by many Muggle women.  
  
"See anyone?" James asked.  
  
"I'm not sure. Is that ."  
  
James tried to follow where Sirius was looking, and started waving wildly. The woman smiled and came their way. She drew level with them and hugged James.  
  
"This is my mum," James said, straightening his glasses. "Mum, this is Sirius, and this is Remus."  
  
"Hello," Mrs. Potter said kindly.  
  
They answered politely. Then Remus uttered an exclamation. "There are my parents," he said, pointing.  
  
James turned with some curiosity to face the two people who were now coming towards them. The man was very dark-haired and quite good-looking, with shining blue eyes. But it was the woman - unmistakably Remus's mother, she looked so much like him - who interested him most. He had always imagined her to look something like this, of course. The long, light-brown hair and brown eyes were just what he had expected. What he had not expected was that she would look so vigorous, so full of life. The illnesses that obliged Remus more than once to leave school and visit her had seemed to his mind to imply a somewhat sickly appearance, something resembling Remus's own weary face and heavy eyes, certainly not the rosy cheeks and cheerfulness that he was witnessing now. As she reached them and said hello, James found that he liked Mrs. Lupin very much, and the mystery of her frequent illnesses occupied his mind more than ever.  
  
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2 - Remus Lupin's Dilemma  
  
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Remus came down the stairs to breakfast, marvelling at the speed with which time had flown and trying to burn every last moment of his visit home into his mind. The fire was crackling away merrily in the living room, and the old familiar stair creaked when he stepped on it. There was a smell of fresh bread coming from the kitchen, and the sound of his mother's soft humming was so sweet that it hurt him to think he must leave her again so soon. He entered the room as quietly as he could, not wishing to disturb her, but Faith turned around at once and smiled.  
  
"I can't believe you're leaving us again so soon," she sighed.  
  
"Nor can I, Mum," he answered, slipping onto a kitchen chair. "I wish I could stay. At least another week," he blurted out.  
  
His mother looked across at him sharply, and sat down opposite him with a wise smile.  
  
"I see," she said quietly. "So I was right."  
  
"Right?" Remus asked, guessing the answer. "About what?"  
  
"You haven't told them, have you? Your new friends. James, Sirius, Peter . they don't know you're a werewolf."  
  
Remus winced slightly.  
  
"No," he confessed. "I haven't told them. Does - does Dad know?" he added anxiously.  
  
"No," his mother reassured him.  
  
Remus breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't want his father to know. His father would be disappointed in his son . as disappointed as Remus was in himself. And yet .  
  
"May I ask why you haven't told them?" his mother persisted.  
  
Remus stood and turned away, but he could feel his mother's eyes watching him as intently as if he had been looking at her.  
  
"I can't. If they find out what I am, they won't want anything to do with me any more. No one else who knows does. Even my own grandmother ."  
  
"Your father's mother only needed an excuse. She never really liked me, or any child of mine. She blamed my 'bad blood', as she called it, for what happened to you. Your father broke with her after that."  
  
"She's not the only one though, is she? People don't want anything to do with a werewolf. Why should my friends be any different?"  
  
"Because they are you're friends. Because if your friendship means anything to them, they won't care. They'll just accept you and like you for who and what you are."  
  
"You just say that," Remus said impatiently, "because you love me."  
  
"Yes," his mother said, speaking so tenderly that the boy couldn't help but look at her, and be moved by the loving look in her eyes.  
  
"I do love you, Remus," she went on. "And whoever knows you as I do must inevitably love you too. Tell them, Remus. Put their friendship to the test."  
  
Remus thought for a long time. Finally he said, "I don't know if I can, Mum. I don't know if I'd have the courage to go on if . if they deserted me."  
  
Faith Lupin smiled and came to him. She pushed back the strand of hair that hung in his eyes and kissed his forehead.  
  
"You can, my love. You have more courage than you know."  
  
Remus tried to smile back at her. But he was still not sure.  
  
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3 - James Potter's Discovery  
  
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The holidays were over. Back at Hogwarts, Peter sat rapt as James began to unwrap the special present he had received for Christmas. Sirius was sprawled on his bed, grinning. He knew what was coming. Remus was perched on the window sill, hardly taking any notice of them, staring out unseeingly towards the whomping willow and still going over that talk he had had with his mother.  
  
"It's beautiful!" Peter was whispering, awed. "What is it?"  
  
"Wait and see."  
  
"Oi, Remus, come and look!" Sirius called. "You don't want to miss this!"  
  
Remus tore himself away from the window. James was holding up a long cloak of a shimmering, elusive material. One minute it seemed to shine a thousand different colours at once, the next moment you thought you had imagined it, it was like a dream on the edge of your memory - you knew it had been there, yet you couldn't quite grasp it. In spite of his preoccupation with his own private worries, Remus found himself intrigued.  
  
"Put it on!" Sirius urged.  
  
James smiled, and with a flourish draped the cloak around his shoulders. As he did so, his arms, his torso, his legs, all vanished from view. All that was to be seen of him now was his head, floating in mid-air, and his fingers where they held the cloak about his neck. Peter gasped. Remus stared.  
  
"It's an Invisibility Cloak," Sirius said proudly, as though it were his own. "A perfect asset for nightly escapades, don't you agree, Remus?"  
  
"It's brilliant," Remus agreed.  
  
"Where did your mother get it?" Peter asked James.  
  
James, reappearing from under the Cloak and folding it carefully, said,  
  
"She says she didn't get it for me at all. It came by post and there was no card with it. Mum said she only knows of two people who used to have one, but that it couldn't have been from either of them."  
  
He frowned.  
  
"She wouldn't tell me any more than that."  
  
Remus came nearer and touched the material gently.  
  
"Fantastic. It must have cost whoever owned it originally a pretty penny. But . do you think it's safe to use, not knowing where it came from?" he said doubtfully.  
  
"Oh come on," Sirius said, swinging his legs off the bed and coming to join them.  
  
"What d'you suggest should be wrong with it? I mean, who'd want to jinx a thing like that?"  
  
He took the Cloak from James and wrapped it around his middle, so that the upper and lower halves of his body looked like they were moving about the room individually. Remus still looked concerned.  
  
"Remus," James said seriously, "I really think Sirius is right. The only one I can think of who might think of jinxing something and sending it to me as a present is Snape, and you can't tell me even he'd spend that amount of money, just to be mean to someone."  
  
"I suppose you're right," Remus agreed. "It's not as though there were anyone who would wish you any serious harm. But it would still make me feel a lot easier if we knew where it came from."  
  
"Oh, loosen up, Remus," Sirius scolded.  
  
He threw the cloak over his friend's head with a laugh and wrestled him to the ground. James and Peter watched, laughing, while the half invisible tangle of arms and legs struggled and then resurfaced at last, smiling up at them, slightly out of breath.  
  
-------------------------------  
  
Their lessons began again all too soon. On their very first day, they had to endure double Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts with the Slytherins, and that meant taunts and evil smirks from Severus Snape. But James found he wasn't so very bothered about that. When Snape got too annoying, he just thought of his Invisibility Cloak lying folded up in his trunk, and imagined the look of envy on Snape's face if he only knew. He still believed the Cloak was harmless, but Remus had made him wonder more than ever who might have sent it. Which two people could his mother have meant? She had no siblings, no family at all that he knew of. Though it was only logical that she must, at some point, have had parents. James began to wonder about his grandparents. Were they still alive? Had one of them sent the Cloak? Or was it - his heart leaped at the thought - could it be that it was from his father? He was torn from these thoughts by the teacher's voice, asking him a question to which Sirius quickly whispered the answer, while Snape smirked across the room at him.  
  
That Friday, Professor McGonagall interrupted their afternoon snowball fight in the grounds, again summoning Remus away. He apologised and asked them not to wait for him. James was reminded at once of his concerns before the holidays, and was so preoccupied with thinking about Remus and his mother's mysterious illness which left no outward mark that Sirius's snowball took him by surprise and squashed unpleasantly into his left ear.  
  
--------------------------  
  
Remus did not return all that afternoon and evening. Long after Sirius had dropped off to sleep and snores were issuing from behind Peter's and Frank's curtains, James Potter remained seated on the window sill, gazing out into the night.  
  
He let his eyes roam aimlessly about the grounds, imagining the endless amount of fun he and his friends would have exploring them, now that he had his new Cloak. Who knew, they might even venture out into the Forbidden Forest one night, maybe on a night very like this, when the full moon shed enough light to remove the necessity of carrying a tell-tale lantern. James stared up at the moon, admiring its smooth brightness, the milky whiteness of the giant disk, that looked so near from up here that he almost felt he could touch it. He turned to look around the dormitory, his home here at Hogwarts.  
  
The light of the moon fell on the empty bed by the opposite wall, and the cold hand of worry seemed to close once more about James's heart. He was sure there was something very wrong with Remus, and it pained him not to know what it was. He felt, somehow, that he should know. It was nagging at the back of his mind, an idea forming like a word that rested on the tip of your tongue and would not come out. The harder you tried to make it reveal itself, the further it seemed to run. And at the same time, he felt it was very important he should find out what it was. In the relatively short while that he had been at Hogwarts, he had grown deeply attached to his fellow Gryffindors. He would hate anything to be seriously wrong with any of them. With a deep sigh and a heavy heart, James finally crept into bed.  
  
His dreams were disturbed. Always there entered into them the silhouette of a great beast standing out against a pale light whose source he could not see, but felt he knew very well. He turned over in his sleep, trying to look away from that menacing shape, but he couldn't.  
  
He heard heavy footsteps on dry leaves and felt his breath coming hard. Then he realised the footsteps were his own, and he was running, running away from something. Or was he? The faster he ran, the nearer he seemed to get to whatever it was. A grey shape, the same shape whose silhouette he had sought to escape from before, only now it no longer seemed frightening. It was . gentle. Helpless. Lonely. James stopped a few paces away from it.  
  
The beast turned its head, and James found himself looking into a pair of large brown eyes, sad and weary and somehow oddly familiar. His heart ached to see it, alone and friendless, appealing to him to help it, to do something to make its sad existence more bearable. But what could he do, a boy of eleven? Trying to escape that longing gaze, he looked away, up at the sky, and saw the moon. His heart gave a leap.  
  
James sat up in bed with a start, his dream for once as clear in his mind as if it had been a real event. He tore aside the curtains around his bed and blinked. The full moon still lit the dormitory, its light falling straight on the pillow of the empty bed. James snatched up his glasses. His heart was pounding. Of course, if he was right, it all made such perfect sense. It was so simple, he wondered why he hadn't seen it before.  
  
He climbed out of bed and pulled his trunk out from underneath it as quietly as he could. Then he took out his Invisibility Cloak and wrapped it around him. He thought of waking Sirius, but decided against it. He may be pretty sure he was right, but he had to be absolutely certain before he told anyone about his theory. He crept out of the room on tiptoes and, sneaking down the stairs and out through the portrait hole, immediately made for the library.  
  
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4 - Sirius Black's Plan  
  
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"James? James, wake up!"  
  
Sirius threw back the curtains and stopped in mid-action. The bed was empty. Puzzled, he turned to the two boys behind him.  
  
"James isn't here."  
  
"Perhaps he was hungry and went down early," Peter suggested.  
  
"He wouldn't do that, not without waking me," Sirius said, sounding hurt.  
  
"Well," said Frank, patting his stomach, "I'm starving, so I'm going downstairs. Anyone coming?"  
  
Peter nodded, and he and Frank left the room, but Sirius sat down on the end of James's bed, a frown fixed on his face. He looked up suddenly. Surely he had heard the floorboards creak? The door to the dormitory closed, seemingly of its own accord.  
  
"What the -" he began, but another voice said,  
  
"Shhh."  
  
There was a movement, and suddenly James stood right in front of him, his Invisibility Cloak slung over one arm, a thick book in the other. He came over to the bed and, replacing the Cloak in his trunk, sat down next to Sirius.  
  
"James - where have you been?" Sirius asked, bewildered. "And why didn't you take me with you?"  
  
"Sorry," James replied. "I felt I had to be quite sure before I mentioned it to anyone."  
  
"Mentioned what?"  
  
By way of an answer, James dropped the heavy book on Sirius's lap.  
  
"Beasts and Birds in the Wizarding World," Sirius read. "James, what is all this about?"  
  
"I didn't sleep very well last night," James began. "I was thinking. About how Remus keeps 'going home' because of some emergency or other in his family. You know how he says his mother is ill? Well, I thought somehow it was strange, when we saw her at Christmas, that she didn't look ill at all. And I started wondering - well, I'd wondered before that. But it really got me thinking."  
  
"About what, for heaven's sake?"  
  
"Why Remus really disappears so often. And why, while his mother looks perfectly all right, he usually looks like death warmed up when he comes back. Last night, I found the answer. And it's really so obvious! I could kick myself when I think how blind I've been."  
  
"Well, you'd better kick me then, because I still don't get it," Sirius complained.  
  
"The answer's in that book. But I actually figured it out because I never sleep very well when there's a full moon."  
  
"What's that got to do with it?"  
  
"Don't you see?" James whispered excitedly. "Remus always makes up some excuse for going away when there's a full moon. I checked all the dates, as near as I could, of his mother's so-called illnesses."  
  
"So-called? You mean he made it all up? Why on earth would he do that?"  
  
"Obviously because he didn't want us to know the truth."  
  
"Which is what, exactly?" Sirius demanded.  
  
"Don't you see?" said James. "He's a werewolf, Sirius."  
  
Sirius gaped at him.  
  
"You're mad," he said at last. "I mean, he can't be a - a werewolf. Not Remus. He's so - so ."  
  
James was nodding hastily.  
  
"I know it seems crazy. But the facts fit. He makes excuses about not being here every month at the full moon, he comes back looking dreadful, he's even got grey hairs, and he's only eleven!"  
  
Sirius was watching him with an unfathomable expression on his face. What James was saying all made sense, when you thought about it. It all added up. It explained everything that was, admittedly, odd about Remus Lupin. And yet it seemed incredible that a boy whom Sirius had always - if he was entirely honest - thought a bit soft, or gentle, to put it more kindly, should become a monstrous werewolf at every full moon. He thought about it in silence for a long time, unsure of what to say. At last he admitted to himself that, though he was undoubtedly far from being as tough as Sirius would have approved, Remus Lupin was without doubt a decent kid, and a good friend. All he could say, finally, was,  
  
"It's - not fair, James."  
  
He worried briefly that his words might sound very hollow, even silly. But James was looking at him in complete earnest.  
  
"No," he agreed. "It's not."  
  
"But why make up all those lies and excuses? Why didn't he just tell us?" Sirius wondered.  
  
James shrugged his shoulders.  
  
"Werewolves generally aren't very popular. They're regarded as outcasts by most wizards. Or worse, as dangerous monsters. No parent, for instance, would want their child to share a dormitory with a werewolf. I reckon if my mum had ever heard of this before she met Remus and saw what he was like, she would have had a word or two to say about it. She might still, if she knew. I suppose Remus must have thought that if we found out, we wouldn't want anything more to do with him."  
  
Sirius shook his head.  
  
"He should know us better than that. We're his friends."  
  
"It's easy for us to say that. We don't know what problems he may have had before we met him. We can't even begin to imagine what it's like."  
  
He paused. Then he said,  
  
"The question is, now that we do know - what do we do about it?"  
  
"What can we do?" Sirius answered helplessly.  
  
James got up and paced the floor. He stopped by the window and looked out pensively. At last he came back and sat down on the lid of his trunk.  
  
"First of all," he said, "We have to tell Remus we know, and let him know that it's okay and we're still his friends."  
  
"Okay. We'd better have a word with Peter first, though. It's all very well for us two, but I don't know if he'll be quite as unconcerned about being friends with a werewolf."  
  
James sighed.  
  
"I suppose you're right. But I don't think we should tell any more than that. Not even Frank. He spends more time with the Hufflepuffs, anyway, so he won't be too upset if he ever finds out, and we haven't told him."  
  
"Agreed. So we talk to Peter, and then we tell Remus. Then what?"  
  
"I started looking in all the books I could find for a cure, but there's nothing. Still, I've a feeling there must be something we can do to make this more bearable for Remus."  
  
They sat together for a while in silence, thinking.  
  
"There might be something," Sirius said at last.  
  
He laid the book on his lap on the bed, dug a different, very old and battered-looking volume from his trunk and began flicking through it.  
  
"I remember reading something about a werewolf once. If I've got it right, then ."  
  
His face brightened as he discovered what he was looking for. He pointed at the page that now lay open in his lap.  
  
"This book says that werewolves are extremely dangerous to humans. Left to their own devices, if there aren't any humans about they can also sometimes attack wildlife. But this book mentions a few werewolves who actually became friends with some animals - a dog or a bear, for instance. Larger animals that can control them, I suppose."  
  
James was watching his friend's face as he worked furiously at an idea. Sirius's speech had slowed towards the end, and now he broke off altogether. Nevertheless, James knew him well enough to guess at the outrageous idea forming in his brain.  
  
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" he asked.  
  
Sirius smiled.  
  
"Probably. It would mean another night time trip to the library with your Cloak, though. We'd probably only find the kind of books we're after in the restricted section, and we'd never be able to get a teacher to sign a note for us without telling them what we're up to. And that's out of the question."  
  
James grinned.  
  
"A typical plan à la Black, in fact. I like it."  
  
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5 - The Marauders  
  
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Remus stalked past the annoying Peeves, who chanted at him as he went,  
  
"Loony, loopy, Lupin."  
  
He was just too tired to be hurt by the poltergeist and his silly insults. He reached the portrait hole and muttered the Christmas password,  
  
"Cracker jokes."  
  
"You don't look in the mood for them, dear," the fat lady commiserated, swinging back on her hinges.  
  
Remus climbed through the hole and up the stairs to the first years' dormitory with a weary step. He had suffered a lot of pain last night, and the added burden of having lied to his friends yet again, and his mother's gentle reproach at his not having told them the truth, weighed heavily on his already sagging shoulders. He ran a hand through his hair and across his face. It felt like a new line of care had engraved itself between his eyes. With an effort, he pushed down the door handle and went in. Then he stopped short.  
  
Three faces were turned towards him. On the left sat Peter, his small eyes darting frequently to James and Sirius, but avoiding Remus altogether. On the right, sitting cross-legged on the trunk by the foot of James's bed, was Sirius, quietly watchful, his eyes - unlike Peter's - fixed unmoving on Remus's face, his jaw set in an uncharacteristically serious expression. In the middle James waited, sitting on the end of Sirius's bed like a king upon a throne.  
  
"Hello," Remus said, a little warily. "What's going on here?"  
  
"We thought we'd welcome you home," Sirius replied. "How is your poor mother? Or was it your father this time? I hope your labouring by the sickbed didn't keep you from a nice midnight stroll under the full moon."  
  
Remus felt his cheeks go hot. Oh no. He really didn't need this, not now. He was too tired.  
  
"Don't you just love going for walks when there's a full moon?" Sirius went on. "I do. It's so ."  
  
"Sirius," James broke in, studying Remus's gaunt face. "Stop it."  
  
Remus looked from one to the other of them, and his eyes came to rest on James. In spite of the unaccustomed coldness in his voice, he looked quite normal, kind and understanding as ever. Remus felt as though his heart were being twisted around in his chest. These were his friends, the only ones he had ever had. If he lost them .  
  
"James, I ." he began, but James held up a hand and stood up.  
  
He came towards Remus and stood looking at him. Then he turned briefly back to Sirius and they exchanged glances. Facing Remus once more, James smiled, and Remus was relieved to see it was the same friendly smile as always. And then James did something he had never done before. He embraced Remus like a brother, and led him over to his bed.  
  
"Sit down," he advised. "You look terrible, and we don't want you passing out just yet, because we want to talk to you first."  
  
He sat on the edge of Remus's bed, and Peter and Sirius followed suit.  
  
"Now," said James matter-of-factly, "as you may have guessed, we've found out you're a werewolf. Don't worry, Dumbledore didn't tell on you or anything, we worked it all out for ourselves."  
  
"Well, James did," Sirius put in.  
  
"Anyway," James went on, "once we had found out, we assumed you had your reasons for not telling us."  
  
Remus nodded.  
  
"I - I thought you wouldn't want anything more to do with me," he said, still not quite willing to believe his luck.  
  
"Well, for once you were wrong, weren't you?" Sirius said, smiling.  
  
At this characteristic, affectionate tease from Sirius, Remus actually managed a small smile himself.  
  
"And for once, I'm glad of it," he replied.  
  
He listened in amazed, happy disbelief while James unfolded the story of how he had worked out his friend's secret, and when James and Sirius told him of their scheme - to secretly become animagi so that they could keep him company when he had transformed - he was so overjoyed and grateful that he didn't know what to say. A great lump seemed to have formed in his throat and his eyes were burning madly. The others tactfully looked away while he recovered, and Sirius dug out their map of Hogwarts.  
  
"So, Mr. Moony," he said lightly, "show us where you've been hanging out lately."  
  
He handed Remus a quill and ink pot.  
  
But Remus, grinning and looking still physically tired, but much healthier and less weary, pushed it aside and instead took out a clean sheet of very old parchment, a quill and a pot of a different kind of ink.  
  
"I have a better idea," he said. "This parchment and ink pot were a Christmas present from my parents - the best apart from the one you three have just given me," he beamed.  
  
Pointing his wand at the map, he said,  
  
"What we need, first of all, is a password. An original line that only the four of us will know, and that you have to say so you can read this new map. And of course another spell to wipe it clean again."  
  
They thought for a moment. At last Sirius put out his hand.  
  
"I've got one. How about 'I solemnly swear that I am up to no good'?"  
  
They laughed.  
  
"Excellent," Remus said.  
  
He repeated the words, waving his wand over the piece of parchment. He then began to copy all the lines of the old map onto the new one. He also added a spot marked 'whomping willow', and the others gasped as he drew a long tunnel leading from the tree off the edge of the map.  
  
"There's a tunnel under the whomping willow that was made especially for me. The willow itself was only planted to guard the entrance. There's a knoll on the side of its trunk. You press it, and the willow stands still. This tunnel leads to an empty house in Hogsmeade village," he explained. "The Shrieking Shack. That's where I . transform."  
  
They sat for a moment in silence, then Sirius, taking the map and quill from Remus, said,  
  
"Hey, Pete ."  
  
Peter, carried away by the excitement of the moment, jumped.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Have a look in my trunk, will you? There's a book in there called 'The Art of Magical Cartography'. Open it where I left the bookmark."  
  
Peter did so, and handed Sirius the thick volume. Reading quickly, Sirius then looked up, satisfied.  
  
"Watch this," he whispered, "it's a handy little trick we used once back at the orphanage, when we made a map of the teachers' wing."  
  
He pointed his wand at the map once more, and said,  
  
"Omnis demonstratio."  
  
Immediately, small dots began to move all over the map. Peter leaned in close and examined those in the first year dormitory of Gryffindor Tower. They were labelled James Potter, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew and Sirius Black.  
  
"This is brilliant," he said admiringly.  
  
"May I?" said James, taking the quill and map from Sirius.  
  
He thought for a moment, then bent low and wrote something along the top of the parchment. He leaned back at last, satisfied.  
  
"The Marauder's Map," Sirius read out loud. "Excellent."  
  
He took out his own wand and, waving it over the map as he had watched Remus do earlier, said,  
  
"Mischief managed."  
  
The parchment went blank. 


	8. Part 8: Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Pro...

Prequel, Part 8: Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------------------  
  
1 - Fourth Year  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------------------  
  
James Potter stood with his mother and Sirius Black on platform 9 ¾ at King's Cross station, London. At fourteen, he had caught up with her in height, though he was still not as tall as Sirius, who had shot up over the past summer.  
  
James and Sirius stood watching the wall that they knew was the other side of the barrier dividing platforms 9 and 10 of the Muggle station.  
  
"I don't believe it," Sirius said, glancing at the platform clock.  
  
"What is it, dear?" James's mother asked.  
  
She had had Sirius to stay with her and James for most of the holidays since they boys' first year at Hogwarts, and grown very fond of him.  
  
"It's ten to eleven, and they're still not here!" he explained.  
  
Bridget Potter checked her wrist watch and frowned.  
  
"I'm sure they'll be along any minute now," she said.  
  
"There's Frank . and Damian!" Sirius exclaimed, waving.  
  
Suddenly James grabbed Sirius's arm.  
  
"There's Moo. Remus!" he cried, checking himself.  
  
It would never do if he called Remus 'Moony' in front of his mother. If she found out Remus was a werewolf, he wasn't so much afraid that she'd forbid him to be friends with Remus - she knew him well enough to realise that would be in vain - but he did fear that she would be more alert in future, and begin to suspect something very secret and very much against the rules in his whispered talks with Sirius in their bedroom at night. Not that she wouldn't be right, of course. Because, undaunted by initial failure and the difficulty of the task they had set themselves, he and Sirius were still determined to become animagi secretly, and to help Peter along too.  
  
"James! Sirius!" Remus exclaimed, hugging them both.  
  
Behind him followed his mother and father, and they shook hands with Mrs. Potter and the two boys. John Lupin watched them for a moment in silence, then he said,  
  
"You must tell me what you feed these lads with, Mrs. Potter. I'd be willing to swear they look more alike each time I see them, you'd almost think they were brothers. And yet my son persistently refuses to look anything like me. Not that I mind."  
  
He laid his arm about his wife's shoulder and laughed. It was true that, three years on from when the boys had first met, Remus still looked as much like his mother as ever, and barely at all like his father.  
  
"He's your son all right, though," Faith Lupin answered. "There's no denying that."  
  
James's mother smiled.  
  
"We are both rather outnumbered during school holidays, aren't we?" she commented.  
  
"Oh yes," Remus's mother sighed, "With these two together and my brother thrown in for good measure, I don't stand an earthly."  
  
James, Sirius and Remus hardly took any notice of the adults and their chit- chat. Even when the talk turned away from casual joking to more serious matters, rumours of division in the Ministry and stricter law enforcement, they were too busy chatting among themselves, and looking out all the time for their other friends.  
  
A girl with long red hair and green eyes came through the wall, followed by a tall woman with a long, thin neck, a kindly-looking man wheeling a trolley that bore her trunk, cauldron and owl-cage, and a sullen girl who looked positively horrified at the sight of all these chattering Hogwarts students and their families. When a boy near her suddenly yelled out 'stop!' and bent down to pick a large, warty toad up off the ground before her, she seemed to go thirty shades of green.  
  
The red-haired girl looked over towards James, Sirius and Remus and waved. The three of them waved back.  
  
"Lily! Lily!"  
  
A gang of girls came running up immediately, gossiping in loud voices and giggling, folding her in a many-armed embrace and dragging her off towards the back of the train.  
  
"There's Peter!" Sirius suddenly called.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
James, recalled as if from some dream, turned and saw their friend Peter Pettigrew coming towards them. With him was a girl with straw-coloured hair tied back in a bun and a turned up nose, and James guessed at once from her solemn glare and the unhappy look on his friend's face that this must be Paula Pettigrew. He hadn't met her before, since it was usually Philippa who picked her brother up and dropped him off, but she certainly looked a miserable soul.  
  
"Well," said Paula, having been introduced to James's mother and the Lupins and, feeling that her duty was done, turning to Peter with a look of the utmost dislike on her face, "since your friends are already here, I may as well be going. Goodbye."  
  
"Bye."  
  
Peter watched her leave. He looked thoroughly relieved. John Lupin, frowning after the girl, whom he too had found most unpleasant, clapped Peter on the shoulder and said kindly,  
  
"Come on. Let's get your trunk on the train, shall we?"  
  
"Err . Thanks, Mr. Lupin," Peter stammered, and followed him dazedly to the carriage.  
  
Faith smiled across at Remus, who caught her eye. It was just like his father to forget all about his own son's heavy luggage in the face of such unkindness shown to another boy. It didn't matter. They both knew he would be back for Remus's trunk in a moment.  
  
At last, John Lupin and the boys had stowed all their luggage on the Hogwarts Express and it was time to say goodbye. James and Remus stood side by side at the window, waving. Both felt a slight pang at leaving, and even Sirius felt sorry that he wouldn't be seeing James's mother at least until Christmas. Mrs. Potter was always very kind to him, and the nearest he could remember to a mother, unless you counted Miss Dolesham at the orphanage, who he knew wasn't as strict and heartless as she liked to pretend.  
  
They changed into their school robes when it grew dark outside, and at last the train slowed down as it drew into Hogsmeade station.  
  
"Firs' years over 'ere!" a familiar voice bellowed.  
  
James, Sirius, Remus and Peter turned. A huge hand waved at them across the heads of the crowd.  
  
"Hello, you lot!" Hagrid called while they waved back. "All set for more mischief-making this year, are ye?"  
  
"You bet!" Sirius shouted back.  
  
Then they went along with the other students and clambered into a carriage, and soon were trundling along, past the winged boars at the gates and up to the castle, eager for another term of magic and mystery - and mischief, as Hagrid had so aptly guessed.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------------------  
  
2 - Transformations  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------------------  
  
Sirius, as usual, reached the Gryffindor table first and swung himself onto an empty seat. Peter and Frank sat either side of him, Remus opposite, on the end of the table, and James climbed in beside him. Happily they looked around the Great Hall at all the familiar faces of their fellow students and the teachers up at their table. Dumbledore delivered a typical welcome, the Sorting Hat was brought forward, and soon they were busy clapping their hands raw while a long line of first years were called forward and sorted.  
  
"Fletcher, Marvin."  
  
"Gryffindor!"  
  
A yellow-haired bow hastened over to their table amid a roaring cheer and everyone moved a bit closer together. James looked round at the new boy, and spotted Lily Evans sitting a little way away on the other side of the table. She flashed a smile at him, then turned her attention back to "Hawk, Hannah", who became a "Hufflepuff!"  
  
A lot of new, excited faces joined all the tables. "Parkinson, Plato" was made a Slytherin, and the Hat continued to sort all the new Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors and Slytherins and Ravenclaws.  
  
"Woodcock, Heather."  
  
Last but one in the line, a shy-looking girl with thick brown curls came forward.  
  
"Ravenclaw!"  
  
"Zacharias, Thelma."  
  
"Slytherin!"  
  
At last all the first years had joined their tables. Dumbledore issued his usual warnings about the Forbidden Forest, Filch's list of forbidden activities and a special warning - added at the end and with a sparkle in his eyes, which seemed to dwell all to obviously on James, Remus, Sirius and Peter - that dungbombs, shrinking cauldrons and vanishing wands should please be kept distant from the classrooms. Then, at long last, the headmaster said,  
  
"Let the feasting commence."  
  
***********************************  
  
"That was delicious," Sirius said happily, sinking onto his bed in their dormitory, behind the large wooden door that now read 'Fourth Years'.  
  
"Great," Peter agreed, stroking his stomach.  
  
Remus was already lying flat on his back, feeling fuller than he could ever remember having felt, and just about ready to close his eyes and go right off to sleep. But that would be a shame. He hoisted himself up a fraction while James came in, closing the door behind him. Frank Longbottom wouldn't be along till later, he had gone to the library with Damian Diggle.  
  
"So," James said, sitting down on his trunk, "here we all are again. Looking forward to finally achieving what we planned, everyone?"  
  
"You bet!" Sirius promised. "We're going to make it this year."  
  
"I . I don't know if I can do it," Peter said quietly.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Y-you and James are so much cleverer than I am, and it's taken you over two and a half years to try and do this. I'll never learn."  
  
"Of course you will," Sirius reassured him. "You know you can do it, if you really want to. And you do want to, don't you?"  
  
Peter looked so uncomfortable at this that Remus sat up and said,  
  
"Look, Peter, if you're not happy with the idea, don't do it. I know you're all doing this as a favour to me, but I don't want you to think you're being forced into it. Honestly, Peter, if you don't want to do it, don't worry."  
  
Peter shot him a grateful glance, but he knew at the same time that, to remain a member of their little group - the Marauders, as they had christened themselves a long time ago - he would have to go through with this.  
  
"I do want to, Remus. Sirius is right. I'll manage, somehow."  
  
"Good," said James. "Then I suggest we sneak out to the Shack tonight and give it a try. I can't wait any longer. Somehow I feel like I know I'll be able to do it tonight."  
  
***********************************  
  
The Shrieking Shack. It always made Remus shiver to come here, even when there wasn't a full moon and his friends were with him. He looked around uncomfortably at the ruined furniture in the downstairs room. His friends had never mentioned it, or the bloodstains on the floor. He thought they probably knew or guessed well enough what happened here in those long, lonely nights. The windows were boarded up, and only a very little light came in through the odd crack in the wood. James whisked the Invisibility Cloak off them and they went upstairs, to the bedroom, which was relatively untouched - Remus rarely ventured up here when he transformed.  
  
James pulled a thick, leather-bound volume out from under the bed and opened it where he had left the bookmark before the summer holidays. They had acquired this book by owl order about two years ago, and it had helped them a lot in the course of their endeavours to teach themselves one of the most difficult spells in existence.  
  
"Here it is," he said, handing the book, the Invisibility Cloak and his wand to Remus.  
  
"You hold that, Moony, and now watch. Ready, Sirius?"  
  
"Yup."  
  
Sirius laid his wand and the Marauder's Map on the dusty bed and took a deep breath, as though preparing for a dive. Then he and James both muttered something under their breath, and they began to change.  
  
Remus and Peter watched breathlessly. James's head was changing shape. Sirius seemed to be sprouting black fur. Then James suddenly bent forward. His spine was transforming. Meanwhile, Sirius dropped to all fours.  
  
"Oh my .!" Peter cried.  
  
"They've never got this far before," Remus whispered in awe.  
  
Suddenly a kind of panic seized him. So far it had all been very amusing, planning and scheming, thinking what it would be like if his friends became animagi. But so far they had only ever been able to change bits of themselves, leaving the rest intact. Seeing them now, so totally transformed, made Remus feel ill and very much afraid. What if they couldn't change back? If they stayed like that forever? It would all be his fault. He stared in mingled wonder and concern while their transformation was completed.  
  
In the middle of the room stood a huge, shaggy black dog and a magnificent stag, its antlers held high. The stag trotted towards him and looked up into his eyes. Remus held out a shaking hand and touched its proud head. The stag lowered its antlers, turned around, and suddenly changed in a twinkling back into James Potter. The dog looked up at him, and a second later Sirius Black stood in its place. Remus stared at them both in amazement.  
  
"Don't look so startled, Moony," Sirius said.  
  
"Y-you did it!" Peter exclaimed.  
  
The others looked at one another and laughed.  
  
"We did it all right," said James. "Now all we have to do is get you to do it, and we're away. Watch this ."  
  
And he changed once again into the elegant stag, this time hardly moving his lips to say his spell. He made a mock charge at Remus, who laughed, relieved that it had gone so well after all.  
  
"Watch those prongs!" he called.  
  
James materialised once more.  
  
"That's it," he said, "You've got it, Moony. I was thinking we all need a kind of nickname, to put on our map. I shall be Mr. Prongs."  
  
He bowed low.  
  
"Sirius here can be Padfoot. How's that, Sirius?"  
  
"Padfoot?"  
  
Sirius considered it for a moment.  
  
"Okay then. Now Peter, what about you? Come on, try it. We've got to know what to call you in future."  
  
Elated by his friends' success, Peter Pettigrew stepped into the middle of the room, mumbled the words to himself and actually transformed on the spot, to his own amazement as much as to everyone else's. When the grey rat hat changed back, Sirius said,  
  
"Great, now we know what to call you. I hereby name you Wormtail."  
  
And with that he picked up the Marauder's Map and Remus's special quill, and added a few lines above where James had written in their first year at Hogwarts. He stood back and surveyed the result happily. The he showed it to the others.  
  
"Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs  
  
Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers  
  
are proud to present  
  
The Marauder's Map."  
  
"I like the wording," James said approvingly. "People, I've got a feeling this year is going to be great fun." 


	9. Part 9: Chaser

Prequel, Part 9: Chaser  
  
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1 - Magical Mischief-Makers  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------------------  
  
James Potter checked his watch.  
  
"It's nearly time, Moony," he said.  
  
They were all sitting together in the otherwise deserted Gryffindor common room. Remus looked up from a thick book on ancient runes.  
  
"Okay," he sighed, "I'd better go and find Madam Pomfrey then."  
  
He closed his book and, laying it aside, went towards the portrait hole.  
  
"Hey, Remus," Sirius called when he was halfway through, "See you later."  
  
Remus smiled. Yes, he would see them later. This would be the first full moon where he was not alone.  
  
He walked down to the whomping willow with Madam Pomfrey, feeling considerably less miserable than he normally did. The nurse prodded the trunk with a long stick and the willow froze.  
  
"In you go then, dear," Madam Pomfrey said, looking sorry for him.  
  
"Good night," said Remus.  
  
He continued alone into the passage, leading away from the castle towards the village of Hogsmeade. A few moments later, he came out in the Shrieking Shack. He pulled up one of the few chairs that were still intact and sat down. The waiting was often the worst part. He would sit here, wishing he at least had a book to read, and knowing that it would be no use, because he would tear it up as soon as the full moon came out.  
  
But today he did not have to wait very long alone. Madam Pomfrey had barely been gone ten minutes when there was a scuffling noise by the door, and it opened a fraction to let in a grey rat that hurried over to Remus's side.  
  
Remus got to his feet just as the door opened wider and a shaggy black dog entered, followed by a tall stag.  
  
"You shouldn't be here yet," he said, worried. "You should have waited until you knew I'd transformed."  
  
"Sorry," James replied, materialising in human form to Remus's utter horror, "We were impatient. We thought we'd keep you company."  
  
Remus was shaking his head desperately.  
  
"No, James, don't you understand? It's going to be difficult enough when I have transformed, but while I actually do . You can't imagine what it's like, James. It's not just the pain, it's ."  
  
He broke off as the first moonlight shimmered through a crack in the wood. Sirius's shackles were rising. Peter had withdrawn into a hidden corner. James stood rooted to the spot, watching, while Remus's back stiffened and he lurched forward, grabbing the back of the chair. His fingers were becoming hard and bony, turning into long claws. The colour left James's face.  
  
"Remus," he muttered, taking a step towards him.  
  
"Don't!" Remus cried with a final effort, backing away. "Go! Now, James!"  
  
His shoulders humped and he cried out in agony. His face lengthened, fur began to creep over his whole body, and he gave a long, painful howl. He turned, and his claws slashed the wooden boards covering one of the windows. A rain of splinters came down on him, and he howled again. His claws ripped at his own flesh, and James watched in terror as blood gushed from the self-inflicted wound. And then the thing that his friend had become turned to face him.  
  
In a flash, James remembered his dream of long ago. He had been running both from and towards something big and terrifying, but at the same time weak and helpless. He knew that was what he was looking at now. He knew that, though Remus would never wish to harm him, he was not safe.  
  
Even as these thoughts crossed his mind, the werewolf prepared to leap on him. But then something large and black shot past James and flung itself at the werewolf. James, coming out of his momentary stupor, realised what he must do. While Sirius and Remus lay locked together, rolling on the floor, he quickly transformed back into a stag and joined the fray.  
  
It was several minutes of snapping, biting and prodding with his horns later that he and Sirius finally had the werewolf under control. It cowered in a corner of the room looking forlorn, and at last James was able to approach safely and bow his wise stag's head towards it. The werewolf avoided his gaze at first, but then it looked up into the stag's eyes, and it seemed to James that suddenly something softened within the mind of the beast, as though his friend's spirit was struggling to assert itself. The werewolf stopped trembling. It raised itself off the ground and paced the floor. Then it threw back its head and howled, but this time it was a different kind of sound. It sounded free and almost contented.  
  
Deeming it safe to come out now, Peter scuttled back into the room. Sirius was licking a wound to his front forepaw. James pranced towards the door and nudged it open. He motioned the others to follow him. Peter hurried out ahead of the others. Sirius followed close behind. James stood in the doorway, looking back at the werewolf. He inclined his head, nodding towards the door. The werewolf looked hesitant. James nodded his magnificent head slowly, and at last his friend approached and went out along the tunnel with the others. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------------------  
  
2 - Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------------------  
  
It was a cold evening and the Gryffindor common room was crowded. Remus sat in a high-backed chair in the corner, holding a book up to his face and pretending to be reading, when in fact he was going through one of his usual self-accusing phases. He couldn't deny that his last transformations hadn't been as bad as the ones he had had before. Ever since James and Sirius had learnt how to control him, he himself had proved able to fight against the beast inside him, and to remain relatively sane and 'human'.  
  
They had used the nights of his transformations to fully explore the Hogwarts grounds and the village of Hogsmeade, sometimes straying dangerously near the houses. Thus they had added many more secret passages in and out of the grounds to their map, seeking the entrances to those that ended in the village and learning the layout of the castle better than even Dumbledore himself knew it.  
  
Yet Remus felt guilty every time, knowing that he was betraying the trust placed in him by Dumbledore, the other teachers and not least his own parents. No matter how he looked at it, there was always a risk that he would give the others the slip one night and hurt someone. And that was the last thing he wanted to do. Still he could not wholly convince himself to stop. He had tried to, he had even spoken to the others about it, but they had told him not to worry so much, that he was entitled to some fun as much as anyone else and that they couldn't possibly enjoy their night-time escapades as much without him.  
  
And so Remus continued to roam the grounds with his friends under the full moon, and he couldn't even deny that he enjoyed it. But that didn't alter the fact that he felt guilty, and right now he was in a glum mood, even though he was healthier than he had been in a long while. It seemed the presence of his friends not only allowed him to keep his mind, but also strengthened his very body, so that the transformations ceased to take such a terrible toll on him.  
  
"And what are you brooding about?" a voice said just beside him.  
  
He looked up with a start to see James standing by his elbow.  
  
"I'm not brooding," he lied. "I was reading."  
  
"What? Reading the same page for ten minutes, you mean?"  
  
James sat down in the chair next to him and looked around the common room.  
  
"You've been telling yourself that it's wrong to go out with us at night, haven't you?"  
  
Remus frowned. There was never any point in trying to hide what he felt from James. The trouble was that James was too understanding. More than any of his other friends, he always seemed to know what was troubling Remus, and that could sometimes be very awkward, because James also never kept this knowledge to himself. Right now, however, Remus didn't feel like talking about it, so he changed the subject.  
  
"How did the Quidditch training go?" he asked.  
  
James's brow furrowed. He had been longing for the Quidditch season to begin. Now that it had, he was feeling the familiar thrill of anticipation as well as nervousness before the first game.  
  
"I don't know," he said. "Ravenclaw are going to be a tough struggle tomorrow. They've put together a strong side."  
  
"They can't beat the best chaser Hogwarts has ever seen, though," Remus assured him.  
  
--------------------------------  
  
The next day, James said goodbye to his friends before entering the changing rooms.  
  
"Don't worry," Remus said, "You'll do fine."  
  
"Yeah - don't you dare let us down," Sirius joked.  
  
"Good luck, James," said Peter.  
  
James nodded tightly and walked away to join the rest of his team.  
  
"Come on," said Sirius eagerly, "Let's go and find ourselves some good seats."  
  
They made for the tall stands, Sirius chatting, Peter listening and Remus tagging behind, allowing his thoughts to dwell on other matters, going back to his doubts of the night before. It just wasn't safe.  
  
Remus was so deep in thought that he collided suddenly with a student hurrying the other way.  
  
"Oh, sorry," a timid voice said.  
  
Remus looked down. There stood one of the first year Ravenclaws, a petite girl with pale skin and brown curly hair. He remembered having seen her being sorted at the beginning of the school year.  
  
"No," he said frankly, "It was my fault, sorry. I should look where I'm going."  
  
The girl muttered something incoherently. She looked up, blushing, and suddenly Remus found himself staring into a pair of clear, sky-blue eyes. For a minute, he didn't know what to say. Then another girl called,  
  
"Heather! Heather, we're over here!"  
  
"Excuse me," Heather mumbled shyly.  
  
She took to her heels and ran to join the other girls, but when she reached them she looked back briefly. Remus just stood there, until he heard his own name being called. Sirius and Peter were waving at him to come and join them. He made his way slowly to the stands.  
  
James marched out onto the pitch with the others, his faithful broom tucked under his arm. The captains shook hands and both teams rose high into the air on their broomsticks. James looked around the stadium. He could see Professor McGonagall with a Gryffindor scarf tied around the collar of her robes, and Professor Flitwick waving a Ravenclaw flag. He searched the rows of students and spotted Lily Evans waving together with the other Gryffindor girls. A bit further on sat Sirius, Remus and Peter, all waving with both hands and giving him thumbs-ups.  
  
Far below on the ground, Professor Quagmire blew his whistle and released the four balls. James briefly caught sight of the golden snitch before it disappeared, almost as soon as it had been set free. He concentrated on the centre of the pitch, relying on the beaters and ignoring the bludgers. The annual Quidditch tournament had only just begun, which meant that there was no need yet for the seekers to play for points. The sooner either of them could catch the snitch, the better. Meanwhile, it was the job of the chasers to simply score as many goals as they could. Across the pitch, just above the Ravenclaw goalposts, James caught sight of Mary Crimple, their seeker, closely followed by the Gryffindor seeker Donald Gills.  
  
"Gryffindor in possession!" cried Hufflepuff sixth-year Michael Hornby, who was commentating.  
  
James snatched the quaffle out of the air and sped away to the sound of loud cheering from the stands and Michael's voice shouting,  
  
"James Potter is flying like a cannonball, the Ravenclaw chasers don't stand a chance of catching up with him - no, hang on - ouch, that must have hurt!"  
  
From James's point of view, it looked like all the other players around him were performing upside-down broom ballets. The bludger had caught him right in the stomach, but he hung on to his broom and brought himself upright once more to the sound of the bad news:  
  
"Tom Royle's got the quaffle, and he's racing towards the Gryffindor goalposts. He dodges a bludger - no, two - he's zooming straight for the target, he's released the quaffle - "  
  
A roar went up from the crowd.  
  
"Brilliant save by the Gryffindor keeper!" Michael Hornby commented.  
  
James grinned. There was no beating Colin, he was a marvellous keeper.  
  
He looked across the pitch towards the goalposts, and then he saw Donald Gills zooming after a glimmer of gold circling around the right-hand goalpost, then darting away towards the stands . Mary Crimple had seen it too, and as luck would have it, she was nearer that end at the moment.  
  
James turned his attention back to the quaffle, while the Gryffindor crowd watched with baited breath as Donald Gills flattened himself against his broom and urged it forward, using all the speed he could muster to reach the snitch before Mary did, but there was no denying she was fast. There was no way he could beat her to it. So instead he swerved. The crowd gasped, wondering what he was up to. Donald charged straight at Mary, daring her to stay on course or avoid him, forfeiting her chance to catch the snitch.  
  
She was keeping her broom steady, seemingly taking no notice of him. Donald was almost level with her, any second now he would have to loop back or crash into her - then, just at the last moment, Mary dived out of his way. Donald performed a spectacular loop and returned the right way up, scanning the air with his eyes to find the elusive snitch again, but it was gone. A sigh of disappointment went through the Gryffindor crowd, and suddenly the chasers became the focus of attention once more.  
  
James caught the quaffle after an excellent pass from his team mate and tuned back in to Michael's commentary while he raced through the air, dodging a bludger here and a Ravenclaw chaser there and making straight for the goalposts.  
  
"And it's Potter for Gryffindor," Michael Hornby commentated. "He passes the quaffle to Botch, the Ravenclaw beater aims a bludger at her - whew, it missed her by an inch! She throws it back to Potter, he's going for the goal now, he's going to score - no! Ross saves and throws the quaffle back to Royle. He's really going for it now, he's got a clear shot - no he hasn't, a bludger comes spinning his way! Ow! Royle takes a bludger on the head, but the quaffle's still flying, flying . It's in!"  
  
The Ravenclaw crowd cheered. A groan went up from the Gryffindor end and James whacked his broom angrily. Amid all the turmoil, James suddenly heard a noise close by. It was quiet, barely audible at all. Like the fluttering of a wings.  
  
Wings? He turned his head, and even as Mary Crimple came speeding towards him, he saw the snitch floating just behind his shoulder. He swung out of the way quickly and was struck hard on the arm by the same bludger that had caught Royle a moment before. James heard a loud cracking noise and pain shot up into his shoulder. A murmur of shock and concern went through the Gryffindor seats.  
  
The game continued, but the knock had hurt James's arm badly and he was finding it difficult to stay on his broom, let alone catch the quaffle.  
  
Meanwhile, Donald had turned his broom around with lightning speed. The snitch was racing downwards, towards Mary's end, and Donald sped after it. He crawled forward along the broomstick, holding on with his legs and stretching both arms forward. Mary Crimple, coming from the opposite direction, was doing the same. The small-built Donald threw what weight he had forward, and even as the broom hovered no more than a few feet above the ground, he jumped off it and landed with a thud, the fluttering snitch caught between his fingers.  
  
James heard the whistle blow and sighed with relief. His arm was hurting badly, and he immediately turned his broom around and towards the ground. Suddenly he froze. Mary Crimple was trying, too late, to pull out of her dive. Her broom's handle collided with the ground and snapped. She pulled it back upwards, but though it obeyed her command, it was jerking and gradually spinning out of control. A rumble of gasps and mutters went through the crowd. James looked around. All the other players were floating far above his head. He had only seconds in which to act. Wrapping his good arm around the front of his broom, James chased down towards Mary at top speed, lying completely flat on his broom. The Ravenclaw seeker was hanging on with both hands, but the jerking of her broom was almost unseating her.  
  
Overhead, the other players had noticed what was happening and were heading towards them, but they were still too far away. James spurred his broom on and drew level with Mary's. It was acting like a rodeo horse, as though trying wantonly to throw her off. James tried to get closer, but nearly got knocked off his own broom. So instead, gripping his broom firmly with his uninjured right hand, he painfully held out his left.  
  
"Mary!" he shouted. "Take my hand!"  
  
"I can't!" she screamed. "If I let go I'll fall!"  
  
"No, you won't. Just hold on to my arm. Come on!"  
  
He leaned over as far as he dared. Trembling, Mary let go of her broom with one hand. It gave a violent jerk and she slipped off, screaming. James felt a hard tug on his already aching left arm and heard another snapping noise. Again, pain shot up through his shoulder, but his fingers clung desperately to Mary's wrist. She was dangling from his arm, which felt as though it were in a vice. James's face contorted with pain, but still he held on. He had to get down to the ground.  
  
"Pull yourself up onto the broom," James said through gritted teeth. "I can't lift you - my arm ."  
  
Still shaking with fright and trying not to look down, Mary pulled herself up James's arm and swung her leg over the broom behind him. She put her arms around his middle. Steering with one hand, James turned them around and inclined the broom downwards.  
  
They landed rather sooner than usual, the added weight causing the broom to descend faster. James rolled onto the ground and lay there. He opened his eyes, which had lost their focus with the strain, and could just make out figures moving their way. A moment later, Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall were looking down at him, and then he heard Remus and Sirius's voices as they pushed their way through the crowd.  
  
"Excuse me."  
  
"Mind out the way, can't you?"  
  
The next minute they were both kneeling beside him, and behind them stood Peter, looking shell-shocked. Professor McGonagall was now also bending over him. Her hands examined his wounded arm.  
  
"It seems to me you have dislocated your shoulder, as well as broken a bone, Mr. Potter," she said at last. "We had better get you to the hospital wing."  
  
James nodded, and Sirius and Remus helped him to his feet. Dumbledore led the way, and the crowd parted. As he passed the other students, James heard a lot of awed whispering and gasping and girlish giggling.  
  
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3 - Girls  
  
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Madam Pomfrey had set his shoulder back in order and mended the break, and all that now remained was a slight throbbing, a dull echo of the pain James had felt before. He was under orders to spend the night in the hospital wing, mainly in order to recover from the shock, and it was surprising how many people had been to visit in the short time he had been here. Sirius, Remus and Peter had hardly left his side, but their enjoyable company had been constantly interrupted.  
  
First the Gryffindor team had come to congratulate their seeker on his spectacular catching of the snitch. Then Mary Crimple had come - accompanied by a gang of extremely giggly Ravenclaw girls - to thank him for rescuing her. After that, the whole Ravenclaw team had appeared to express their thanks. These had been followed by several other groups of students, most of them girls, whom James was hardly aware of ever having seen before, all giggling and blushing and some even asking for his autograph. This was too much for Sirius, who burst out laughing when the last group of girls - a delegation of second-year Hufflepuffs, it seemed - had left.  
  
"What's so funny?" asked James testily, feeling quite exhausted.  
  
"You've got a fan club," Remus said, smiling.  
  
"Oooh, James, do you think I could have your autograph," Sirius said, putting on a high squeaky voice.  
  
"Shut up!" James complained. "If I'd known what would come of it, I'd have left Mary to fall off her broom - or let someone else catch her."  
  
Sirius was shaking his head.  
  
"Heroes don't let damsels in distress fall from broomsticks. You'd better watch it though, mate - she'll be expecting you to marry her next."  
  
James glared at him. The last thing he needed was for rumours about him and Mary to start spreading.  
  
"That's enough now," Madam Pomfrey interrupted. "You should get some sleep. Come on, out you go, boys."  
  
And with that, she firmly led Sirius, Remus and Peter from the room. James waved to them, but he couldn't pretend he wasn't glad of a bit of peace and quiet. He closed his eyes, and drifted off at once into a disturbed sleep.  
  
He was on his broomstick, flying over the Forbidden Forest at night. There was a full moon, and far below he could see his friends - dog, werewolf and rat - running across the grounds. James looked up at the moon, and wondered vaguely why it had a pair of fluttering wings. Then he realised it was the snitch, and he looked around for Donald. But there was no sign of him. James frowned. Where was the seeker? Oh well, there was nothing for it, he would have to catch the snitch himself. He raced towards it on his broom, but suddenly the broom refused to go any further.  
  
And then another broom appeared, a broom that was jerking and swaying from side to side. A girl was sitting on it, clinging on for dear life. It must be Mary Crimple. James tried to urge his broom towards her, but it wouldn't move. Her broom was growing ever fiercer, she would be thrown off any minute now. James watched helplessly, and then the girl turned her head. It wasn't Mary at all. Under a black starless sky, James found himself looking into the greenest eyes he had ever seen. They were drawing him in, deeper, deeper. He felt a rising panic. Something was wrong, terribly, fatally wrong. He sensed a bottomless malice close by. There was a flash of bright, blinding green light and then he heard a woman's voice scream his name.  
  
James opened his eyes with a start and listened, but all he could hear was the hooting of an owl somewhere in the forest. Through the window he could see a crescent moon, and stars twinkling brightly. He ran his hand across his forehead, and discovered that he was soaked in sweat. He lay back on his pillow, trying to calm his nerves. Then he thought he heard a sound. He pricked up his ears and held his breath. There it was again. A slow, hesitant footstep. He sat up and peered across the hospital wing, in the direction of the door, and his heart leapt. In the shadows, hidden from the light of the moon, stood a figure standing completely still.  
  
"Hello?" James called quietly, finding his voice. "Who is it?"  
  
The figure moved suddenly, darting towards the door and disappearing. James jumped out of bed and followed, but by the time he looked out into the hallway, it was deserted but for Mrs. Norris, the caretaker's scrawny, mean- eyed cat. 


	10. Part 10: The Prediction

Prequel, Part 10: The Prediction  
  
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1 - End of Term  
  
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James seemed to be pursued by what Sirius called the 'PPFC' (the Potty Potter Fan Club) - consisting mostly of a very giggly gang of girls led by Mary Crimple - for the rest of the school year.  
  
He was almost glad when, after the longest months he had ever known at Hogwarts, the day of the leaving feast was finally there. Sirius, James, Peter and Remus hurried down the stairs in the direction of the Great Hall. They were eager for a feast of delicious dishes washed down with pumpkin juice, with entertainment provided by the house ghosts and a lot of hilarity owing to the start of the holidays tomorrow.  
  
James jumped the last couple of steps and waited for his friends at the bottom. He turned to continue into the Hall, and in so doing collided with something wrapped in dark, glittering robes. Looking up, he found himself face to face with the gigantic spectacles of Professor Sybill Trelawney.  
  
"Oh, sorry," he mumbled.  
  
"That is quite all right, my dear," the young Divination teacher began in her unearthly voice. "I knew you were going to run into me tonight, but one doesn't like always to avoid these encounters simply because one can."  
  
Her eyes peered so deeply into James's that it made him feel uncomfortable. All around him, teachers and students alike had stopped in their tracks and were staring his way.  
  
"Yes, well . sorry anyway," he mumbled.  
  
Professor Trelawney shifted almost like a ghost and walked towards the door into the Great Hall, where Professor McGonagall was waiting impatiently.  
  
"Really, Sybill," James heard her say quietly, "Must you always make such an exhibition? Now what?" she added, and James turned his head to see what was happening.  
  
Professor Trelawney was staring in Professor McGonagall's direction, but seemed to be looking through her. Then she turned right around again and faced the entrance hall, packed with students. Her eyes were glazed. She stood there like that for a long time without moving.  
  
"What's she up to?" Sirius whispered to James.  
  
"I don't know," James answered. "I think we'd best just ignore her. She seems ."  
  
"Death!" Professor Trelawney shrieked suddenly.  
  
A hush fell on all the students in the entrance hall, and even Professor McGonagall's face lost its scorn. Professor Trelawney seemed to go rigid all of a sudden, and her eyes focused for a moment on James. They weren't empty and vacant as usual, but so cold and hard as they fixed him that he felt as though someone had driven a spear of ice into him. He involuntarily took a frightened step backwards. Professor Trelawney spoke again, and when she did her voice was very different, as though it wasn't really her speaking, but a deep and cold voice, hollow as though it were speaking from the grave.  
  
"Darkness. Evil is coming. A power arises that is greater than any. It is littering the world with its seed. The spark has been kindled, and soon a flame will spring up and engulf us all. No force on earth can stop it. No force but one."  
  
James shivered under her cold stare, but then Professor Trelawney's eyes glazed over again. She began turning in circles, her arms spread wide, palms upwards.  
  
"Where are you, Gryffindor?" the strange voice said in a barely audible whisper as cold as the morning frost, "Where are you in our time of need? Reveal yourself, for on you alone rests the charge of defeating the Dark Lord. You alone can stem the tide of evil. You alone can save us."  
  
She stopped, and her arms dropped to her side. She began walking towards the door, and her gait was quite normal, for her standards anyway.  
  
"Sybill .," Professor McGonagall said, starting towards her.  
  
"Yes, Minerva?" Professor Trelawney replied in her familiar chanting voice.  
  
"What was all that about?" McGonagall hissed.  
  
"What was what about?" she asked innocently.  
  
Professor McGonagall shook her head in disbelief. The Divination teacher seemed totally oblivious to what had been going on. James stood watching her while she entered the Great Hall.  
  
"Come on," Sirius said in his ear, looking around at the inquisitive faces of the other students, "Let's go in, shall we?"  
  
James allowed his friends to lead him into the Great Hall, but he had lost all enthusiasm for the feast. Somehow he felt that Professor Trelawney - famous for making up predictions she could fulfil herself as it suited her - had at least one real vision on her record now. He wondered what it meant, and why she had stared so intently at him when she had spoken of the growing evil. All through dinner, it was all he could think of. Surely, she hadn't meant that he was somehow connected to the dark power? What had she said to him?  
  
"Death. Darkness. Evil is coming. A power arises . No force on earth can stop it," she had said. And then,  
  
"Where are you, Gryffindor? . on you alone rests the charge of defeating the Dark Lord."  
  
What Dark Lord was she speaking about? The feast was followed by another sleepless night for James, and the next morning he decided he had to do something, if no more than to speak to someone about it. He needed the advice of someone who might understand the words of the prediction.  
  
He thought of waiting until later and talking to his mother, but he wasn't sure if she would be able to help.  
  
Professor McGonagall, perhaps? She was their house teacher, but still . No. James decided there was only one person he could discuss this with.  
  
-----------------------------  
  
James Potter was not the only one deeply intrigued by Professor Trelawney's words. In the Slytherin common room, Severus Snape sat up after midnight, still fully dressed and wearing an even deeper frown than usual. Like James, he was convinced that Professor Trelawney's prediction had, for once, been genuine. But, unlike James, he knew the power no force on earth could stop . no force but one. She had implied that, somehow, Gryffindor would return and defeat the Dark Lord.  
  
This part of the prediction worried Severus. On the one hand, he couldn't imagine that anyone or anything could stop the Lord, but on the other, the prediction had rung all too true to be invented.  
  
He thought hard. From what he had heard, he gathered that Gryffindor's last living heir still bore that name. Could Professor Trelawney have meant him? But he was by now an old wizard long past his prime, a hermit who rarely ventured out of his home. What threat could he be?  
  
Still frowning and trying to find the solution to the problem, Severus took out a piece of parchment, fetched his quill and ink pot, and began to write a letter.  
  
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2 - Words of Advice  
  
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James approached the stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to Dumbledore's office cautiously. He had risen early and slipped away before any of his friends were awake. Today was the day they got on the Hogwarts Express and went home, but he felt that he had to at least make a start on this mystery before he left. In his hand he held the Marauder's Map. It showed the hidden staircase to the headmaster's office, and also the circular room beyond and Dumbledore in it, sitting at his desk. Mrs. Norris, James noticed, was prowling around the entrance hall. He waved his wand across the map and said quietly,  
  
"Mischief managed."  
  
At once, the map wiped itself clean. James stored it in his pocket. He turned to the gargoyle and said,  
  
"Pepper imp."  
  
He grinned as the gargoyle moved aside and the moving spiral staircase appeared. Being called up to the headmaster's office frequently for such offences as putting toppling charms on other people's cauldrons and jinxing Slytherins did have the advantage of keeping him up-to-date on Dumbledore's passwords. James stepped onto the stairs and let them carry him up to the headmaster's door. He cleared his throat and knocked.  
  
"Come in," said Dumbledore's voice, muffled by the door between them.  
  
James entered and looked around him. No matter how often he came here, this circular room was still the most fascinating in all of Hogwarts to him. All around the walls, past headmasters and headmistresses of Hogwarts sat attending to their morning toilet, some waving merrily at him, others ducking hastily out of sight. And behind the desk sat the present headmaster, Albus Dumbledore himself, looking at James over the rim of his half-moon glasses, apparently not the least bit surprised to see him there.  
  
"Good morning, James," he said. "Have some tea?"  
  
"Good morning, sir. No, thank you," James replied.  
  
He stood there feeling awkward. Now that it had come to it, he didn't quite know how to begin. Dumbledore assisted him by saying,  
  
"Professor McGonagall tells me you had a very interesting encounter with Professor Trelawney last night. I presume that is what brings you here?"  
  
"Yes," James said gratefully. "She said some very strange things."  
  
"That is hardly unusual," Dumbledore remarked.  
  
"No . I mean ." James looked anxious, but Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled.  
  
"I understand this time was rather different from her usual ramblings," he said. "From what I hear, it seems more than likely that she actually made a true prediction - her first ever."  
  
"It certainly felt very real. I don't think she was . well . putting it on."  
  
"No," the headmaster agreed gravely, "I don't think so either."  
  
"The things she said though - about the rise of a 'Dark Lord', an evil tide or something. They got me thinking. I know she didn't seem to know who she was talking to most of the time, but she fixed me with her eyes at that point, and I felt . I felt like she meant me. But that can't be true, can it? I mean, I can't have anything to do with the evil power, can I?"  
  
Dumbledore's eyes seemed to delve deep into his mind.  
  
"Do you have reason to believe you might?"  
  
"No. That is ."  
  
James thought back.  
  
"In my first year, the Sorting Hat took a long time to decide where to put me. It said something about my father. I know it chose in the end to put me in Gryffindor, but what it had said worried me at the time. It said it would put me in Gryffindor to 'give me a chance'. I stopped thinking about it after a while. I thought the Hat wouldn't have put me in Gryffindor if I really didn't belong there. But now with this happening, I wonder whether it wasn't wrong after all. Could the evil that Professor Trelawney spoke about be connected with me?"  
  
"I think," Dumbledore began slowly, "that Professor Trelawney's prediction may be very closely connected to you."  
  
James paled. He started to say something, but Dumbledore raised a hand to silence him.  
  
"You misunderstand me, James. I do not believe that you have anything to do with the dark power. I have been aware of its presence for some time, and I believe I know who is at the bottom of it."  
  
"Who?" James asked anxiously.  
  
Dumbledore eyed him thoughtfully. At last he said,  
  
"Someone I once knew. A former student of this school."  
  
James swallowed hard.  
  
"You don't mean my . my father?"  
  
Dumbledore smiled.  
  
"No, James. But someone your father was rather close to. Someone who influenced him greatly, both at school and in later years."  
  
James frowned and sighed.  
  
"I don't really know anything about my father."  
  
"No. That is because, all your life, your mother has done everything in her power to protect you from him, and more still from the person he most admired and whom, I believe, he still serves.  
  
It is that person whom I suspect of being the moving force behind things that have been happening. The Ministry has chosen to deny that there are evil doings afoot, but that doesn't mean they don't exist. He has been gaining influence for a couple of years now, and soon even the Ministry will have to acknowledge that something must be done about it. It will no longer be possible to hide the truth from the world, or for the world to hide from the truth.  
  
But hopefully, it will be possible to hide you from the evil power that is growing for a while longer. For I do believe that part of the prediction may have been addressed to you, and that you have an important part to play yet."  
  
He paused, and studied James for a long time. Finally he went on,  
  
"Do you know the story of Godric Gryffindor, James?"  
  
"No," James admitted. "I expect it's in Hogwarts - A History, isn't it? Why, is it important?"  
  
"I think it could not hurt for you to learn it."  
  
"Then couldn't you tell me about it?"  
  
Dumbledore smiled.  
  
"I could. But I think I have given you enough to think about today already. I suggest you consult your friends, for you may yet need them in times to come. I believe, also, that your friend Remus will be able to tell you all you want to know about Godric Gryffindor."  
  
"Moony?" James used his friend's nickname by accident, so surprised was he to hear Dumbledore speak his name.  
  
The headmaster watched his face.  
  
"Ah, so I see you know about your friend's difficulty," he said slowly. "I am glad."  
  
"Yes sir."  
  
James felt awkward. He sincerely hoped Dumbledore wouldn't discover what they had done about it. But he said nothing more on the subject. Instead, he went on,  
  
"Remus is the only boy I know who had read Hogwarts - A History before he ever came here, and probably one of the few students who ever will read it. I'm sure he will be able to help you."  
  
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3 - The Journey Home  
  
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The Hogwarts Express was chugging along. Remus sat with his nose buried in a heavy book, Peter was munching a sandwich and Sirius had yawned about a dozen times in the past fifteen minutes. James was staring out of the window, watching the countryside go by. At last he turned round.  
  
"Moony," he said, "Look, I know this is going to sound odd, but . I was wondering . What do you know about Godric Gryffindor?"  
  
Remus, surprised, looked up from his book.  
  
"Gryffindor? What do you want to know about him for?" Sirius asked.  
  
"Well, you remember Professor Trelawney's prediction?" James replied.  
  
"Yes. But look here, James, you're not saying you take her seriously? She's completely batty," Sirius said.  
  
Remus was still watching James's face.  
  
"You think what she said was true?" he asked.  
  
"I think it might be," said James. "And Dumbledore thinks so too."  
  
"D-Dumbledore?" Peter stammered. "You went to see Dumbledore?"  
  
"Yes. And he told me to ask Moony about Gryffindor."  
  
James turned his face to Remus, who laid his book aside.  
  
"How much do you want to know?"  
  
James sighed.  
  
"I don't know. Anything might be important. You'd better start at the beginning."  
  
"Well," Remus began slowly, "No one really knows where Godric Gryffindor came from. The earliest account states that he was a blacksmith's apprentice in a place called Pine Hollow - its name was later changed to Godric's Hollow. He wasn't content with being a blacksmith, though, and at night, he secretly forged himself a magic sword and armour of his own.  
  
According to legend, Pine Hollow was a dangerous place in those days - there were lots of robbers and evil goblins about. The people were too frightened to stand up to them. The only one who would was a 'mysterious black knight' who appeared at night and raided the robbers' camps. He drove the goblins away and made Pine Hollow a safer place.  
  
Then a dragon came to Pine Hollow. It's said he set fire to several of the houses and made off with the farmers' sheep and cattle. No one fought him, so he kept coming back. One day, the dragon supposedly attacked the nearby stronghold, where the lord of the region lived, and kidnapped the lord's daughter.  
  
A reward was put out for the man who rescued her."  
  
"Let me guess," Sirius interrupted. "He said the man who rescued his daughter could marry her and be rich to the end of his days, right?"  
  
"Got it in one," Remus replied with a smile.  
  
"So Gryffindor rescued the girl and married her - and then what?" James asked.  
  
Remus went on.  
  
"He rescued her and married her, and the lord had a golden suit of armour and a new sword forged for him. A large ruby was set in its hilt, and Godric Gryffindor's name was engraved on it. He continued to fight dragons and ruffians all over the country, and in the end he was knighted for his deeds, and given a castle to be his home - Hogwarts castle. His wife was dead by then, I think, but he had a young son.  
  
He called his friends Helga Hufflepuff and Rowena Ravenclaw to him. They wanted to found a school of witchcraft and wizardry, but they had a rival who also planned to start up a school nearby - Salazar Slytherin. Rowena Ravenclaw suggested they should all work together to found just one school. So they did. Then comes the part we all know ."  
  
James nodded. "They couldn't decide how to choose the students for their school, because they all valued different qualities. So they made four houses."  
  
"Yes," Remus confirmed. "And Helga, Rowena and Godric were satisfied. But Slytherin wanted more. He began teaching the students the use of Dark spells and the Unforgivable Curses. He fell out with the other three, and finally left. But before he went, he added a chamber to the castle that only he could open. None of the others knew where it was. The Chamber of Secrets.  
  
They say a deadly monster slept in the Chamber, and that it would awake one day and spread horror and death. But time went by and nothing happened, so people started thinking it was all just a legend, and the other three founders went on as usual.  
  
And then, about thirty years later, Slytherin came back. He wanted to open the Chamber of Secrets. His plan was to set the monster free and let it kill all the students and teachers that weren't pure blood. But Gryffindor found out, and he stopped Slytherin. He killed him with his sword, but when he was dying, Slytherin swore that one day, his true heir would return to Hogwarts and open the Chamber to finish his deed."  
  
"Gryffindor killed him?" Peter exclaimed.  
  
"What would you have done if someone wanted to kill off all the students?" Sirius pointed out. "Go on, Moony."  
  
"Well, there's not much more to tell really," Remus said. "Gryffindor left Hogwarts and hunted down Slytherin's brother and his heirs. He fought them, and he killed them - all except one. The last heir of Slytherin killed Godric Gryffindor. Gryffindor's son went looking for him, but he never found him.  
  
Supposedly, an heir of Slytherin actually did return to Hogwarts once. A girl was actually killed, I think. But they caught whoever did it and still no one's sure whether the Chamber of Secrets really exists. Still, some say Slytherin's heir will return one day and continue to work evil."  
  
"There you are then," Sirius remarked triumphantly, "I was right: Trelawney made it all up. She obviously knows this story, and she was just being a bit spookier than usual. 'Dark Lord' is probably just her melodramatic version of 'Slytherin's heir'. I really don't think there's anything to worry about, James."  
  
But James was looking thoughtful.  
  
"Dumbledore says that part of Professor Trelawney's prediction is definitely true," he said at last in a hushed voice. "He says there is something evil going on, and that he thinks he knows who's behind it. If that part of the prediction was true, why couldn't the rest be?"  
  
"B-but if it is . well, wouldn't it be wiser if we kept our noses out of it, whatever it is?" Peter suggested.  
  
His voice was trembling and he looked white as a sheet.  
  
"I don't know that we can," James whispered back. "Dumbledore seems to think that I, at least, am somehow involved or going to be involved, and he suggested that I should talk to you three, because I might need your help."  
  
Remus leaned forward confidentially.  
  
"But if all this really is true and there is a dark force growing, what can we do? And what does Gryffindor have to do with it? I mean, even his son is long dead by now. Unless she meant that there is a more recent heir of Gryffindor, and that he can stop this evil."  
  
"But who could that be?" Sirius wondered.  
  
James shrugged his shoulders.  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"Well, that at least shouldn't be too difficult to discover," Remus said hopefully. "There must be a book somewhere in the library that will tell us about Gryffindor's descendants. All we have to do is go there after the holidays and look it up."  
  
James frowned. He didn't like the idea of waiting so long before finding out more. But there was little else they could do - or that he could do, anyway. He had hardly any access to magic books at all during the holidays. Remus seemed to notice his dissatisfaction, because he said,  
  
"Look, I'll find out what I can at home. But I doubt we'll get very far without the Hogwarts library." 


	11. Part 11: Fifth Years

Prequel, Part 11: Fifth Years  
  
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1 - Back to School  
  
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At last the holidays were nearly over. Looking back, James wondered why he had been so looking forward to them in the first place. Now, he longed to go back to Hogwarts, somehow feeling that the solution to all the mystery could be found there. It was the morning of the 30th of August, and James looked across the sunlit room to the camp bed standing against the opposite wall. As though feeling his friend's eyes on him, Sirius Black turned over and, blinking in the bright light, opened his eyes and stretched.  
  
"Morning, James," he yawned. "How long have you been awake?"  
  
James turned his head to look at the clock on his cabinet.  
  
"About an hour," he said.  
  
"Crikey," Sirius exclaimed. "And you're not up yet?"  
  
"Didn't feel like getting up," James answered. "I've been thinking."  
  
"You're not on about Professor Trelawney and her so-called prediction again, are you?"  
  
James picked up a sheaf of parchment from the bedside cabinet. It was a letter written in a very neat hand.  
  
"Moony says there's definitely something going on, but he won't tell us in a letter. And he hasn't been able to find out much about Gryffindor or his descendants. You'd think there'd be a book somewhere on someone as famous as that."  
  
Sirius shrugged his shoulders lazily.  
  
"I really wouldn't worry about it," he said for the umpteenth time, "I still think the batty butterfly was making it all up."  
  
James still looked doubtful. There was a knock on the door, and his mother looked in.  
  
"Good morning, you two," she said brightly. "Ready for your breakfast?"  
  
"You bet!" Sirius replied enthusiastically, jumping out of bed.  
  
Bridget Potter withdrew to let them get washed and dressed and went into the kitchen. She opened the window wide to let some air in and set about making tea and sandwiches. There was a fluttering noise behind her, and she turned to see a large barn owl sitting on the draining board. It had a folded parchment tied to its left leg. Anxious that the neighbours might see it, Bridget hurried to relieve the bird of its burden and let it take flight, praying that no one would notice an owl flying through the middle of London in broad daylight.  
  
She unfolded the parchment, and as she did so a newspaper cutting floated out onto the floor. She picked it up. Her heart beat faster. She felt the blood drain from her face and turned her attention to the letter.  
  
James heard the kettle whistle and wondered why his mother didn't take it off the heat. He hurried into the kitchen, grabbed a tea towel and moved the boiling water quickly, turning off the gas. Turning round, he found his mother sitting on a kitchen chair holding a piece of parchment and staring at it. Her face was as white as a sheet.  
  
"Mum!" he exclaimed. "What's the matter?"  
  
There was a silence interrupted only by the sound of water running in the bathroom, where Sirius was having a shower.  
  
"Sit down," James's mother said at last, getting up to close the kitchen door.  
  
She came back and sat down on the chair next to his.  
  
"This letter," she began, "Is from Professor Dumbledore."  
  
James's mind raced. He thought immediately of Remus, and that he himself had let slip his friend's nickname before the holidays. Surely Dumbledore hadn't found out about the Marauders? But then he realised his mother was holding something else in her other hand - a newspaper cutting. Bridget Potter went on, holding up the cutting,  
  
"He sent me this, and he seems to think that you should see it too. I suppose he is right that there are certain things that, at your age, I can no longer protect you from."  
  
James took the cutting from his mother's hand and examined it. There was a moving picture of a man being led away by wizards dressed in solemn black robes. The headline read "Wizard arrested for Muggle torturing".  
  
James read the article. It was about a wizard called Vindictus Lothian, an employee of the Ministry of Magic, who had been caught in the act of torturing a young Muggle woman and child with a curse James had never even heard of - a 'Cruciatus' curse, the Daily Prophet called it - apparently just for sport. They were now to be taken to St. Mungo's, where it was hoped they could be healed.  
  
James looked up at his mother.  
  
"That's . terrible," was all he could find to say.  
  
Bridget nodded tightly.  
  
"Did . did you know the woman?" James guessed.  
  
This time, his mother shook her head.  
  
"No, not her. But I do know the man in that picture."  
  
James looked back at the photograph. The wizard that was being arrested looked to be in his late forties. He seemed quite tall, with a handsome face and untidy black hair.  
  
Bridget rose from her seat and crossed the room to look out of the window. When she finally turned her head to look at James again, he noticed that her eyes were red, her brow lined with care - she looked somehow much older than usual.  
  
"That man," she said in little more than a whisper, "Is the man I married when I was too young to know what I really wanted, or to see him for what he was. My father warned me of him, but I thought I knew better than he did, for all his years of experience. I ran away with Vindictus Lothian, and I married him. I was young, and I was a fool.  
  
I soon discovered my mistake. His friends were a bad set, already plotting certain acts against people with what they called 'bad blood', and he was no better. When I found I was pregnant, I knew there was only one thing I could do to keep you safe from him and his friends. I waited until he had gone out, and then I packed my bags and left. I didn't know where to go or what to do, but I knew I had to get away before he ever found out that you were on the way. If he had known . You wouldn't have stood a chance. He and his friends would soon have 'converted' you to their side, and I couldn't allow that to happen.  
  
I ended up here quite by chance, frightened and penniless. If it hadn't been for Mrs. Hammersmith's kindness, you and I would both have died one cold and rainy night, somewhere on a street corner in London. But she took pity on me, and she helped me get through the first few years on my own. I changed my name and left everything I ever had behind to start a new life where you would be safe. But I have known for some time now that a dark wizard has been gaining influence here and abroad, and I have long suspected who he is, and that Vindictus still supports him. And now we have evidence."  
  
James was still staring at the picture in his hand. At last he asked timidly,  
  
"Then . this man is my father?"  
  
"Yes," Bridget answered sadly. "I'm afraid he is. And I'm afraid that there will be worse news to come before this is ended. There is something evil going on, and I am pretty sure that the person behind it will not stop at a little torturing. There are far worse things he can do."  
  
James debated for a long moment before he asked the next question, the one that really intrigued him.  
  
"Who is behind it all?"  
  
Bridget studied him anxiously.  
  
"He was at school with Vindictus - your father - and your father looked up to him. His friends called him Lord Voldemort. But I don't think that's his real name. Your father used a different name for him once when he thought they were alone. I'm afraid I can't remember it, though."  
  
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2 - Platform 9 ¾  
  
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Lily stroked her long red hair back over her shoulder and took a deep breath. She was standing in front of the barrier that divided platforms 9 and 10 at King's Cross station. With a nervous look around her, she made sure there were no Muggle porters watching, then she walked straight up to the barrier - and right through it.  
  
She came out on platform 9 ¾, where the big red steam engine of the Hogwarts Express was already waiting. The platform was crowded with students and parents. Lily sighed. Her own parents had not been able to come today. There was some special performance going on at her sister Petunia's school, and though her parents would rather have come to see her off, Lily had told them to go with Petunia, who was always so unbearably jealous of her anyway. She looked around and spotted several familiar faces.  
  
Near the front of the train, just climbing up into a compartment was a surly, greasy-haired boy with a look about him that seemed to say everyone else was not good enough to breathe the same air as he did. He caught Lily's eye as he turned to say goodbye to his parents, and she quickly looked the other way.  
  
A few compartments on from this youngster - Severus Snape of Slytherin house, as Lily knew - she spotted Frank Longbottom, who smiled her way and waved. Lily smiled back. Frank was not only a bright boy, but he was also good-natured and friendly at all times, which made him very popular. With him was his best friend, Damian Diggle from Hufflepuff.  
  
A little way to her left, Lily spotted another fifth-year: a thin, weary- faced boy with scattered streaks of silver in his light brown hair. Recognising Remus Lupin, she immediately pushed her trolley in the opposite direction, towards the rear of the train, staring down at her feet and hoping he would not notice her. If he did, she would have to stop and say hello, and then his friends would turn up, and among them would be . Suddenly she came up against an obstacle. Looking up, she realised that she had collided with another trolley that was being pushed by just the person she had wanted to avoid.  
  
James Potter smiled, but it struck Lily that he looked rather different from the last time she had seen him. His face looked drawn, his hair - if possible - was untidier than usual and the eyes behind his glasses looked tired. Lily felt her cheeks flush, mumbled a hasty "Sorry" and pushed on, forcing herself not to look back. She fancied she could feel James's eyes on her back, but she went on, no longer seeing the other students around her.  
  
"Lily! Lily, over here!"  
  
She turned her head and realised that she had just walked straight past her friend, Aurora Borealis from Ravenclaw.  
  
"Rory!" she cried, hugging the other girl.  
  
Aurora hugged her back.  
  
"A sickle for your thoughts," she joked.  
  
Lily stared at her rather vacantly.  
  
"Oh, come on," Aurora laughed, her eyes twinkling. "Don't think I didn't notice you staring at James again."  
  
Lily went beetroot.  
  
"I wasn't staring at him!" she protested indignantly.  
  
Aurora just grinned and tossed her head of auburn hair.  
  
"Come on," she said, "Let's get on the train, shall we?"  
  
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3 - Complications  
  
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James waited until after the welcome feast, when he and the others sat together in a quiet corner of the common room, before he told Remus and Peter what he had already told Sirius yesterday: what his mother had said about his father and his friends. When he had finished, Remus nodded his head slowly.  
  
"I've been hearing a lot of things through the summer as well," he said. "Seems there have been a lot of strange goings-on at the Ministry. I asked my dad about it. He wouldn't tell me anything at first, but in the end he admitted they've been hushing a lot up for a couple of years now.  
  
Apparently it all began when a couple of Ministry officials started getting ideas that they were somehow better than others, because they were what they call 'pure-blood'. It all started with reasonably harmless pettiness, but it's been growing steadily worse, and spreading to higher places. There are actually several ministers now who think that anyone who's not pure- blood shouldn't be allowed to hold certain positions, and won't employ Muggle-borns or half-bloods.  
  
This Muggle torturing reported in the Daily Prophet wasn't the first, either. It looks like the right-thinking magic community has rather a problem on its hands."  
  
"But h-how did all this get started?" Peter asked.  
  
"Goodness knows," said Sirius, finally convinced that there was more to Professor Trelawney's prediction than just her battiness. "But the general opinion seems to be that there's just one moving force behind it all. One wizard who's been making pure-blood wizards think they're superior to anyone else and do more than just look down their noses at them."  
  
Slowly, Peter nodded. He said,  
  
"Like I told you all, my sister Polly got married this summer, and . well, she and her husband, Leonard Lestrange, seem to be of that opinion too. But why do people listen to that sort of talk?"  
  
"Oh, people will believe anything, if it makes them feel better," Remus said. "Look at Severus Snape, or any of the other Slytherins. They all think they're better than the rest of us anyway. If someone came along and played up to their arrogance, and suggested they should kick us all out and take over the school, I don't doubt they'd be on his side at once."  
  
"Then maybe we should just kick all the Slytherins out instead," Sirius suggested.  
  
"I only used that as an example, Sirius," Remus replied. "There won't be only Slytherins who support whoever's behind this. The question is, who is 'He', and how do we stop him?"  
  
They all instinctively looked to James, who had said nothing for the past minutes, but sat thoughtfully in the corner.  
  
"I don't know that we can," he said at last. "What I've heard and what you were saying, Moony, makes me more sure than ever that Professor Trelawney was right. There is an evil drawing closer every minute, we have enough evidence of that now. All we know about this Dark Lord is that my mother says they used to call him Lord Voldemort. But it doesn't seem likely that that's his real name. She said he was a friend of my father's when he was at school here. The Sorting Hat implied something of that sort when it was on my head four years ago."  
  
"Well, there must be a book or register somewhere that lists all the students Hogwarts has ever had," said Remus. "Now that we know your father's name, it shouldn't be too difficult to find out what year he was here, and from there all we have to do is discover who his friends were. I'll go and check the library now, if you like."  
  
"Thanks, Moony," James said, "But I'd rather go myself, if you don't mind. I need a bit of space to think."  
  
He left the common room with a heavy heart. The portrait of the fat lady swung back into place. But shortly after, the gap in the wall opened again, and another figure climbed through the hole.  
  
--------------------------  
  
James wandered aimlessly back and forth between the bookshelves in the library. He was supposed to be looking for something that would help him find out more about the Dark Lord, but his thoughts weighed too heavily on his mind. He couldn't think straight, and in any case he had no idea where to begin searching for the kind of book he wanted. He could ask the librarian, but he didn't want to let any more people know what he was up to than was absolutely necessary.  
  
With a sigh, James sank down onto a seat and, resting his elbows on the desk, he shut his eyes and hid his face in his hands, tugging with his fingers at his already untidy hair. He didn't hear quiet footsteps approach, or notice anyone looking down at him. It wasn't until he heard the creaking of the seat opposite his that he looked up. His eyes widened.  
  
Opposite him sat none other than Lily Evans. Her long red hair was tied back in a ponytail and her green eyes were watching him thoughtfully. James's frown deepened. He hardly knew how to talk to her. There had been a time when they had been almost friendly, when she had smiled when she saw him, and he had smiled back. But today at the station, she had seemed far from pleased to see him, and had hurried away. She had barely looked at him or spoken to him for ages, even before the holidays.  
  
Actually, they hadn't exchanged a single word since the day of the Ravenclaw vs. Gryffindor Quidditch match last year. While that match had seemed to make most of the other girls at the school regard him with some kind of awe bordering on hero worship, it appeared to have made Lily colder towards him, though James couldn't think why. But now Lily spoke.  
  
"Hello," she said awkwardly.  
  
Her voice was soft. James gave a meek smile in answer.  
  
"Were you . looking for something in particular?" she asked.  
  
"Nothing you can help me with," he replied a little too sharply.  
  
"Well, you'll hardly know that until you've tried me," said Lily quietly.  
  
"I don't need your help," James snapped. "Just some peace and quiet."  
  
Lily scowled.  
  
"Oh, right," she said haughtily. "Sorry I spoke. I'll just go away again then. I just thought you looked upset about something, but if you're going to be like that, don't let me bother you."  
  
She got up and stalked out. James sat for a moment, not thinking at all. It wasn't until he heard the door slam shut that he realised how unkind he had been. After all, she had only tried to be friendly. He got to his feet and went after her, but by the time James reached the door, Lily was gone.  
  
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4 - Defence Against the Dark Arts  
  
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The first lesson the next day was Defence Against the Dark Arts with the Ravenclaws. Lily took a seat in the back row with Aurora. She had been telling her friend about her meeting with James in the library.  
  
"Oh, come on, Lily," Aurora whispered while they unpacked their books, "You said yourself he seemed upset. I'm sure he didn't mean to snap at you like that."  
  
Lily gave a tired frown. She had barely slept a wink last night, and it showed in her face.  
  
"He's been behaving so differently lately. I can't think why ."  
  
"No, Lily," Aurora objected honestly, "He's not behaved differently at all, if you'd noticed. You're the one who's been different. It all started with the Quidditch match last year. Before that, you were all for him, always flashing your eyes at him ..."  
  
"I wasn't!" Lily protested.  
  
She quickly held her hand in front of her mouth. Professor Darkhardt had just entered the classroom and glanced her way. Aurora wisely waited until he looked in the other direction before she answered.  
  
"You were, you probably just don't know it was that obvious. But don't think I didn't notice you looking across at him at every opportunity. Then he goes and rescues Mary off her broom - which is no more than any other boy would have done in his place, by the way - the whole school goes nuts about him and you somehow blame him for having become the school hero over night.  
  
All the other girls, who've never looked at him before in their lives, suddenly swarm around him like flies - one of the Hufflepuffs actually pestered him until he signed her copy of 'Quidditch Through the Ages' - and you wait until you think everyone's fast asleep before you sneak off to the hospital wing."  
  
Lily blushed.  
  
"How do you know about that?" she whispered.  
  
Aurora smiled slyly and touched her temple with her right forefinger. Lily sighed.  
  
"I don't even know if he likes me or not."  
  
"I could find out for you," her friend offered.  
  
Lily looked horrified.  
  
"You mean you'd actually, well . read his mind?"  
  
Aurora shrugged.  
  
"If that's the only way I can get you to see what's good for you."  
  
Lily shook her red head vehemently.  
  
"I won't have you poking around in his mind."  
  
"I wouldn't poke. He'd never even know I was there. But okay, if you'd rather not, then you'll just have to do it the old-fashioned way. Give him another chance, Lily."  
  
"Miss Borealis, Miss Evans!" Professor Darkhardt interrupted them. "I have no doubt whatever you two are discussing must be highly fascinating. Perhaps you would like to let us all benefit from your intriguing conversation."  
  
The two girls fell silent and looked uncomfortable. The professor looked from one to the other of them.  
  
"No?" he said at last. "Well, then perhaps you'd like to turn your attention back to the subject at hand. Mr. Black just mentioned the luring charm the Dark Wizard of Hamlyn performed with his pipe. Can either of you tell us any more about that?"  
  
Aurora fingered the pages of her book. Lily looked across at her friend miserably. It was all very well for her to talk like that. She didn't feel as Lily did about James .  
  
----------------------------------  
  
James, Sirius, Remus and Peter were the last to leave the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. James was still brooding, and his friends were growing rather worried about him.  
  
"Oh, do brighten up, Prongs," Sirius whispered. "We'll find out what we need to know soon enough. Meanwhile, we ought to be having some fun. I didn't buy that special offer packet of fifty dungbombs and the exploding wands for nothing, you know. And we've got tonight to look forward to. It's a full moon, remember. Also, I've thought of something we could add to our map."  
  
James brightened up a little. Sirius was always full of ideas for anything that was against the rules.  
  
"What's that? A Peeves-repelling charm?"  
  
"Not quite," Sirius grinned. "Just a bit of fun, really. I thought we could magic it so that, if a teacher tries to read it . ouch!"  
  
A sharp nudge in the ribs from Remus interrupted him. Sirius looked round, and discovered that Professor Darkhardt had caught up with them. He eyed them all with a cold stare for a moment, then he turned to Remus.  
  
"Lupin, could I have a word?"  
  
Remus looked around anxiously at his friends, then he nodded.  
  
-----------------------------  
  
Lily and Aurora turned down a corridor to the left of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom.  
  
"I can't believe our luck," Aurora was saying cheerfully. "We were talking all through the first part of the lesson, and Darkhardt didn't even give us detention. I knew he couldn't be as evil as a lot of people seem to think."  
  
Lily didn't answer. Aurora turned her head to look at her. Her brow was furrowed and she was biting her lip, not looking where she was going. Suddenly Lily collided with someone coming the other way.  
  
"Oh, sorry," she muttered, looking up and recognising Severus Snape.  
  
He looked down at them both coldly and lifted a hand to slick back his thin black hair. His stare seemed to fix Lily, who felt an involuntary tremble.  
  
"Get out of my way," he hissed.  
  
"Hey," Aurora protested, reaching out a hand to hold him back. "She said 'sorry', there's no need to be so downright unfriendly."  
  
Severus looked down at her with a raised eyebrow.  
  
"A word of advice," he said with his typical superior air. "I suggest you show more discretion when choosing your friends. Times are coming when it would be wise for decent witches not to be seen in the company of ."  
  
He studied Lily with a sideways glance, seemingly looking for a suitable word.  
  
"People like her," he said finally, making it sound like he was referring to something slimy and disgusting.  
  
"And what is wrong with people like me?" Lily demanded, recovering some of her spirit.  
  
Severus Snape just sneered.  
  
"Get out of my way, mudblood," he whispered menacingly.  
  
"You take that back!" Aurora cried, reaching for her wand.  
  
Severus Snape reached for his at the same time.  
  
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Professor Darkhardt sat down behind his desk and fingered the scar on his left cheek, gazing thoughtfully up at Remus. Finally, he leaned forward and motioned to the boy to sit down. Remus did so, feeling rather nervous. As always when a teacher asked to speak to him, he feared that his nightly escapades with his friends had been discovered, and that he would be expelled. But Professor Darkhardt's next words caught him by surprise.  
  
"I have been wondering," the grizzled old man said in his gruff voice, "What you plan to do with yourself after you finish school."  
  
"I . haven't really thought about it all that much," Remus said truthfully. "I mean, I still have a few years to go."  
  
"Do you think you might like teaching?" the professor asked.  
  
"I suppose I might," Remus said. "But I . I don't really think anyone would employ me as a teacher."  
  
The professor looked thoughtful.  
  
"You are a very bright student," he said at last, and Remus was surprised by this open praise. "And I think you have a real knack for Defence Against the Dark Arts, which may yet come in useful, the way things are going."  
  
"Err, thank you, sir," Remus muttered.  
  
Professor Darkhardt smiled for the first time since Remus had known him. It was a crooked smile. The left corner of his mouth twitched up briefly to meet his scar, which gave him rather a lop-sided appearance.  
  
"I have another student at the moment who is not so good at this subject," he went on. "A student whose skills could no doubt be greatly improved with a little assistance. Would you be prepared to help?"  
  
"I'd love to," Remus found himself saying.  
  
"Good lad," said the professor approvingly. "Wait here."  
  
And with that, he left Remus all alone in the room.  
  
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5 - Solutions  
  
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While Severus and Aurora were drawing their wands, Lily, forgetting for a moment that she was a witch and reverting instead to the much earlier instincts of her Muggle childhood, suddenly swung her right arm and sent her bag crashing into the Slytherin's side. Severus Snape stumbled, but he just had enough time to mutter a hex under his breath in the process.  
  
Aurora screamed and covered her face with both hands, dropping her wand. Lily, turning around to see what had happened, was caught unawares by a disarming spell which hit her in the back and sent her flying forwards. She landed on the floor with a heavy thump. Quickly struggling to sit up, out of the corner of her eye she could see Severus Snape, still sneering, raise his wand again to hex her too. She knew she could never get her wand out of her bag in time to stop him, and dreaded to think what he was going to do. But no hex came.  
  
"Expelliarmus!" a voice behind her called.  
  
Severus's wand flew from his hand. For a moment he just stood there, looking dazed. Lily turned her head and her heart gave a leap. A few paces away stood James Potter, wand in hand, glaring at the taller Slytherin boy.  
  
"Potter!" Severus hissed between gritted teeth.  
  
"Hello," James said with icy politeness.  
  
Severus Snape looked about to pick up his wand, but then another voice spoke.  
  
"Don't!" called Sirius Black, stepping out from behind the wall. "You've picked a bad time to annoy us, slimeball. We're really not in the mood."  
  
He gave a nod, and Peter Pettigrew appeared. Slowly and rather timidly, the boy approached Severus Snape and picked his wand up off the floor. He then slipped it into Severus's pocket.  
  
"And that's where it stays," Sirius warned him. "Or else you'll be crawling to the hospital wing on all fours, and don't think anyone will help you."  
  
Severus Snape looked like he was about to answer back, but faced with three young wizards and two witches who were against him, he thought better of it. Instead, he merely snorted and strode past them, allowing his cloak to billow out behind him in what he seemed to think was an impressive manner.  
  
James and Sirius watched him out of sight before turning their attention to the girls. James helped Lily to her feet, while Sirius went to see what was wrong with Aurora, who was still covering her face.  
  
"What's the matter?" he asked, putting his wand away.  
  
"My . my eyes," Aurora mumbled.  
  
"Let me see."  
  
Aurora struggled, but at last Sirius managed to draw her hands away from her face. He drew a deep breath, and James, Lily and Peter hurried over as Aurora covered her face again.  
  
"It was a disorientation curse," Sirius explained. "Her eyes keep moving in all directions, they won't stop. I'll take her to Madam Pomfrey," he added practically.  
  
He took Aurora by the arm.  
  
"Come on," he said reassuringly, "You'll be okay."  
  
"I'll come with you," Lily said, but Sirius shook his head.  
  
"She'll be fine, I'll look after her. See you later."  
  
He gave Peter a wink and a nod, then he led Aurora away towards the hospital wing.  
  
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Remus nervously tapped the arm of the chair for a while. Then he began to study his surroundings. The Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher's office was quite small and smelt musty, but it was full of fascinating devices. On the window ledge stood something that looked like a small spinning top, whirring steadily - a sneakoscope, he guessed. On the shelves stood rows upon rows of books about the Dark Arts, Dark wizards in history, curses and counter-curses.  
  
Gaining a little confidence, Remus left his seat and took a look around. He peered out of the window, and even dared to touch the back of the teacher's chair. Actually, he found he quite liked this room. He could feel quite comfortable here himself. There was a knock on the door, and Remus hardly felt nervous at all.  
  
"Come in," he called out, curiously fingering the sneakoscope.  
  
The door was pushed slowly open, and someone stepped timidly into the office. Remus turned, and surprise registered at once in his face. He studied the small girl who stood in front of him, her curly brown hair swept back and plaited, her clear blue eyes fixed on the floor.  
  
"Hello," she mumbled.  
  
"Hello," said Remus. "You're Heather Woodcock, aren't you?"  
  
The young girl stared at him.  
  
"Y-you remember my name?"  
  
Remus nodded matter-of-factly. Heather's face brightened and her cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink.  
  
"So," Remus went on, smiling. "You need help with Defence Against the Dark Arts, do you?"  
  
She nodded eagerly.  
  
"I think I must be pretty hopeless at it. Professor Darkhardt held me back after our last lesson and I thought he was going to be really cross with me, but instead he was quite friendly, and he said he knew of someone who was very good at the subject, and that he was sure you'd help me. I'm . ever so grateful to you for taking the time," she finished slightly short of breath.  
  
"You're welcome," Remus replied.  
  
Heather beamed at him.  
  
-----------------------------  
  
"Err . I . err . Excuse me," Peter stammered when Sirius had left them. "I must get back to the dormitory. I want to finish a letter to my sister. See you later, James."  
  
He smiled at them both and disappeared in the wrong direction, if he had really been going to the dormitory. Lily watched him leave, then she turned shyly to James.  
  
"Thanks for what you did just then," she began. "If you hadn't showed up when you did ."  
  
"Don't mention it," James said awkwardly.  
  
Lily smiled.  
  
"It was very good of Sirius to help Aurora like that. I must admit I always thought he was just a bit of a . well ."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"A rogue," Lily concluded apologetically.  
  
"In that case, so am I."  
  
James shrugged his shoulders in a manner that secretly amused Lily very much, because it was the same way she had often seen Sirius shrug his shoulders. She stood back and seemed to consider him.  
  
"Perhaps you are," Lily said lightly.  
  
James held the gaze of her bright green eyes for a while, then he looked away.  
  
"Look, about yesterday," he said. "I realise I was rather rude, and I'm sorry."  
  
"It's all right," she assured him, surprised at how little she cared about what had happened yesterday anymore. "You've more than made up for it today. Besides, you were obviously upset. I shouldn't have butted in."  
  
James shook his head.  
  
"I still shouldn't have talked to you like that. Forgive me?"  
  
Lily flashed a brilliant smile at him. He looked into her eyes again, and suddenly a memory came back to him. A dream. Himself on a broomstick. He had raced after a broom he had taken to be Mary Crimple's, and then he had seen a pair of bright green eyes. He knew whose eyes they were now. But with that knowledge came an inexplicable fear, and he remembered another part of the same dream. A woman's voice screaming his name.  
  
"James," Lily said. "Are you all right?"  
  
James started. His face had paled while remembering the dream, and he now looked once again worried. He looked down, and found that Lily's green eyes were searching his face anxiously. He smiled.  
  
"Sorry," he said, "I was just thinking about something."  
  
"You know, yesterday's offer still stands," Lily said gently. "If there's anything I can do ."  
  
James hesitated on the brink of telling her he didn't feel like he could confide in her. Then he realised that would be a lie.  
  
"Not now," he said instead, checking his watch. "We both have to get to the Charms classroom. I'll tell you later, okay? Meet me in the courtyard after lesson? Say at five?"  
  
Lily hesitated only a moment before she nodded.  
  
-----------------------------  
  
"Really," Madam Pomfrey complained. "It is time the teachers did something to stop all the hexing and jinxing that goes on outside lessons. Mr. Filch's ban on magic in the corridors doesn't seem to have helped either. Poor girl," she muttered, scraping an unappetising gooey grey paste onto a bandage and placing it over Aurora's closed eyes.  
  
Aurora flinched at the touch of the cold goo. Madam Pomfrey fastened the bandage and led Aurora to a bed.  
  
"There, dear," she said. "You just lie here for a while. The bandage will have to stay on until tomorrow morning, I'm afraid, but you'll be as right as rain again then. Call me if you need anything."  
  
With that, she bustled away to her office at the end of the ward. Sirius approached the bed.  
  
"How do I look?" Aurora asked in an attempt to make light of her problem.  
  
Sirius grinned, although he knew she couldn't see it.  
  
"It suits you," he said.  
  
Aurora smiled.  
  
"What was that stuff she put on my eyes?"  
  
"Trust me," Sirius whispered. "You don't want to know. It looked revolting. Like . jellyfied rat."  
  
"Eurgh." Aurora pulled a face. "You're right, I didn't want to know."  
  
Sirius laughed.  
  
"Listen," he said, "I must get back downstairs for lessons. I'll look in again later, okay?"  
  
"Okay."  
  
Aurora leaned back on her pillow and listened to his brisk footsteps leaving the room. 


	12. Part 12: The Lair of the Werewolf

Prequel, Part 12: The Lair of the Werewolf  
  
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1 - The Secret of the Whomping Willow  
  
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Later that afternoon, Severus Snape strolled along a corridor on the fourth floor of Hogwarts castle going over the day's events in his mind. He scowled at the mere thought of how James Potter and Sirius Black had humiliated him. And as for Peter Pettigrew - Severus snorted. He was nothing more than a worm. A crawler, fawning on people who were stronger than him, people he thought could protect him.  
  
Fool. A cruel smile tugged at the corner of Severus's mouth. They were all fools. But soon they would all be taught better. Soon they would know there were some things it was impossible to protect yourself against. Powers far beyond their control. Soon they would wish they had never crossed him, and they would grovel before him, begging for forgiveness. But Severus would show them no mercy. 'There is only power, and those too weak to see it.'  
  
Those had been the Dark Lord's words to his supporters, and Severus had been proud to be one of the youngest to not only hear them, but to understand their meaning, and feel secure in the knowledge that he was on the side of power. He would show them all. That intolerably over-confident Sirius Black, behaving like he owned the world; cowardly Peter Pettigrew, afraid of his own shadow; Remus Lupin, the sickly, soft bookworm; Lily Evans, that green-eyed mudblood; and James Potter.  
  
A hot flood of hatred boiled in Severus at the thought of Potter. There was nothing he could really put his finger on that made him hate James Potter, but hate him he did, with all his heart. And one day he would unleash that hatred, and Potter would curse the day of his own birth.  
  
Severus smiled grimly and stopped in front of a window. He looked out towards the Forbidden Forest and placed a clenched fist on the window ledge. One day soon he would be free of this school and its foolish old Muggle-loving headmaster. Some seemed to doubt that even the Dark Lord had the power to overthrow Dumbledore. But not Severus. He was certain the old wizard would bow and scrape before his master, the same as everyone else.  
  
He looked down onto the lawn, and suddenly his thoughts were interrupted. Two figures were moving slowly across the grounds, away from the castle and towards that hideous and vicious tree that had been planted in the year Severus himself had come to Hogwarts. He recognised one of them as Madam Pomfrey, the matron. And the other . Sirius felt a thrill of excitement. Surely that was Remus Lupin.  
  
Severus looked quickly around him. There was no one there. Good. He leaned forward out of the window, craning his neck to see better. To his surprise, for some reason the tree seemed to have frozen, and Madam Pomfrey was now standing back while Remus . Severus caught his breath. Remus Lupin had vanished. He seemed to have disappeared among the roots of the whomping willow. Madam Pomfrey turned away from the tree and made her way back to the castle.  
  
Severus stood back from the window, his thoughts racing. There was something very mysterious going on here, and he would find out what it was, if it was the last thing he did. With a determined spring in his step, he strode back along the corridor in the direction of the staircase.  
  
--------------------------  
  
James checked his wristwatch on the way down to the courtyard. It was exactly five to five. Good. That should give him enough time to tell Lily what he and the others had discovered, grab a bite to eat, get back up to the dormitory, finish his Divination homework and go to bed early. He, Padfoot and Wormtail would get a couple of hours of sleep, and Sirius would set his silent alarm clock for ten o'clock. Frank Longbottom would be fast asleep by then - he only needed to look at a pillow and he'd fall asleep. James sometimes envied him. He wished he could sleep like that. Then they'd take the Marauder's Map and his Invisibility Cloak, and they'd sneak down to the whomping willow. Wormtail would crawl under its thrashing branches and freeze it, and then they'd go in and get Moony. He smiled. They had planned a trip into the Forbidden Forest tonight. It would be fun, and probably rather dangerous.  
  
James slowed his steps as he came around the corner. He spotted Lily waiting for him on a low wall. She smiled and waved when she saw him. James smiled back and went over to join her.  
  
"Hello," he said, sitting on the wall beside her.  
  
"Hello, James," she replied.  
  
"Err . how's your friend?" he enquired, although he already knew, really. Sirius had told him.  
  
"She's fine," Lily said brightly. "Madam Pomfrey put some revolting goo on her eyes, and she'll be back to normal again by tomorrow. So - what's all the secrecy?" she asked.  
  
James looked at Lily. Her green eyes were bright with eager anticipation. James could understand that. He himself loved nothing more than mystery and excitement. Unfortunately, what he had to tell her didn't make him feel excited at all. In fact, if he was honest, it just plain scared him.  
  
"I suppose it all started with Professor Trelawney's prediction," he began. And then he told Lily all he knew.  
  
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2 - The Knoll on the Trunk  
  
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Sirius Black closed the door of the hospital wing behind him, buried his hands in his pockets and strolled away in the direction of the main staircase, whistling to himself. He wondered what he should do with himself for the rest of the evening. Moony was in the shrieking shack by now, Prongs was meeting Lily Evans in the courtyard. He supposed he could go and find Wormtail and play a game of chess, but somehow he didn't feel like it.  
  
He went down into the Great Hall and found Frank Longbottom sitting with Damian Diggle and Bertha Jorkins at the Hufflepuff table. They looked up when he entered.  
  
"Hello Sirius," Bertha cried eagerly, waving a pack of cards at him. "We were just going to play exploding snap. Care to join us?"  
  
She shifted to her right a little, rather superfluously making room for him on the long bench. Sirius shook his head.  
  
"Nah," he said. "Don't feel like it. I think I'll go for a walk," he added on an impulse, turning right around again.  
  
Bertha sighed and watched the door close behind him.  
  
"Are you dealing, Bertha? Or aren't we good enough for you?" Damian asked, pretending to be hurt.  
  
Bertha ignored him and began shuffling the cards with a disappointed look on her face.  
  
"Ooh, think our Blacky's rather handsome, do you?" Frank teased.  
  
"Shut up," Bertha muttered, blushing furiously.  
  
"Sorry to disappoint you, Bertie," Damian put in. "But a lot of girls seem to share your opinion. I'm afraid you don't stand much of a chance with girls like Aurora about."  
  
"And what would someone like Sirius want with her?" Bertha retorted hotly. "If she didn't happen to be able to read his mind and know just what he wants her to say, he wouldn't think twice about her."  
  
"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Damian disagreed.  
  
"And why is that?" Bertha demanded.  
  
Damian looked down at his hands.  
  
"Oh, nothing. Just that . well, you've got to admit she's rather pretty," he admitted, his ears going red.  
  
Frank laughed merrily.  
  
"Oh pack it in, both of you. Are we going to play exploding snap or not?"  
  
---------------------------------  
  
Sirius pushed the heavy front door open and walked out into the last rays of the day's sunlight. His foot touched something soft. Looking down, he saw Mrs. Norris, the caretaker's scrawny tabby cat. She hissed at him angrily.  
  
"Well, you shouldn't get in my way, should you?" Sirius said.  
  
He walked on down the stairs and around the corner of the castle, following the wall along the grounds. Then he slowed his steps. A few paces away, a black-haired boy in Slytherin robes was standing with his back to Sirius, looking out across the lawn. Sirius waited until he stood right behind the other boy.  
  
"Bird-watching, Severus?" he asked. "You won't spot anything like that."  
  
Severus Snape spun round and glared at him.  
  
"You had better keep out of my way," Severus replied quietly.  
  
Sirius took half a step back in mock fear.  
  
"Tough words for someone who threatens to hex girls who haven't even drawn their wands."  
  
Severus clenched his fists to control his fury. Sirius smiled with exaggerated friendliness.  
  
"So, what are you up to?" he asked.  
  
Severus considered telling him to mind his own business, but then he changed his mind. Instead he smiled back.  
  
"It's a strange thing," he began slowly. "But I was looking out of the window earlier and I saw two people walking across the lawn to the whomping willow."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
Sirius tried to look politely interested. Severus continued.  
  
"Yes. One of them I'm sure was Madam Pomfrey, but she went back to the castle a few moments later. And I could have sworn the other was your friend Lupin. He seemed to disappear . inside the tree."  
  
Recovering from the initial shock at having this secret discovered, Sirius brought his fake smile back into place.  
  
"Really? Well, isn't that fascinating?"  
  
"Indeed."  
  
Sirius felt the other boy's cold eyes on him.  
  
"Now as we all know," Severus went on, "it's strictly forbidden for anyone to approach that tree, and until now I had always thought no one would want to. It is well known, after all, that the whomping willow is violent. And yet it allowed Lupin to approach and seemingly vanish among its roots without so much as a murmur. Curious, don't you think?"  
  
"No," Sirius replied lightly.  
  
An outrageous plan was taking shape in his mind. He wondered briefly whether it was a little too outrageous, but then he looked at Severus's smug, self-satisfied smirk, and his doubts were blown away. He would give Snape the fright of his life, and serve him right.  
  
"It's quite simple, really, when you know the answer," he went on. "You see, there's a secret opening below the whomping willow ."  
  
He paused, both for effect and because it amused him to see that Severus was hanging on his every word.  
  
"A simple action is all that is required to freeze the tree and enter the hole."  
  
"A spell?" Severus guessed wrongly.  
  
Sirius laughed.  
  
"Nothing so complicated as that," he said. "All you need is a very long stick. There's a particular knoll on the side of the trunk. Press it from a distance, and the willow will stop moving and let you in."  
  
He looked around him and added conspiratorially,  
  
"I'd wait until it gets dark, if I were you though. You don't want any teachers to catch you prodding the tree."  
  
And with those words, Sirius turned on his heel and walked briskly back to the castle, smiling to himself. Somehow he no longer felt so listless. He thought he would go and join that game of exploding snap after all.  
  
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3 - The End of the Tunnel  
  
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James stood in front of the mirror trying to smooth his hair, but it refused to lay flat. He frowned and examined his features. He found himself, for the first time in his life, debating whether he was good- looking or not. It seemed to him that it was an awfully plain face that looked back at him. He thought of his friends. Now Sirius - Sirius was handsome, James knew that. And even Remus seemed to attract girls, despite or maybe even because of his tired eyes and grey-flecked hair. James supposed Remus appealed to what people called the 'maternal instinct' in girls.  
  
But James himself had had to save a girl from falling off her broom before girls had taken any notice of him. Then, of course, they had been all over him. He hadn't wanted that either. All he wanted was . James paused in the middle of the thought. What did he want? He thought of Lily. She had sat and listened patiently to everything he had told her. She had been sympathetic and reassuring and . nice. He looked into the mirror and wondered whether Lily thought him good-looking.  
  
Behind him, the dormitory door opened with a flourish and Sirius strode in.  
  
"Padfoot!" James exclaimed. "Where have you been?"  
  
"I had a nice little chat with Severus Snape, and then I played snap with Frank, Damian and Bertha," Sirius replied, dropping onto his bed and crossing his arms behind his head.  
  
"A chat with Severus?" James repeated suspiciously. "What about?"  
  
"Oh, he saw Moony disappearing under the whomping willow."  
  
Sirius laughed.  
  
"He was puzzled and wanted to know how to do it. So I told him."  
  
James stared at his friend.  
  
"You didn't?!"  
  
"Of course I did. Haha, I can hardly wait to see his face when he comes back from his little 'adventure'. It should be quite a laugh."  
  
James ran his hands through the hair he had just spent ten minutes trying to flatten.  
  
"I don't believe it!" he cried.  
  
"What's the matter with you?" Sirius asked, his smile fading. "Don't you think Severus deserves a little punishment for all his bullying?"  
  
James was pacing the floor, shaking his head.  
  
"You told him how to get inside the willow? Tonight, of all nights? Are you mad?"  
  
"Steady!" Sirius protested, sitting up. "It's just a bit of fun, that's all."  
  
But James still stared at him in wide-eyed disbelief.  
  
"A bit of fun?" he said, his face powder-white. "Sirius, you've seen Moony transform. It's no joke. When he's like that, he doesn't have any control over his actions. He . he's dangerous. He could very easily kill Severus."  
  
"Severus will turn and run for his life before it comes to that."  
  
"And what if he doesn't? What if he gets trapped in there? That was one hell of a stupid idea, Sirius. Damn!"  
  
James snatched up his wand and the Marauder's Map and threw a cloak about his shoulders.  
  
"Prongs, wait!" Sirius called, getting to his feet.  
  
But James ignored him. He raced out the room, banging the door behind him.  
  
--------------------------  
  
The grounds were dark. Severus Snape looked up at the inky black sky. The silver disk of the moon was shrouded by cloud, but for some reason he couldn't quite put his finger on, the mere knowledge of its presence made him uneasy. Something told him what he was about to do wasn't a good idea, but he couldn't back down now. He hitched his cloak a little higher about his shoulders and sneaked across the lawn.  
  
------------------------  
  
James flew down the main staircase, secretly praying that he wouldn't meet anyone on his way down. He stole a glance at the Marauder's Map. The dot marked 'Severus Snape' was already awfully close to the one marked 'Whomping Willow'. James stuffed the Map in his pocket and took the next flight of stairs three steps at a time.  
  
------------------------  
  
Remus peered out through a large crack between two of the wooden planks that boarded the windows of the shrieking shack. The moon was still hidden behind a large cloud, so he hadn't transformed yet. It wouldn't be much longer before he did, though. Remus sighed and tried to think of something more cheerful. He started by reminding himself that it wouldn't be too long before his friends came, and they all set out to explore the woods. Then his mind wandered to his meeting with the young Ravenclaw girl, Heather Woodcock. He had decided she was a nice kid, and was genuinely looking forward to teaching her Defence Against the Dark Arts. A noise in the tunnel behind the hidden door made him turn around. Surely it was still too early for Padfoot, Prongs and Wormtail. The moon began gliding out from behind its cloud.  
  
------------------------  
  
Sirius paced to and fro in the tower room. He was in two minds. On the one hand, he didn't see what all the fuss was about. Surely even Severus wouldn't be stupid enough to hang around once he realised what was going on. On the other hand . on the other hand, James had gone down there in his human form - Sirius was sure he wouldn't risk Severus finding out he was an unregistered animagus - and that meant that Severus was no longer the only one whose life was in danger if Sirius's plan went wrong. He stopped in the middle of the room and looked around him. Sweat was pearling on his brow. He caught sight of himself in the mirror and shook his head in exasperation.  
  
"Idiot!" he muttered angrily, not sure whether he meant himself or James.  
  
Coming to a decision at last, he checked to make sure his wand was in his pocket and hurried down the stairs.  
  
------------------------  
  
James clutched at a stitch at his side and tore across the grounds. He found a long stick lying forgotten on the grass, and that alone was enough to tell him, without getting the Marauder's Map out again, that Severus had entered the tunnel. James picked the stick up and prodded the tree. The willow froze, and he rushed forward and down the hole. His footsteps sounded oddly muffled on the ground of the dark tunnel as he jogged along it, making sure not to hit his head. As he drew nearer to the other end, he could make out the silhouette of a boy in Hogwarts robes outlined against the green light from a wand tip.  
  
------------------------  
  
Severus shone his wand light on the door in front of him and reached for the handle. He could hear strange scratching and scuffling noises on the other side. His hand pressed the door handle down, and suddenly everything happened very quickly.  
  
"Severus, no!" James yelled.  
  
He grabbed the other boy by the collar and pulled him away from the door just as it swung open. For a moment they lay in a tangled heap on the floor, while outlined against the moonlight that shimmered in through the cracks in the wooden panels stood the shaggy shape of the werewolf, powerful and menacing. Severus just lay there, paralysed by shock. James tugged at his arm and pulled him to his feet, shoving him back along the tunnel, away from the doorway.  
  
"Run!" he shouted, pushing Severus along in front of him and glancing anxiously back over his shoulder. "For god's sake, get a move on."  
  
The whomping willow had already stopped moving when they reached the other end of the tunnel and Severus scrambled out into the open. James felt a pair of hands seize his arms and drag him up, and he looked up into Sirius's pale face.  
  
"James," the latter muttered under his breath, pulling his friend free of the tree's lower branches so that the hole could be sealed again. "Are you all right?"  
  
James nodded silently. He thought of reproaching Sirius again for his foolish idea, but the look of fright on Sirius's face was enough to tell him there was no need, though he knew very well Sirius's concern had been only for him and not for Severus.  
  
Severus Snape got up shakily and brushed some dry earth off his knees. His lips were thin and white, and a boiling anger shone through the terror on his face.  
  
"Y-you!" he stammered, livid with rage.  
  
"Severus, it was only meant as a joke," Sirius began meekly. "Come on now, you'd have done the same."  
  
"A joke! You will regret this, Black. And you, Potter. The headmaster shall hear of this!"  
  
"Indeed, he shall," said a voice right beside them.  
  
All three of them jumped and whirled around. No more than four paces away stood Albus Dumbledore, and for once there was not a hint of a sparkle in his blue eyes. He peered sternly at James and Sirius over the top of his half-moon glasses.  
  
"Professor Dumbledore, I ..:" Sirius began, but he was silenced by a single look from the headmaster.  
  
"I think," Dumbledore said in a dangerously quiet voice, "that we had better discuss this in my office. This way, if you please."  
  
He stood aside, and James and Sirius led the way with drooping shoulders, hanging their heads. Severus followed after Dumbledore, the familiar sneer back in place.  
  
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4 - The Headmaster's Decision  
  
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James and Sirius stood side by side in Dumbledore's circular office. It was dark in the room, apart from the light shed by a tall candlestick beside the desk. The headmasters and headmistresses around the walls were all either nodding or looking serious, and Fawkes the phoenix sat on his perch looking bedraggled and adding to the overall gloom of the moment.  
  
Albus Dumbledore took his time entering the room and walking over to his desk. He sat down slowly, leaned back in his chair and folded his hands. His keen blue eyes were studying the faces of the two boys opposite him. Severus Snape stood to one side, looking uncommonly pleased with himself.  
  
After a long silence, Dumbledore said,  
  
"Well, perhaps one of you would like to explain how it happened that I glanced out of a window tonight to see two fifth-year Gryffindors and a Slytherin apparently crawling out from under a tree you have all been warned against approaching - and quite distinctly enough too, I should have thought."  
  
He looked at all three of them in turn.  
  
"Severus," he said, "you look eager to speak. Why don't you start?"  
  
"Certainly, Headmaster," Severus simpered. "It so happened that I saw someone else disappear under the willow earlier today. It was hard to tell from a distance, but I was sure ."  
  
". that it was Remus Lupin," Dumbledore finished for him, waving that part of the information aside. "Go on."  
  
Severus looked rather put out at having what he obviously considered one of the most vital points of his story cut short. But he went on nevertheless.  
  
"Well, naturally I was intrigued. I wondered why Remus Lupin had entered the whomping willow, and how. Then Black here came along and told me how to do it."  
  
Dumbledore shot a quick glance at Sirius, who looked away guiltily.  
  
"It's obvious it was a plot by their little gang," Severus was saying. "They knew I would go down there and investigate. It was lucky I kept my head, or I would not have been able to escape alive," he finished dramatically.  
  
Sirius snorted derisively before he could stop himself.  
  
"Keep your head?" he retorted loudly. "Is that what you call it? It looked to me more like you were scared out of your wits. If James hadn't gone after you and more or less carried you out ."  
  
"He did not!" Severus protested. "You both tried to kill me!"  
  
"James saved your life!" Sirius yelled.  
  
Severus started towards him, looking ready to wring his neck. Sirius raised his arm, but James caught his wrist.  
  
"Silence!" Dumbledore commanded.  
  
Severus and Sirius both relaxed, but kept their hands balled into fists and turned away from one another.  
  
"I'm sorry, sir," Sirius said, struggling to keep his voice down and his temper in check.  
  
He met the headmaster's eyes evenly.  
  
"I realise what I did was stupid and . and dangerous. And I'm ready to take any punishment you think appropriate, as long as you don't punish James, because it wasn't his fault."  
  
"Sirius ."  
  
James stepped in, but Sirius would not be deterred.  
  
"No, James," he said. "It wouldn't be fair to let you take the blame, or Remus for that matter."  
  
He turned back to Dumbledore.  
  
"It's true, sir, that I told Severus how to enter the whomping willow, even though I knew it was dangerous. He had been bullying friends of ours and I thought it would serve him right. But you have to know it was all my fault, and no one else's."  
  
"Liar!" Severus hissed. "Give it up, Black. You're just trying to shield your friends, but you know no one will believe you. Potter and Lupin, and even Pettigrew, no doubt, were in on it all."  
  
"That's not true," Sirius protested. "Honestly, Professor," he said to Dumbledore, his words coming quickly and his voice urgent, "it was my idea alone, and neither James nor Remus nor Peter knew of it. I swear James only found out when it was already too late to warn Severus, though he tried. James went after him, and got him out."  
  
Dumbledore watched his earnest face. Then at last he turned to James.  
  
"Is this true?" he asked quietly.  
  
James nodded.  
  
"Yes, sir. But Sirius didn't intend any real harm to come to Severus, he only ."  
  
Dumbledore held up a hand to silence him. He sat in silence for a while, thinking. Then he turned to Severus again.  
  
"I agree that you have been the victim of a very foolish, and extremely dangerous trick," he said. "And yet I must ask you never to mention a word of this to anyone."  
  
"But ..:" Severus sputtered.  
  
"No one must hear of this," Dumbledore insisted. "I must have your word that you will never tell a soul about Sirius's 'prank', Remus Lupin, the whomping willow or anything you may have seen down there. Your word, Severus."  
  
Severus Snape looked livid, and for a moment James and Sirius thought he would refuse. But at last he bowed his head and said quietly.  
  
"You have my word, Headmaster."  
  
Dumbledore nodded his satisfaction and turned next to James.  
  
"To you, James, I agree no blame can be attached. Your behaviour was commendable. You showed great courage, and under normal circumstances that would earn your house fifty points at least. However, I am afraid that you too must promise me never to mention it."  
  
"I promise," James said without hesitation.  
  
"As for you, Sirius," Dumbledore continued in an uncharacteristically harsh voice, "I hardly know what punishment would be fitting for your foolishness. I trust that I need not ask you to promise that you will never make such a mistake again. For the next month, you will spend your spare time helping out wherever help is needed about the castle. I am sure Mr. Filch will find ample work for you to do. And I must tell you that I personally am deeply disappointed in you. Now go, all of you." 


	13. Part 13: Revelations

Prequel, Part 13: Revelations  
  
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1 - The Dark Mark  
  
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That same night strange things happened elsewhere. Tom, the barman of the Leaky Cauldron, a grubby little pub tucked in between a large book shop and a record shop on a street in London, woke to hear the floorboards creak on the landing outside his bedroom. He listened and thought he could hear hushed voices. He got up, thinking maybe one of the guests wanted something, and removed his green flannel dressing gown from the hook on the back of the door. He was just tying the belt and smoothing what little hair he had when he caught a snippet of a conversation going on on the other side of the door.  
  
"You are certain it is tonight?" a foreign voice said quietly.  
  
"Positive," a woman replied.  
  
She wasn't keeping her voice quite as low, and Tom thought it sounded like the woman who had booked in yesterday. He had put Paula Lestrange and her husband in number six.  
  
"The letter said that the Dark Lord would reveal himself to the world on the night of the next full moon, and that is tonight," a firm man's voice - probably Leonard Lestrange's - agreed.  
  
"So the hiding will end at last," said the foreign voice.  
  
Tom decided that this must be Karkaroff, the young Bulgarian who had been staying at the Leaky Cauldron for two nights.  
  
"Yes. We will finally be able to come out into the open and purge the world of all Muggles and mudbloods," the woman said savagely.  
  
Tom caught his breath. He heard footsteps retreating towards the stairs and wondered for a moment what he should do. Should he follow them and see what they were up to? He thought hard, and decided that it was obvious enough from their talk what was going to happen. But he had to do something. He had to warn someone, if nothing else. But who? His first thought was the Ministry, but then that had been becoming infiltrated more and more by supporters of the man whose name seemed to frighten even the most sensible witches and wizards.  
  
Tom sat on the end of his bed debating, furious with himself for being so slow. Professor Dumbledore? He seemed by far the best person to tell, but by the time Tom had got hold of him . He considered his other guests. But what if they were also on the wrong side?  
  
"No, don't be daft, Tom, they won't be," he told himself. "Anyone who's still in the house must be against . that lot, otherwise they'd be out there themselves."  
  
Decided at last, he stepped out onto the landing, though not without stowing his wand in the pocket of his dressing gown.  
  
------------------------  
  
John Lupin opened his eyes and blinked in the semi-darkness. He turned over and looked at his wife. Her mouth was slightly open and her features were relaxed and peaceful. John sighed. He had been in two minds when his brother-in-law Malcolm had suggested they should come up to London to see him. Because Malcolm's flat was not very large, they had done the natural thing and come to the Leaky Cauldron. On the one hand, John agreed that a holiday would do them both good and it would make a nice change to see something other than the woods around their house, which could be very gloomy at this time of year.  
  
On the other hand, he was deeply worried about taking Faith away from the safety of their home. He watched her sleeping now, and felt a sickening fear creep back into his heart. Times were bad, there was no denying it. And they were especially bad for Muggle-borns like his wife and brother-in- law. There had been such a lot of reports lately about wizards and witches terrorising others who weren't pure-blood, that he was becoming increasingly afraid for his wife's safety. He couldn't bear it if anything happened to Faith.  
  
Her hand was lying on the pillow beside him. John stroked it gently and lay awake just watching her sleep. He heard several sets of footsteps cross the hallway outside and fade away. A few minutes later, there were more footsteps, but this time they seemed to stop just outside their door. There was a quiet knock that made John jump and his heart pound. He held his breath and waited. The knock was repeated. Again he waited, releasing Faith's hand to turn and pick his wand up from the bedside table.  
  
More footsteps, firmer this time. A voice spoke.  
  
"What are you doing?" it demanded.  
  
"They don't seem to be awake," a quieter voice replied.  
  
There was another dull knock, then an impatient sound from the second man and a loud rap on the door. John pushed back his covers and walked towards the door. The moment he moved, Faith stirred and opened her eyes.  
  
"John?" she muttered sleepily.  
  
He pressed his finger to his mouth and went to open the door a fraction. He found two people outside, apparently about to turn away and go downstairs.  
  
"Ah, Mr. Lupin," Tom the barman whispered. "For a minute we thought you weren't in your room."  
  
John looked suspiciously from him to his companion, a serious-faced man in a black dressing gown whom he had seen down in the bar yesterday evening.  
  
"What's going on?" he asked.  
  
The serious-faced man answered.  
  
"There seems to be something going on in Diagon Alley tonight," he said. "Tom overheard people talking about the Dark Lord, and he and I were about to investigate and wanted to ask you to come along."  
  
"And who are you?" John asked.  
  
"Bartemius Crouch is the name."  
  
"You're Barty Crouch?"  
  
Crouch looked uncomfortable.  
  
"That is what some people call me," he admitted.  
  
John relaxed a little.  
  
"Just let me get my cloak," he said.  
  
He turned back into the room and closed the door behind him. Faith was sitting up, looking anxious.  
  
"What's happening?" she asked, getting out of bed and coming over while John pulled on his cloak.  
  
"There seems to be a bit of bother down in the Alley. I'm going down with the others to check."  
  
"John ."  
  
Faith held him back a moment. He tried to smile reassuringly and gave her a quick kiss.  
  
"Don't worry, love," he said. "I'll be right back."  
  
------------------------  
  
The full moon shone down on Diagon Alley and shed its light on the crowd of people that had gathered in front of Gringotts. They were all dressed in black robes and their faces were shadowed by large hoods. John Lupin followed Crouch and Tom out onto the street and noticed that several faces were peering out from behind half-closed shutters in windows above the shops.  
  
Suddenly a bright flame sprang up in front of the bronze doors of the wizard bank. A loud murmur ran through the crowd as a figure took shape on the steps before their very eyes. John thought that it was the figure of a man wrapped in that long and flowing black cloak, though he could not see a face under the hood. Sure enough, it was a male voice, though strangely high-pitched and unearthly cold, that spoke over the noise of the murmuring voices.  
  
"Welcome, my friends. Thank you for coming here tonight to witness the dawn of a new age for wizardkind. From this night on, we will no longer be forced to hide who we are and what we are. From this night on, we will cast aside the shackles placed on us by Muggles and the Muggle-loving fools that have so far ruled us. We will establish a new order. No one will dare to oppose us, and all the world will learn to fear the power and the very name of Lord Voldemort."  
  
At this point there was much clapping and cheering. John felt a shiver down his spine.  
  
"But you, my loyal comrades," the man on the steps was now saying, "need fear nothing. You shall all have power beyond imagination, and those of you who prove most loyal to me I will raise into my inner circle, and they shall bear my mark upon them."  
  
He gestured to two people who had stood a little way back, and they brought forward a very old man with a hunched back. He was shaking and trembling with fear.  
  
"This man," Lord Voldemort went on, "was once an important minister for the great Ministry of Magic. But when I paid him a visit and suggested that he should fire his mudblood staff and employ only members of the old wizarding families, he refused bluntly. He will now learn that it is a mistake to refuse anything Lord Voldemort requests."  
  
The old man was brought up closer to Voldemort and the two people who had been holding him backed away. With a shock John recognised the old man as Damocles Dorset, a former minister at the office of International Magical Cooperation who had mysteriously been 'taken ill' a few months before. But the last time John had seen him, he had been in perfect health and his back had been as straight as any. Yet now he seemed barely able to stand, and he was trembling before Lord Voldemort, who was levelling his wand at the old man's chest.  
  
"Oh my god," John muttered, more to himself than to his two companions, "he's going to kill him."  
  
He started forward in the direction of the bank, but Tom grabbed his arm and held him back.  
  
"There's nothing we can do, Lupin," he said quietly.  
  
"But we can't just stand by and let that man commit a murder!" John exclaimed.  
  
"We have no choice," Bartemius Crouch answered coldly.  
  
John stared at him and was about to reply when Lord Voldemort's voice interrupted him.  
  
"Avada Kedavra," he said.  
  
There was a blinding flash of green light and the old minister collapsed to the ground. He had died in the blink of an eye, and there had been nothing John could do to prevent it. All colour drained from his face and he watched in silence while the Dark Lord chanted,  
  
"Morsmordre."  
  
A gigantic cloudy green shape issued from the end of his wand and rose into the sky above. Next to him, John heard Tom the barman gasp. He looked up at stared. A huge skull was floating above the spot where Voldemort stood, a serpent writhing in its mouth like an overgrown tongue. And then John heard Lord Voldemort's unnatural, high-pitched laughter.  
  
"It has begun, my friends. The Dark Mark has been conjured, and from now on it will put fear into the hearts of all the filthy mudbloods and Muggles. Come, follow me, my friends, and we will toast this night."  
  
Voldemort turned and walked away towards Knockturn Alley. The crowd parted, all bowing their heads as he passed, then following behind him. When they had gone, John turned his attention back to the front doors of Gringotts, where a limp form was still sprawled on the steps. A moment before, his legs had felt like lead, but now they suddenly came to life again, and they led him straight to where Voldemort had stood a moment before. The others followed him. John crouched beside the old minister's body and examined it, but there was no sign of any wound.  
  
"How did he do this?" he asked, bewildered.  
  
"He used an ancient curse - an Unforgivable Curse," Crouch replied.  
  
John looked up at the other man's stern face.  
  
"One of the three curses that have been outlawed for centuries?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
John rose slowly and said,  
  
"How do we fight someone like him? Someone who will stop at nothing - torture, murder, the use of banned curses .?"  
  
"There is only one way," said Crouch. "We must use his own weapons against him. If he is ruthless, we must be more so. If he is cruel, we must be crueller. If he uses outlawed spells, so must we."  
  
John thought for a moment, then he shook his head.  
  
"No. If we try to fight the enemy with his own weapons, then we will become like him, and in the end he will win, even if he is defeated."  
  
"There is no alternative," Crouch insisted.  
  
"Yes there is. There is always an alternative," John said firmly. "I will write to Professor Dumbledore. It is in men like him that we must place our trust if we really want to stamp out this evil."  
  
------------------------  
  
John Lupin dragged himself up the stairs at the Leaky Cauldron and pushed the door to his room open. An oil lamp on the table in the corner added its pale flicker to the fading light of the moon.  
  
"John!"  
  
Faith rushed to him before he had even closed the door and wrapped her arms around his neck. John returned the embrace and for a while they stood there in silence. Finally Faith drew back a little and touched his cheek with the palm of her hand and looked into his eyes.  
  
"What happened?" she asked.  
  
John led her over to the bed and sat down beside her. Then he began telling her about the night's events.  
  
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2 - An Offer of Friendship  
  
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Remus dragged himself up the main staircase. The moon had waned, and he was aching all over with weariness and pain. The others hadn't come at night, and that meant that he had had a worse transformation than he had experienced for a long time. While the others were with him, Remus was able to stay relatively sane, and in consequence suffered less self-inflicted injuries. As they hadn't turned up this time, though, things had gone back to the way they used to be, but made worse because he was no longer as used to it.  
  
His head was spinning, and he stood for a while without moving, feeling so weak that it frightened him. He heard soft footsteps coming his way and tried to force himself to go on, but he had only just taken one more step when Frank Longbottom appeared, coming the opposite way.  
  
"Hello, Remus," he said brightly.  
  
Remus forced a smile and took another step forward, but his shoe caught on the stairs and he nearly fell. Frank put out an arm to steady him.  
  
"Are you all right?" he asked, looking worried.  
  
"Fine," Remus lied, taking his weight off Frank's arm. "See you later."  
  
He moved on painfully, and only a few steps later, he stumbled again.  
  
"You should go to Madam Pomfrey," Frank recommended, rushing back up the stairs to help him.  
  
"No, really," he protested. "I'll be all right. I just need some rest. Just tell Professor Flitwick I won't be coming today, will you?"  
  
He could vividly imagine what would happen if he went to Madam Pomfrey now. She would tend his cuts all right, but she would also be likely to begin wondering why he hadn't been along more often with similar wounds after his transformations. On the other hand, he didn't see how he could make it to Gryffindor Tower like this.  
  
"Need any help?" Frank asked.  
  
"You'll be late for lessons," Remus said.  
  
"Never mind that."  
  
Frank took Remus by the arm and helped him up the stairs. They continued that way all the way up to the Gryffindor common room and on to their dormitory. There Frank guided Remus to his bed. Remus dropped down onto it gratefully.  
  
"Thanks, Frank," he said.  
  
"No problem," said Frank, still looking worried. "You sure you won't see Madam Pomfrey?"  
  
Remus nodded, biting his lip. He moved slightly, and a cut in his arm twinged so suddenly that he groaned involuntarily.  
  
"What is it?" Frank asked, coming nearer.  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"Let me see."  
  
Before Remus could stop him, Frank had reached the bedside and pulled Remus's cloak away from his arm. He whistled through his teeth. The sleeve of Remus's shirt bore a sticky brown patch.  
  
"That's a bad gash you've got there," Frank commented, examining the wound.  
  
"It'll heal," Remus replied.  
  
"Might leave a nasty scar though," Frank said. He paused for a moment, then seemed to make up his mind about something and added, "Still, I expect you're used to them."  
  
"What?"  
  
Remus looked up sharply. Frank Longbottom had sat down on the side of his bed and was looking more serious than Remus had ever seen him.  
  
"I think it's time we both stopped pretending," he said. "Aren't you fed up with making up excuses? I know I'm fed up with making out I'm some sort of blockhead."  
  
"I don't know what you mean," Remus answered half-heartedly.  
  
"Yes you do. I'm not stupid," Frank said heatedly.  
  
"I know what you are, and I've decided it's time you knew that I know. It will save you thinking up reasons for being missing on certain nights, and me from making out I'm an idiot. It'll be easier for both of us."  
  
"Y-you know I'm a ." Remus broke off his sentence. "How did you find out?"  
  
Frank shrugged.  
  
"Various things. You missing from lessons on a regular basis, not turning up in the dormitory - and not being in the hospital wing when the others said you were. And I've heard them call you 'Moony' a couple of times when you all thought I was asleep. I just put two and two together."  
  
"And - what are you going to do about it?"  
  
"Nothing," Frank replied. "I just wanted to tell you I know, and I want you to know it's okay - it doesn't bother me, and I'll never tell a soul."  
  
He looked at Remus intently, lying on the bed with a pale face and tired eyes, his grey hairs seeming to sparkle more than usual in the bright morning sunlight.  
  
"But if there's anything I can do to help, just let me know," Frank added quietly.  
  
Remus stared at him for a while. Finally he shook his head.  
  
"No," he said softly, "but thanks for the offer. I appreciate your honesty, and I'm sorry if I've upset you by seeming not to trust you ."  
  
"Hey," Frank interrupted, "I told you it's okay. I understand why you've kept this to yourself, and I'm not blaming the others for not telling me. You four have your secrets, just as Damian and I have ours. But I can imagine that it can be tough living a life like yours, and I really just wanted you to know that I'm here if you ever need me. That goes for the four of you, by the way. I don't know what's going on at the moment, but there's trouble brewing, I can see that. It might not be long before we'll all need all the help and friendship we can get. When that time comes, I'll be ready to do my bit, and so will Damian."  
  
Frank smiled suddenly.  
  
"That's enough doom and gloom," he said in a lighter tone. "Now let's get that cut of yours cleaned up, and then I think you should get some sleep. I'll try and sneak some bandages from the hospital wing. I'll be right back."  
  
Remus watched the door close behind Frank and lay back on his pillow feeling strangely relieved. He had never felt before that keeping a secret from the fifth boy in their dormitory was such a big deal, but now he was suddenly aware that it had made him uncomfortable. And it was always good to know that there was another person who accepted him for what he was. 


	14. Part 14: New Alliances

Prequel, Part 14: New Alliances  
  
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1 - Guilt  
  
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That evening, Remus told the others what Frank had said. Then James told Peter and Remus everything that had happened the night before. Sirius sat in the corner of the dormitory, saying nothing. When James had finished, Peter said,  
  
"That was a close shave. Sirius might easily have been expelled for that."  
  
"Yes," James agreed, casting a sideways glance in Sirius's direction.  
  
Remus, meanwhile, had risen from his bed and strolled to the window. He touched his wounded arm with his other hand. It still throbbed slightly.  
  
"I remember a little bit of what happened," he said quietly. "I had only just transformed, and I saw the door open. I saw Severus standing there, and I saw you, Prongs."  
  
There was a heavy silence.  
  
"This has to stop," Remus said sadly.  
  
It was ironic. Only that morning, he had spoken to Frank, and afterwards felt that maybe his life wasn't so bad after all. And now .  
  
"It can't go on like this," he went on. "There's no way around it. I'll have to talk to Dumbledore. My being here is dangerous. I should never have come in the first place."  
  
His voice faltered, and James spoke up quickly.  
  
"That's nonsense, Remus. This has nothing to do with you. It's not your fault."  
  
"Isn't it?" Remus retorted, looking perfectly miserable. "Whatever way you look at it, if I hadn't been here, none of this would ever have happened. I could have killed someone last night. I could . I could have killed you, James."  
  
His voice caught in his throat.  
  
"Stop it!" Sirius ordered sharply.  
  
He got up and came closer so he could look Remus in the eye.  
  
"Trust you to find some absurd way to make everything your fault," he said. "But I won't let you take the blame for something you couldn't do anything about. I may be a bit of a scoundrel - I certainly feel like one right now - but I have never let anyone else take the blame for my mistakes, and I don't intend to start now. What happened last night was entirely my fault, Dumbledore has punished me, and there's an end to it. Don't go grabbing for guilt, Moony."  
  
"Sirius is right," James agreed. "Let's just forget it as quickly as we can and think of something more cheerful. Sirius, why not tell us about that spell you said we could put on our map? You know, the one that makes it 'answer back' when a teacher tries to use it."  
  
Sirius brightened up at once and went to fetch a thick spellbook from his trunk. Remus tried to join in the fun as best he could, and actually contributed greatly to making the spell work as they wanted it to, but all the time his mind was dwelling on the trouble that had occurred last night. Whatever the others might say, he still felt it was his fault, at least in part. And he still felt guilty about every single time that he had left the shrieking shack and broken his promise to Dumbledore.  
  
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2 - Pixies and Potions  
  
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It was the Saturday after. Heather waited nervously in the front row of the empty Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, staring down at the books and her wand on the desk in front of her. She felt strangely shaky and there seemed to be something wrong with her stomach. It was churning as though she had eaten something she shouldn't have. She felt so tense that she was considering just packing her bag and going straight back to her dormitory when she heard the classroom door open behind her. Heather turned and saw Remus Lupin coming towards her.  
  
"Hello," he said.  
  
"Hello."  
  
Heather smiled shyly as she watched him come to the front of the classroom and set a box down on the teacher's desk.  
  
"How are you feeling?" Remus asked, sitting on the end of her desk.  
  
"A bit nervous," she confessed.  
  
"Nervous? Not of me I hope."  
  
Heather bit her lip and looked down at her hands. Remus frowned.  
  
"You are nervous of me. But you needn't be."  
  
He smiled.  
  
"I'm a bit nervous of you too," he said.  
  
This brought Heather's curly head up.  
  
"Of me? Why?"  
  
"I've never taught anyone before," he explained. "Oh, I've helped Peter Pettigrew with his homework, of course. But this is very different. I've been thinking about what Professor Darkhardt said, and I think I may actually like to be a teacher someday. But I don't know what I'll do if it turns out I'm lousy at it."  
  
"I'm sure you won't be!" Heather said quickly.  
  
She blushed as he smiled at her.  
  
"Do you really like doing Defence Against the Dark Arts?" she asked nervously.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And you get on with Professor Darkhardt?"  
  
"He's all right, I suppose," Remus said. "Why?"  
  
"He scares me. That scar of his, and his odd manner. And then I'm so useless at the spells he wants us to do. Potions is much easier," she concluded.  
  
"Potions? Now you've scared me," Remus laughed.  
  
Heather giggled. Remus turned to the side and began to get a few large items out of his bag. Heather studied him: his grey-flecked, light brown hair was falling into his eyes. His face looked drawn and his eyes tired, though he didn't look as ill as he had done a couple of days ago, when they had arranged this meeting.  
  
Remus caught her eye.  
  
"What's the matter?"  
  
"You look - tired," Heather said.  
  
"Yes. I wasn't very well this week. Had a bit of a fever," he replied a little gruffly. "Now - shall we get started?"  
  
Heather nodded.  
  
"What's in the box?" she asked.  
  
"Cornish pixies."  
  
Heather looked alarmed.  
  
"You're not going to set them loose, are you?"  
  
"Not yet. I thought we'd practise some simple stunning spells first."  
  
"How? I mean, how do we practise them without the pixies?"  
  
"That," Remus replied mischievously, "is why I brought these cushions."  
  
He held up two hands full of thick red and gold cushions. Heather gazed at him blankly.  
  
"You can't stun a cushion, can you?"  
  
Remus seemed to consider this.  
  
"I don't know. I've never tried. I should hardly think so. They do make for a softer landing, though."  
  
He put the cushions down on the floor and looked at Heather.  
  
"Now, I want you to use your wand to knock me out. Use any spells you want - just please make sure they're ones you know the counter-curses to."  
  
"But I - I can't do that!"  
  
"Why not? You're not going to hurt me, and it's much safer than practising on a bunch of fluttering pixies. Just imagine I'm an evil wizard or a monster come to get you or something."  
  
"That's impossible!" Heather laughed. "What is it?" she added.  
  
Remus had stopped smiling and was gazing at her with a strange look on his face. It was a queer, half sad expression that he checked as soon as he noticed her eyes on her.  
  
"Let's get started then," he said.  
  
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3 - A Plan of Action  
  
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In the library, Lily Evans was sitting brooding over a thick book when James strode over to join her.  
  
"Hello," he said. "How's it going?"  
  
"Not very well," she sighed, stroking a thick strand of red hair back from her face. James looked into her green eyes.  
  
"Look - there's no need to tire yourself out with this," he said. "I'm sure it's not that important."  
  
"And I'm sure it is," Lily answered, smiling slightly. "This here is a simple register I found. It lists all the students that have visited Hogwarts during the past fifty years."  
  
James stared at the huge leather-bound volume.  
  
"That must be a lot of names."  
  
"Oh yes," Lily said. "But the thing is, that's all it is. Just names. No background. I have no way of discovering who was friends with who or anything like that. I can find a list of all the people who were in your father's year, but that's still a lot of names to check up on."  
  
"Hello! Am I interrupting something?" Sirius suddenly said right beside James's shoulder.  
  
"No," Lily said. "Why don't you join us?"  
  
"Don't mind if I do."  
  
Sirius ignored James's dark look and pulled up a chair.  
  
"What's going on then?" he asked.  
  
"Lily's been trying to find out who my father might have had dealings with when he was at school. But all she's been able to find is a list of names without any more information," James explained.  
  
"I'm sure Dumbledore must have a book somewhere that would tell us more," Lily said. "There must be some files with all the students' details. You know, what they got up to while they were here, what points they won or lost for their houses. But we'd never be able to get at such files. What?" she added, seeing the broad grin spread across Sirius's face.  
  
"I think I have an idea," he said.  
  
James waited for him to continue, but Sirius was not forthcoming.  
  
"That's great," said James. "Now if you wouldn't mind telling us ..."  
  
"Well, I was just thinking of Filch."  
  
"Filch?"  
  
Lily's brow creased, but James began to smile.  
  
"Of course. Filch's office must be full of files about the students of the past two hundred years!" he exclaimed.  
  
"I don't think he's been here that long," Lily objected.  
  
"No, but if his predecessor kept as many files as he does, then his office should be a gold mine. We might even find out something about Gryffindor's heir, if he ever came here, which he must have done."  
  
"But he'll never allow you to read his papers!"  
  
"Then we'll just have to read them without his permission, won't we?" Sirius said.  
  
He glanced at James, who nodded.  
  
"Where are Remus and Peter?"  
  
"Up in the Tower," Sirius replied.  
  
"Right. Let's go and tell them. Excuse us, Lily."  
  
Lily watched the two boys go with a slightly worried expression on her face. She knew they were both fond of getting up to things that were against the rules, and she was seriously concerned what might happen if they got caught.  
  
She never noticed that she wasn't the only one watching them. Behind a bookshelf in the far corner, Bertha Jorkins was making up her mind to keep guard near the caretaker's office that night.  
  
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4 - Godric's Hollow  
  
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It was exactly midnight. The reason John Lupin knew this was that he could hear a church clock striking somewhere not too far away as he walked along a long and dusty road that wound its way past endless rows of trees, taller than any he had seen before. He wondered just where exactly he was. Professor Dumbledore's letter - sent in reply, it seemed, to John's own warning about the rising of the Dark Lord - had merely instructed him to go to a certain place at a certain time tonight and touch an old, battered bucket that he would find lying in a hedge; a Portkey, enchanted so that it would bring him here - wherever 'here' was.  
  
He was just wondering whether he would ever reach the end of this path when he turned a corner and came to a place where the trees suddenly parted into a wide clearing. John stared. He was standing outside the wrought iron gates of a large mansion unlike any he had ever seen before. It looked like some kind of stately home, except that it was more mysterious, its walls grey and forbidding in the pale light of the waning moon and the stars, veiled by wisps of cloud.  
  
John was just wondering where he should turn next when the gates opened slowly, making no sound at all. He stepped through them onto a gravel drive and followed it, still staring at the magnificent house. A figure stood on the steps before the large wooden doors, and it seemed to be looking his way. As he drew nearer, John was surprised to find he recognised the man. It was none other than his brother-in-law Malcolm, though his face had a ghostly appearance in this light.  
  
"John!" Malcolm whispered, sounding every bit as awed as John felt.  
  
"Hello," John replied. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"I got a letter from Dumbledore, asking me to go to Piccadilly tonight and pick up a broken umbrella that I would find sticking out of a certain dustbin. He said there was something important he had to tell me. And you?"  
  
"The same, more or less. Any idea where we are?"  
  
The old familiar grin split Malcolm's face.  
  
"I had a quick look round the village before I followed the path," he said. "I came a cross a sign that said 'Godric's Hollow'."  
  
He paused for effect.  
  
"Godric's Hollow?" John repeated. "And what's this place?"  
  
"I don't know. But take a look at the doors."  
  
John's eyes left his brother-in-law's face to examine the coat of arms on the vast doors: A golden lion on a scarlet background.  
  
"The Gryffindor lion?" he said.  
  
"Looks like it," Malcolm agreed. "Shall we ring the bell?"  
  
John nodded, and Malcolm tugged at the old-fashioned chain by the door. There was no sound, and for a moment they stood looking at one another, wondering what they should do next. But then the doors opened wide of their own accord, revealing a vast hallway with a marble staircase leading up to a gallery. The place was lit by chandeliers and candelabras, and a mysterious music like the song of some exotic bird reached their ears.  
  
Sure enough, as they entered the mansion and the great doors swung shut with a boom behind them, a beautiful bird with flaming red feathers soared down from the gallery and came to land on a leather-padded chair to their left.  
  
Both John and Malcolm were so fascinated by this creature that they did not notice a person coming down the stairs until Professor Dumbledore stepped right up to them.  
  
"Good evening," he said, smiling at their startled faces. "I see you are impressed with my phoenix. "Say hello, Fawkes."  
  
The bird bowed its head in greeting, then it flew up and landed on the headmaster's shoulder.  
  
"Professor - What's going on?" John asked. "Why are we here and - where are we, exactly?"  
  
"This way," was all Dumbledore replied, and he led them up the magnificent marble stairway, along the gallery and through corridors lined with suits of armour and portraits of noble-looking wizards and witches, most of whom frowned solemnly as they walked by.  
  
The headmaster of Hogwarts led them through a door at the end of a long passage into a narrow room without windows, lit only by a cluster of candles floating above the centre of a large round table that bore the Gryffindor crest.  
  
Several people stood in a group at the end of the room, and Dumbledore introduced them all:  
  
There was Bartemius Crouch, whom John had already met. Professor McGonagall, Dumbledore's deputy headmistress. An ageing woman with grey hair and piercing eyes whom Dumbledore introduced as Arabella Figg. Alastor Moody, a tall wizard with straggly dark hair that came down to his shoulders and an impossibly long and pointed nose.  
  
Beside him stood a young man with thin red hair and his young wife. This, so Dumbledore informed him, were Arthur Weasley and his wife Molly, who were eagerly awaiting the birth of their second child.  
  
Next in line was a tiny man who introduced himself with a flourish of his top hat as Dedalus Diggle. John wondered whether he might be in any way related to the boy he had heard Remus mention from time to time. Mundungus Fletcher, a shabby-looking wizard. Then came a slim girl with fair hair whom John definitely recognised at once as one of the Pettigrew twins - Philippa.  
  
Last in line, wearing a dark expression on his scarred face, came the grizzled Professor Darkhardt. When the introductions had been completed, Dumbledore motioned them all to seats around the table.  
  
"First of all," he said when they were all sitting, "I would like to thank you all for coming. The reason I asked you here tonight is that we now stand on the brink of a darkness that threatens to bend not only our world, but also the Muggle world to its will.  
  
For myself, I have feared that this tide of evil was coming for many years, ever since a certain event at Hogwarts, the details of which I do not wish to elaborate on at this time.  
  
However, I am aware that some of you had your first inkling much later, and some not until a teacher at Hogwarts made a certain prediction which, admittedly, is probably the first true prediction she has ever made."  
  
"Then you really do believe what Sybill Trelawney said? You don't think she was just dramatising, as usual?"  
  
"No, Minerva, I do not believe that," he replied, "and neither do you, or you would not have come to me so quickly to tell me about it that night. But I see that several of our friends here have not heard about it ."  
  
"I think I have," Pippa Pettigrew said. "My brother told me something about a prediction in a letter. He said Professor Trelawney had predicted the growing of an evil power, a power that no one could stop, except for the heir of Gryffindor."  
  
"Well, she was right about the first part," John Lupin said. "What Mr. Crouch and I saw this week certainly looked like the celebration of pure evil."  
  
"Yes," Dumbledore agreed. "It was your letter about that event that made me summon this council tonight. Voldemort has been recruiting his forces for longer than you may think. I believe it is time we built up our own."  
  
"Can't we just root out his supporters one by one and eliminate them? Without them, his base of power would surely crumble," Crouch suggested.  
  
"Oh yes? And how would you eliminate them, exactly?" John demanded. "By authorising the use of outlawed curses like you suggested the other night? And against whom would you use them? Only against those who are proven to have voluntarily sworn themselves to his side? Against people he has frightened into following him? Against those he is mind-controlling? Against anyone you suspect of supporting him?"  
  
Across the table, John noticed Professor Darkhardt give a curious smile.  
  
"Sacrifices must be made," Crouch said coldly.  
  
"I refuse to sacrifice innocent lives!" John protested, getting to his feet.  
  
Dumbledore raised both hands for silence.  
  
"Gentlemen, please! Let us discuss this in peace. Sit down, John."  
  
John Lupin returned Bartemius Crouch's cold stare, but did as the professor had asked.  
  
"My friends," Dumbledore went on, "we must stand together if we are to prevail in the face of this threat. We must act with caution, and we must find more who share our opinions. Professor Darkhardt here has already begun looking for promising students who might help us fight the Dark forces."  
  
"Students?" Mundungus Fletcher repeated sceptically. "You think that's advisable?"  
  
"In some cases, very much so," Professor Darkhardt assured him. "Some of our students show great potential, and more sense than many an adult I could name."  
  
His gaze rested briefly on Crouch.  
  
"It would be a shame not to have them on our side."  
  
The professor turned his scarred face towards John.  
  
"One of my first recruits," he said, "is your son, Mr. Lupin."  
  
"Remus?" Malcolm exclaimed, turning to his brother-in-law.  
  
"Remus?" John repeated quietly, sounding a trifle worried. "What do you mean?"  
  
"Your son has shown great skill in his Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons, and I have encouraged him to help others - well, one other at least - to improve their skills. He has both courage and brains, but that's not all I am looking for. Your son is very much like you, sir, in that I believe he too would never be willing to make unnecessary sacrifices to achieve his ends. That is, I think, a vital characteristic."  
  
"And who else do you plan to 'recruit' in this manner?" Dedalus Diggle asked.  
  
"Several of the older Gryffindor students: James Potter and Sirius Black, especially. A couple of Ravenclaws. And I dare say your nephew, Mr. Diggle, is likely to find himself involved as well - I hardly think I would be able to keep him out of it if I persuade Frank Longbottom to join us.  
  
With the headmaster's permission, I would like to talk to the students as soon as possible."  
  
"What about their parents' permission?" John asked.  
  
"I am sure most parents would rather have their children well prepared to fight the Dark Arts than taught to use them by Voldemort himself," Dumbledore put in.  
  
John slowly nodded his agreement.  
  
"But if this prediction you mentioned is correct," Arabella Figg said, "all these efforts will only be of any use against Voldemort's supporters, but we will not be able to defeat him himself."  
  
"Very well perceived, as always, Arabella," Dumbledore approved. "And that brings me to the reason I asked you all here, of all places, tonight."  
  
"Godric's Hollow," Malcolm whispered softly. "The legendary town where Godric Gryffindor lived."  
  
"Exactly," Dumbledore agreed. "And this place here is none other than Gryffindor Hall, the home of the last person alive who still bears the name of Gryffindor."  
  
This announcement was greeted by various exclamations.  
  
"The heir from Professor Trelawney's prediction?"  
  
"Not necessarily," Dumbledore said mysteriously. "But I decided that this meeting place would be not only one of the safest in the country, besides Hogwarts, but a symbolic site for the first gathering of Voldemort's enemies. The presence of Fawkes is also symbolic."  
  
Right on cue, the red-feathered bird flew over and perched on the arm of Dumbledore's chair.  
  
"The wand of Lord Voldemort contains a feather from the tail of this phoenix. But instead of using it to do good, Voldemort has chosen to abuse it for evil. Fawkes, like the rest of us, has a score to settle with him. I therefore ask you all, now, to pledge yourself to his cause and mine, though it may mean pain or even death for some or all of us. I am calling together the Order of the Phoenix, to stand against Voldemort and all who willingly support him. Will you join me?"  
  
He looked around at the series of faces before him. One by one, those present nodded their heads. Dumbledore smiled.  
  
"Good," he said. "Then I would suggest that we have sat here long enough for one night. I ask you all to keep your eyes and ears open. I will summon you again soon. But for now I have something to do. I must speak to our host. Minerva, Narbus ."  
  
He turned to Professors McGonagall and Darkhardt.  
  
"You two will please go straight back to Hogwarts tonight. I am uneasy about leaving the school unguarded for too long. When I have talked to Gordon Gryffindor, I will speak to some members of the Ministry who, I think, will help us."  
  
While the headmaster was talking to the other teachers, the rest began to get up and leave. John was halfway out the door when Dumbledore dismissed his colleagues and called him back.  
  
"How is your wife, John?" he asked.  
  
"She's well, thank you," John replied. "I - couldn't help but notice you didn't invite her here tonight."  
  
"No. But I assure you that had nothing to do with mistrust."  
  
"Of course not. In fact, I wanted to thank you for not asking her. I know she would pledge herself to anything you said, but ."  
  
"But you would rather keep her safely out of the way?" Dumbledore guessed. "I understand. That was part of the reason why I did not ask her here tonight. The other is that, though I don't doubt she would never serve Voldemort, she is not as strong as you are, or as her brother is. And yet - I am not sure if I have done her a favour by leaving her out of this. It is sometimes safer to learn to fight evil and face danger prepared than hide from it and be caught unawares."  
  
He looked John in the eye.  
  
"Your wife is a lovely woman. I have always been fond of her. Look after her, John."  
  
"I will. I would sooner give my own life that let any harm come to her."  
  
Dumbledore nodded understandingly. There was a long pause before John asked,  
  
"Was there anything else you wanted to talk to me about?"  
  
The headmaster's head came up suddenly, as though his thoughts had been elsewhere.  
  
"Yes," he said slowly. "How well do you know Bridget Potter?"  
  
"James Potter's mother?" John said, surprised. "A little. We've met her at the station a few times, of course. Why?"  
  
"I hope to bring her into the Order," Dumbledore replied. "I hoped you would be able to tell me whether she would be likely to agree to help us."  
  
"You think it important that she should?"  
  
"Perhaps. It depends. If my suspicions are correct . I must ask you not to mention this conversation to anyone," the headmaster added. "You must promise me that."  
  
"You have my word," John assured him.  
  
"Good ... one day I may have to ask more of you, John. I hope I can rely on you to come at once if I call on you."  
  
"Of course."  
  
----------------------------  
  
Back in the Slytherin common room at Hogwarts, Severus Snape was feeling slightly ecstatic. He pulled up his sleeve and ran a finger over the black symbol on his arm: A skull with a snake protruding out of its mouth like a tongue. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone approach and sit on the low sofa opposite. Severus looked up into a narrow, pale face. Lucius Malfoy grinned crookedly.  
  
"Well, it's started at last," he said, leaning back and twirling his wand in his hand.  
  
"Yes," Severus agreed.  
  
He felt strange. Tonight he had seen the Dark Lord, and been accepted into Voldemort's inner circle as one of his youngest supporters. A Death Eater, and not yet sixteen!  
  
Lucius, of course, was two years older. He would be leaving Hogwarts soon and would probably take some high position in the Ministry that would give him power - much more power than Severus had. Still, it had been Severus, not Lucius, who had realised the importance of that ridiculous Divination teacher's prediction and warned Voldemort. Severus smiled coldly. Voldemort had been very pleased with him. In fact, it was probably part of the reason why he had been accepted as a Death Eater at such an early age.  
  
He wondered, as he had so often done, who and where this 'heir of Gryffindor' might be. Voldemort had seemed to think there might actually be more than one heir of Gryffindor. He had tried, almost as soon as he had received Severus's message, to find some sort of book or register that would tell him who these descendants of Slytherin's arch enemy might be. But there were no such works to be obtained anywhere. Though such texts must surely have existed, it was as though they had vanished that night. Certainly there were none available now.  
  
Severus thought of Dumbledore. Could he be the reason these texts had disappeared? Did he have enough power and influence to ensure that all copies of such works vanished in a single night? Did he know whom the prediction had referred to?  
  
More importantly: Was the prediction true? Was Gryffindor's heir, whoever that might be, so powerful that he - or she - could pose a serious threat to Lord Voldemort?  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------------------  
  
5 - A Nightly Excursion  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------------------  
  
Three o'clock in the morning. Sirius Black poked his nose out from behind the hangings of his four-poster bed and listened. The room was quiet apart from a few snores now and then. He got up and pulled his clothes back on over his pyjamas, then went to get James while, across the room, Remus had already got up and dressed too.  
  
"Where's Peter?" James whispered as he pulled his jumper over his head.  
  
"Fast asleep, judging by the noise." Remus grinned. "Hold on."  
  
He crept over to Peter's bed and pulled back the curtains. Sure enough, their friend was lying there with his eyes shut and his mouth hanging open.  
  
"Oy, wake up, Wormtail," Sirius hissed, poking him with his wand.  
  
Peter sat up in bed with a jolt, lashed out and sent an empty glass by his bed crashing to the floor. They all heard a murmur from the fifth bed, and a moment later Frank's head poked out at them  
  
"What are you lot up to again?" he mumbled sleepily.  
  
"Verum reparo," Remus chanted, and the shards on the floor came back together again.  
  
"You're all dressed," Frank discovered, getting up and coming over. "Where are you going?"  
  
"Err . nowhere?" Sirius suggested rather hopelessly.  
  
They all stood in awkward silence for a moment, then Remus said,  
  
"Right, well, we've been caught - so I vote we might as well tell him."  
  
"Are you mad?" Sirius growled.  
  
"No, he's making sense," Frank replied. "After all, I already know you're up to something. It's not as though I'd tell on you."  
  
"I don't mind Frank knowing," Peter said.  
  
Sirius turned to James.  
  
"It's up to you then."  
  
"Okay," James said. "We're going down to Filch's office to see if we can find out who my father was at school with, because we know that when he was here, he was fiends with Voldemort."  
  
Frank's eyes widened.  
  
"Your dad was friends with that madman? The one who killed that old minister?"  
  
"Yes. And we want to know just who this Lord Voldemort really is. We're pretty sure that's not his real name."  
  
"And what if you do manage to find out who he is? What good will it do?"  
  
"I don't know," James admitted. "But we feel we've got to do something, and this is a start."  
  
"Maybe we'll be able to find out where he comes from," Remus added. "What kind of a man he is - what his weaknesses are."  
  
"In any case, it can't hurt to know as much about him as possible," Sirius said.  
  
"True," Frank agreed. "All right. In that case, I'm coming with you."  
  
The 'marauders' looked at one another. Remus nodded to the others. James smiled. Peter nodded. Only Sirius hesitated, but at last he shrugged his shoulders.  
  
"Come on then," Remus said, producing the Marauder's Map.  
  
He looked at Frank and put on his most serious expression.  
  
"You'll have to promise us that you'll never breathe a word of what you're about to see and hear to anyone, living or ghost. Not even Damian."  
  
"I promise," Frank said just as earnestly.  
  
Sirius then waved his wand over the map in Remus's hand and said the words to reveal it. Frank's mouth dropped open as the words of Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs appeared on the page. But that was nothing to his surprise when labelled dots began moving over the map.  
  
"When - how did you make this?"  
  
Sirius grinned.  
  
"Secrets of the trade. Come on."  
  
And so Frank dressed hurriedly, and then the five of them set out in the direction of Filch's office.  
  
--------------------------  
  
Bertha Jorkins peeped round a pillar. From where she was standing, she could see the door to the caretaker's office and the passage leading up to it. She pricked up her ears. She'd been waiting for hours, surely they would be along soon.  
  
Bertha felt something brush against her leg and looked down.  
  
"Oh, not now, Mrs. Norris," she whispered angrily. "Go away. Shoo!"  
  
The cat stalked off with its tail in the air, and Bertha looked back towards the door and the passage. She was sure that any minute now, Sirius - Bertha liked Sirius - and the others would appear, and she would see .  
  
"Hello, what have we here? A student out of bed at past three in the morning?" a voice said right behind her, making her jump several inches.  
  
--------------------------  
  
Sirius, his wand casting an eerie greenish light on his features, stopped and turned to the others.  
  
"Right, here we are," he said. "Is the coast clear, Remus?"  
  
His friend checked the map.  
  
"There's no one in Filch's office or near it - except us."  
  
He wiped the map clean under more amazed gasps from Frank, then the five of them walked up to the door. Peter tried the handle.  
  
"It's locked," he stated, looking at Remus with a grin.  
  
"It's locked," said Remus, grinning at Sirius.  
  
"Oh dear, it's locked, James," Sirius echoed.  
  
"Now what?" Frank asked. "Can it be opened with a spell?"  
  
"None that we know of. We've tried that before, when we came to get something back that Filch had taken from us," James replied. "But ."  
  
He took a piece of twine out of his pocket and held it up for Frank to see.  
  
"What's that for?"  
  
"You're about to see the master locksmith of Hogwarts at work," Remus said mysteriously.  
  
Frank watched fascinated as James pointed his wand at the piece of twine and waved it once. Suddenly the twine stiffened. Its end twisted and bent and it took on a metallic sheen. James held it out for Frank to see.  
  
"You transfigured it!" Frank exclaimed. "But what's that?"  
  
"It's called a skeleton key. Burglars in Muggle stories use them to open locked doors."  
  
"That bit of wire's going to open a lock? How?"  
  
In answer, James passed the skeleton key to Sirius, who had already crouched down before the lock. He inserted the wire and began to twist it round. After a few seconds, they all heard a loud click. Sirius stood back and Peter tried the door once more. This time it swung back on its hinges with a low creak. The marauders stepped into the office, but Frank paused to remove the skeleton key.  
  
"You forget the evidence," he said, handing it back to James.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
Another flick of James's wand turned the key back into a harmless piece of twine, which James buried in his pocket.  
  
"Right, now where do we start?" Frank asked, looking round at the file cabinets.  
  
"My father's name's Lothian," James said. "Vindictus Lothian."  
  
"L. Should be near my file," said Remus.  
  
He walked over to a cabinet.  
  
"Oh, he's moved me!" he exclaimed. "Lupin, Remus. See Black, Lupin, Pettigrew and Potter," he read.  
  
Sirius looked around him.  
  
"Here we are! We've got an entire drawer to ourselves. Now that's what I call an achievement. Bet no one will ever match that!"  
  
The others laughed.  
  
"Ah, here we are," said Remus, becoming serious again. "Lothian, Vindictus. There's not much in his file, though. He must have been a model student."  
  
"Not much like me then," James said.  
  
"No, but look how he turned out," Peter reminded him.  
  
James went to look over Remus's shoulder.  
  
"Looks like my father was a snitch," he remarked. "It seems all he ever did was report decent, hard-working mischief makers to the caretaker or one of the teachers. What's this name here? It seems to appear rather often . 'Lothian and Riddle reported so-and-so'. 'Riddle and Lothian .'. Who's this Riddle, then?"  
  
"Riddle? Funny name," Sirius commented.  
  
He strolled over to another cabinet and pulled it open.  
  
"Tom Riddle, was it?"  
  
James checked.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Hm. Riddle, Tom Marvolo," Sirius read. "Honestly, what a ridiculous name! Hardly anything in his file either. Must have been even more perfect than your dad, James. Woah ."  
  
Sirius whistled.  
  
"What is it?" Frank asked.  
  
"This Riddle chap got an award for special services to the school."  
  
"What special services?"  
  
"It says he trapped some boy who set a monster loose that killed a student. Riddle can't be the one we're looking for after all then, can he?"  
  
"I don't know," James murmured.  
  
"What was the name of the student who let the monster loose?" Peter asked.  
  
"It doesn't say."  
  
James thoughtfully pulled a drawer open in the cabinet in front of him and sifted aimlessly through the files. In the place where his own should have been, he found the same note as in Remus's file. But something bothered James. Something was wrong. He flicked his empty file forward and his gaze fell on those behind it.  
  
"Potter, Greta," he muttered. "Potter, Colin. Potter, Alexander."  
  
"Relatives of yours?" Frank asked.  
  
"Not that I know of. My mum never mentions her family."  
  
His mother . Suddenly it began to dawn on James what was worrying him. As a young boy, he had always assumed that Potter was his father's surname - if indeed he had thought about it at all. Since he had found out that that was not the case, he had been sure that it must be his mother's maiden name. He looked in the drawer again, but there was no Bridget Potter to be found. He flicked past all the files again in case he had missed one, he even dug down into the bottom of the drawer in case his mother's file had slipped down - nothing.  
  
"What's the matter?" Peter asked.  
  
"My mother's file - it's not here," James answered.  
  
The others came and joined him.  
  
"But - she was at Hogwarts too, wasn't she?" Sirius asked.  
  
"Yes. She was in Gryffindor. The Sorting Hat said so."  
  
"Maybe it made a mistake?"  
  
A cough from the door made them all jump and whirl around. In the doorway, frowning deeply so that his scar looked more hideous than ever, stood Professor Darkhardt.  
  
"Good evening, gentlemen," said the professor. "Dear me, Mr. Filch will not be happy about you 'filching' his papers."  
  
Peter suppressed a snigger.  
  
"For your information, Mr. Pettigrew," their teacher silenced him, "the Sorting Hat is never mistaken, to my knowledge. If it claims that Mr. Potter's mother was in Gryffindor, then she was."  
  
"You heard all that?" James blurted out.  
  
"That and a great deal more besides," Darkhardt said. "I have been watching you all ever since your fascinating display of burglaring skills."  
  
"But there was no one on ." Remus checked himself just in time. "I mean, we didn't see anyone about."  
  
"No. As a matter of fact, I have been out all night. On my return I met Mr. Filch, escorting Miss Jorkins back to her dormitory. It seems to have been a busy night."  
  
"Bertha?"  
  
"Yes, Mr. Longbottom. Apparently, Mr. Filch had caught her creeping around here. She would not say what she had been doing here, so I decided to come along and investigate. So, you now know how I come to be here, but I have yet to learn what exactly was your purpose in coming here tonight."  
  
James opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment Mr. Filch joined them.  
  
"What's this?" he sneered. "More students out of bed? By gad, I'll have you lot hanging by your thumbs ."  
  
He started towards them, but Professor Darkhardt held him back.  
  
"I'll handle this, Argus," he said.  
  
He turned to the boys.  
  
"You had better all come to my office with me so we can talk undisturbed."  
  
"Not until I've made sure they haven't pinched anything," Filch objected.  
  
Darkhardt sighed.  
  
"All right, turn out your pockets."  
  
The boys obeyed. Filch marched over to the desk and examined each of the objects lying on it. There was a handful of Every Flavour Beans, a crumpled piece of parchment with some Potions notes on it, James's piece of twine, a few bronze knuts and the Marauder's Map - thankfully blank.  
  
Filch picked up this last item and eyed Remus, who had laid it there, with malicious suspicion.  
  
"What's this then?" he asked.  
  
"A piece of parchment, by the look of it," said the Defence Against the Dark Arts master, taking it from Filch's hand. "Pick up your things, boys, and follow me."  
  
They did so, and soon all five of them were crowded in the professor's office. Professor Darkhardt turned the parchment over and over in his hand and finally pointed his wand at it.  
  
"I am Professor Darkhardt, Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher of this school. I command you to reveal your secret," he said.  
  
There was a pause, then text began to appear on the sheet of parchment in his hand.  
  
"Mr. Moony presents his compliments to Professor Darkhardt, and begs him to keep his abnormally large nose out of other people's business."  
  
Remus flinched. More text appeared below .  
  
"Mr. Prongs agrees with Mr. Moony, and would like to add that Professor Darkhardt is an ugly git."  
  
It was James's turn to blanch.  
  
"Mr. Padfoot would like to register his astonishment that an idiot like that ever became a professor."  
  
Sirius suppressed a grin and shot a nervous sideways glance at their teacher.  
  
"Mr. Wormtail bids Professor Darkhardt good day, and advises him to wash his hair, the slimeball."  
  
Peter began to tremble visibly. All of the boys watched the professor rather nervously. They had been very proud of this little protection against prying teachers - they had even managed to enchant it with two different versions of these responses, one for male and one for female teachers - but now they wished the floor would swallow them up.  
  
For a while, Professor Darkhardt's expression remained unfathomable. Then, so unexpectedly that all five of them felt their hearts start to pound in their chests, Professor Darkhardt began to laugh heartily. He handed the parchment back to Remus and sat down on the chair behind his desk.  
  
"That is an ingenious piece of equipment you carry," he said appreciatively. "What does it do?"  
  
"It's a map, sir," Remus admitted.  
  
Darkhardt ignored the hard elbow nudge Sirius gave Remus.  
  
"A map, eh? That must be very useful in a big place like this. And, Mr. Potter, I find your use for old pieces of twine very impressive. In fact, all of you have actually confirmed my opinion of you tonight. But before I go into that, I would like to know what you were looking for in our esteemed caretaker's office."  
  
The boys exchanged glances, and as usual James was silently elected as spokesman. He told the professor what they had been looking for and why, about his mother's mysterious past and his father's identity. When James finished, Darkhardt nodded slowly.  
  
"Very good. You have indeed discovered the identity of Lord Voldemort. Tom Riddle. His mother was a witch, and married a Muggle who left her when she told him what she was. She died giving birth to Tom, who grew up in a Muggle orphanage. He has hated Muggles ever since.  
  
Your resourcefulness and ingenuity does you all credit," he said. "And I gather from your recital that some of that credit is also due to the diligent studies of Miss Lily Evans."  
  
James nodded.  
  
"Very well. Now let me tell you what I have been doing tonight. You had better make yourselves as comfortable as you can in this room."  
  
They all found rather uncomfortable seats about the office, and Professor Darkhardt began filling them in on what had been discussed at Dumbledore's meeting.  
  
"So," he concluded at the end of his story, "it is my job to find brave and resourceful students like you and 'convert' you to our cause. The threat of Voldemort is very real and very near. I hope you will all decide that you are on our side. Your father, Remus, at first protested against my bringing students in on such a dangerous venture. But I think he understood, in the end, that it is for the best."  
  
"You say you'll teach us more about the Dark Arts and how to fight them?" Remus asked in answer.  
  
"Yes. Don't worry, I will do my best to make sure you are all as well prepared as you can be before you actually have to face Voldemort or any of his supporters. I'll understand if you'd all rather sleep on it before you make a decision ..."  
  
"I don't think there's any need for that," Sirius said, rising from the chest he had been sitting on. "Voldemort has to be stopped, and if there's any way we can help stop him, then I don't think any of us is going to say no. Right?"  
  
The others all agreed. Professor Darkhardt smiled.  
  
"Good. I suspected you would be eager to join us. Now, I suggest you all go back to bed, and tomorrow, speak to anyone else you think has the courage to fight the dark side. Only people you really trust, mind. We can't afford to make mistakes. Come to my office again next Saturday night."  
  
The boys nodded and began to leave the office. James stopped in the doorway and turned back.  
  
"There's just one thing," he said. "It's about my mother. You said that if the Sorting Hat said she was in Gryffindor, then she was. But her name doesn't appear anywhere in the files ."  
  
"I don't know much about that," Professor Darkhardt admitted. "All I can say is, she must have been here if the Sorting Hat said so. Perhaps ."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"I have been teaching here a very long time now, so I must have met your mother. What did you say her name was?"  
  
"Bridget Potter."  
  
"Bridget?" the professor repeated thoughtfully. "I don't remember a Bridget Potter. Unless ."  
  
Suddenly his eyes opened and he stared at James as though he were seeing him in a new light.  
  
"What is it, sir?"  
  
"It's just a thought. If your mother was a student here under a different name, then ..."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
Darkhardt shook his head.  
  
"Nothing. We shall see."  
  
And that was all he would say. James said good night to the professor and followed the others back to the dormitory, but he lay awake a long time, thinking about what he had learnt that night. Moonlight had almost given way to light before his eyes finally closed and he fell into an uneasy sleep. 


	15. Part 15: The Christmas Spirit

Prequel, Part 15: The Christmas Spirit  
  
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1 - Old Ties  
  
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Albus Dumbledore stepped into the magnificent library of Gryffindor Hall. It was a large and gloomy room lit by the flickering yellow light of the candles that floated under the ceiling. Tall shelves filled to the brim with many faded and dusty books lined the walls, and a bright fire crackled in the huge fireplace at one end. In one of the two chairs on the bearskin rug in front of the fire sat a wizard.  
  
He was tall, and his wavy grey hair fell down to his broad shoulders. The smoke from a long pipe encircled his head. His eyes were iron-grey and his face, though now old and wrinkled, had clearly once been very handsome. He looked up when the headmaster of Hogwarts entered.  
  
"Albus," he said in a slow, slightly rasping voice. "Sit down, my old friend."  
  
Dumbledore sat in the chair opposite.  
  
"How is dear Arabella?"  
  
"She's looking well," Dumbledore replied.  
  
"Good. And old Nicolas?"  
  
"He couldn't come, I'm afraid. But in his letter he assured me that he is one hundred percent behind us."  
  
"Good."  
  
For a while silence fell between them. At last, Gordon Gryffindor's pipe went out and he took it from his mouth.  
  
"So - did your council go well?"  
  
"It went as I had expected."  
  
Gryffindor cocked his head to one side.  
  
"Someone did not share your opinions?"  
  
"Bartemius Crouch seemed to think that we ought to authorise the use of the Unforgivable Curses against Voldemort's supporters. So far all the others seem to agree that such means are not justifiable, but I worry what will happen once there are more victims."  
  
"You think there will be?"  
  
"Oh, definitely. Voldemort is not some harmless upstart, Gordon. He is seriously dangerous. Already he has claimed more victims than most people outside the Ministry guess. Several ministers who opposed his views have simply - vanished. I fear that Damocles Dorset's death was not the first. Just because no body has been found before, it doesn't mean to say there has been no murder."  
  
Gordon Gryffindor nodded thoughtfully.  
  
"I agree. So - what do you want me to do?"  
  
"Take a stand. Come out into the open and support us."  
  
"I have gone to great lengths, Albus, to hide myself away from the world. This mansion is better protected than even you can imagine. No one can enter it unless I choose to let them, or unless they know the password to the hidden gate. And now you want me to reveal myself again? Why?"  
  
"I told you about Professor Trelawney's prediction ."  
  
"And you think she was referring to me? No, Albus. I am an old man. Though I feel I can safely say that my powers are greater than those of Lord Voldemort, what you have told me of him leads me to suspect it will not be long until he becomes stronger than I am. I cannot stop him."  
  
"Perhaps you are right. But you are not the only living heir of Gryffindor."  
  
The old wizard's expression closed. His eyes turned cold.  
  
"I am the only one who still bears that name," he said guardedly.  
  
"But not the only one of that bloodline. There is your child."  
  
Gryffindor rose abruptly and turned his back to the fire.  
  
"I have no child!"  
  
"Yes you do, Gordon. And I think it is time you two were reconciled, before it's too late. As yet we do not know in what way Gryffindor's heir - whichever one of you that may refer to - can defeat the Dark Lord, and until we do, anyone of that heritage is in great danger. Voldemort will be looking for you, and your daughter does not have the benefit of the protection you have placed on this house. If Voldemort discovers where she is ."  
  
"How would he even find out she exists?"  
  
"He already knows."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Voldemort was at her wedding, Gordon. But of course you wouldn't know that. You weren't there."  
  
Gordon Gryffindor, his face pale, looked back at Dumbledore.  
  
"I know you have disagreed violently with your daughter in the past," the professor continued gently, "but she is still your child, and I believe you still care about her."  
  
"Have you found her?"  
  
Dumbledore smiled.  
  
"Don't you already know where she is?"  
  
"You think I do?"  
  
"Oh yes. As I said, I don't believe for a moment that you have stopped caring about your daughter. You may not have spoken to her for years, but you would have no peace if you didn't know where she was. I have my own suspicions regarding her whereabouts. A visit to a certain address in London could confirm them."  
  
"If you're so sure of where she is, why don't you go and see her yourself, get her to join this Order of yours and take her somewhere safe?"  
  
"I don't think it would be wise. It would not be safe for her. I am, after all, a prominent person. If Voldemort's spies saw me going there . "  
  
"Then what can you do?"  
  
"I have a plan. I dare say you are aware that your daughter has a son?"  
  
"Yes," Gryffindor admitted.  
  
"He is a student at Hogwarts now. He is fifteen, and a fine lad. And I happen to know the parents of one of his best friends very well. I am sure I could arrange for them to have both the boy and his mother to stay with them next summer. Would you be willing to visit them there one day? Since Voldemort's spies don't know where you are, they won't be waiting to follow your every move, so you would all be quite safe."  
  
Gordon Gryffindor stood in silence for a long moment.  
  
"In fact, you want me to swallow my pride and beg my daughter to come back to me? Why should I? Our division was not my fault. By rights, she should come to me and ask my forgiveness."  
  
"We don't have time for a struggle between her pride and yours, Gordon. All that matters now is that you put aside your differences for the greater good - the destruction of Lord Voldemort."  
  
Gordon Gryffindor hesitated, but at last he sighed.  
  
"Very well, Albus. She may have made a foolish mistake and gone against my express disapproval, but that was a long time ago. As you say, it is for the destruction of evil. I will do as you suggest."  
  
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2 - Christmas Eve  
  
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James rubbed his hands together and blew on them. He shook the snow off his cloak and shivered. Even in the entrance hall of Hogwarts, it was still bitter cold. Outside a snowstorm was brewing and thick flakes were fluttering in all directions, now this way, now that way, as thought he wind itself could not decide in which direction to blow them.  
  
A group of chattering girls passed him as he climbed the great staircase, and James was struck again by the sheer amount of people at Hogwarts this Christmas. Usually, as far as he could tell, the school was empty at this time of year. He himself had so far always spent Christmas at home. But the events of the past months had made many parents feel insecure in the outside world, and many of them seemed to feel that their offspring were safer at Hogwarts this winter.  
  
As he made his way back towards Gryffindor Tower, James thought back over what he had experienced this year. Ever since the death of that minister in Diagon Alley, things had taken a definite turn for the worse in the wizarding world. The Daily Prophet had mentioned several mysterious disappearances of high-ranking officials both before and after that event, reports of Muggle torturing had increased and at Hogwarts, Professor Darkhardt had been working overtime.  
  
Not only had he founded what the relatively small group of students involved jocularly called 'Darkhardt's Defenders' and begun secretly teaching them more about the Dark Arts and how to fight them every Saturday night, but he had started an official duelling club on Sunday mornings, hoping to prepare those who had not already joined the Defenders for any dangers they might have to face. Consequently, the Defence Against the Dark Arts master was very busy and often looked rather tired these days, but James had rarely seen anyone show so much enthusiasm or put so much effort into helping the students.  
  
Another person who looked more tired than usual nowadays was Remus Lupin. Spurred on, no doubt, by the involvement of both his father and his uncle in Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix - already a legend among members of the Defenders - as well as by the fact that Professor Darkhardt had done his utmost to improve the young lad's self-confidence, Remus was now putting every ounce of his energy into everything to do with Defence Against the Dark Arts. He still gave Heather Woodcock lessons every Saturday morning, he was enthusiastically involved in their Dark Arts course on Saturday nights, and he was always first up on Sunday mornings for duelling classes.  
  
But James himself had not been idle. He, too, was determined to do his bit. Together with Sirius and Frank, he had made it his job to discover potential new members for their defence group and find out whether they were really suitable candidates. He and Sirius were always the first to volunteer when it came to learning knew spells and duelling techniques, and they had persuaded some of the other Gryffindors, a few Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, to join.  
  
Lost in thought, James reached the portrait of the Fat Lady before he knew it, and actually stood there for quite a long time before she somewhat impatiently asked him for the password. James looked up, torn out of his reverie, and barely noticed that the Fat Lady had put on her best paper hat and had tinsel draped about her neck.  
  
"Eggnog," he mumbled, and the portrait swung back on its hinges.  
  
He climbed through the hole and began pulling off his snow-dampened cloak. The common room, like the rest of the school, was uncommonly busy. James absent-mindedly strolled across to the table in the corner and sat down. Remus looked up from yet another book he'd been reading and Sirius and Peter came over from where they had been playing exploding snap on the rug in front of the common room fire.  
  
"What's the matter with you?" Remus asked.  
  
"He's been thinking again," Sirius guessed. "James, Dumbledore and the greatest witches and wizards of the century are already putting their grey heads together to think of some way to stop the Dark Lord. I somehow don't think you're going to make any difference by brooding and spoiling your holidays and ours."  
  
"Exactly," Remus agreed. "You shouldn't worry so much, or you'll start going grey."  
  
"Look who's talking," Sirius laughed.  
  
James smiled. "You may be right, but I don't see that not brooding will help either."  
  
"Yes it will," Sirius disagreed. "We can't figure out a way to defeat Voldemort right now, so I suggest we do what we're best at. It's Christmas Eve, but there's a pretty gloomy mood at Hogwarts this Xmas, and I think we can do something to improve that. It's our duty."  
  
James looked doubtful, but Remus nodded.  
  
"You know, Sirius has a point there. People need a bit of Christmas cheer to get back on their feet. So let's give it to them. I'm sure Sirius already has an ingenious plan, and I wouldn't mind betting it involves our old friend Severus - am I right?"  
  
"Your deductions are getting more and more perfect, Mr. Moony," Sirius replied. "You've been spending too much time around the Ravenclaws again."  
  
Remus irritably cleared his throat.  
  
"Well, what did you have in mind?" Peter asked impatiently.  
  
Sirius took a small phial out of his pocket and held it up. It contained a very dark blue liquid.  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"A tickling potion," Sirius explained. "You sprinkle it on the biscuits, and anyone who eats them will feel like they're being tickled all over and start laughing."  
  
"Hm - but how do we make sure Snape eats the biscuits before anyone else does?" James asked. "If he sees someone eat one and start laughing, he won't take one, will he?"  
  
Sirius looked crestfallen.  
  
"You are in a lousy mood today," he moaned.  
  
"Never mind, it's still a good idea," said Peter. "We could warn all the other Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, anyway. Then we'd still get a good laugh when the Slytherins start tucking in, even if it's not Snape who takes the first one."  
  
"Ye-es," James agreed, warming up a little. "We could think of something else for Severus. I know - how about a Christmas hat that spurts out fireworks?"  
  
"You really think Severus Snape would even wear a Christmas hat?" Remus said doubtfully. "Still, maybe one of the teachers will. That would be funny too."  
  
Sirius chuckled. "Yes, and I've just thought of something else for Snape."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Wait and see," he said mysteriously. "It'll be fun, I promise you."  
  
-------------  
  
James slept badly again that night, as he always did when he had something on his mind. Maybe the others were right. Perhaps he did worry too much. But the fact was he couldn't help it. He tossed and turned for over two hours before falling asleep.  
  
James looked around him. He was outdoors in the middle of the night, and he vaguely thought that he would be in a lot of trouble if one of the teachers found him here. But where was here? He started walking, and realised that the ground beneath him was crunchy, a long drive covered with gravel. He looked down, but found that he must have been mistaken after all. There was no gravel here. He was standing on a bearskin rug in a warm room full of dusty books. A fire was crackling behind him and James turned to look at it.  
  
The flames were bright orange and looked very merry, as though they were dancing happily. He heard a high clear sound like the song of a bird and gazed deeper into the fire, for some reason expecting to see the creature in there.  
  
Deeper and deeper he looked, and he almost thought that he could make out a shape, something large and winged, red as the flames around it. There was a sudden gust of wind and the creature vanished, the flames flowed softly from side to side, glowing red and bronze and thinning out, fluttering now like long red hair caught in a stiff breeze.  
  
But in the middle of this red veil, James caught a glimpse of something else. Something had moved in there and he lifted his hand to brush the red curtain aside so he could see what it was.  
  
Eyes. A pair of bright green eyes were drawing him in, pulling him closer, closer . He heard a light, cheerful laugh and turned to see where it had come from, but suddenly everything went black and he was groping in the dark. He heard a crash and saw a window fly open, the curtains ruffled wildly by a strong cold wind. An inexplicable fear seized him and he wanted to run, but found that he couldn't. He stood as though transfixed.  
  
And then he saw it. It began as a small speck at first, but it quickly started glowing: a light, a green light so bright it hurt to look at it, and yet he couldn't turn away. It was blotting out everything else, filling the room, creeping towards him ... He heard a woman's voice scream his name, and then the light reached him and there was nothing. James felt like he was tumbling forward, and he put out a hand to stop himself.  
  
He opened his eyes and saw the blurry shape of his bedside cabinet in front of him. His hand was clutching the corner of it and his body was soaked in sweat. James rolled onto his back, gasping.  
  
"It was a dream," he muttered to himself. "Just a dream, that's all."  
  
He closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep, but no sleep came.  
  
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3 - A Secret Gift  
  
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Remus turned over in his bed and blinked. A ray of bright winter sunlight had found the gap in the hangings around his bed and shone on his face. A moment later, there was a loud creaking noise across the room, followed by quick and heavy footsteps and a loud joyful call of  
  
"Merry Christmas!"  
  
"Merry Christmas to you too, Sirius," Remus answered, laughing as he pushed back the curtains.  
  
James, Frank and Peter were also blinking out from behind the hangings of their beds, all smiling and wishing each other "A merry Christmas to you" and "An even merrier Christmas to you" and "Oh no, a much merrier Christmas to you".  
  
"Presents!" Sirius exclaimed, picking up the stocking at the foot of his bed and pulling it open eagerly.  
  
"Look at this!" he shouted excitedly a moment later, holding up a shining hardback.  
  
"What is it?" Peter asked, emerging from the foot of his own bed with the brown chocolate of this Christmas's first chocolate frog smeared around his mouth.  
  
"It's a book about motorbikes, of course," Sirius answered impatiently. "From your mother, James!"  
  
"What's a motorbike?" asked Frank, who didn't know much about Muggle vehicles.  
  
"It's a Muggle form of transport. A bit like a broom, but much bigger, much shinier and much more exciting," Sirius explained.  
  
"And they don't fly, but roll noisily along the road on whacking great big rubber tires that smell terribly if you brake to hard," James added.  
  
"Yes - fantastic," Sirius breathed. "Woah - look at this one here!"  
  
He sat gaping open-mouthed at the picture of a particularly huge and shiny vehicle.  
  
"I'll never be able to afford a thing like that," he sighed longingly.  
  
James laughed.  
  
"Don't worry, Sirius. One day, I'll rob Gringotts and buy you one."  
  
Remus, laughing with the others, pulled the stocking at the foot of his own bed up onto his lap and began opening it. There was a wonderful new black winter cloak with a soft fur collar and bronze fastenings, immaculately hand-sewn by his mother; a new book on magical tricks and pranks from his friends; at least a year's supply of Pepper Imps and Every Flavour Beans from his Uncle Malcolm; and an old, thick, leather-bound book with gold lettering on the front, entitled 'The Expert's Guide to the Dark Arts'.  
  
"What's that?" Peter asked, coming over for a closer look.  
  
Remus opened the book cautiously and began flicking through the pages.  
  
"Look at those illustrations," Frank whispered in awe, looking over Remus's shoulder.  
  
"Fantastic!" James exclaimed. "This book looks ancient, but it's in really good condition. It must contain practically every curse and counter-curse in the world, things from the times of Salazar Slytherin, maybe. Wait ."  
  
He put out a hand and Remus stopped turning the pages.  
  
"The Cruciatus curse," he read.  
  
"Isn't that what Lothian - I mean, what your father was arrested for?" Sirius asked.  
  
"Yes," James answered coldly.  
  
"The Cruciatus curse was outlawed over a century ago, but many wizards and witches who practise the Dark Arts today still know how to use it," Frank read out.  
  
"To perform it, the caster points his or her wand at the receiver and casts the 'Crucio' spell, which immediately causes the victim to feel unbearable pain. If contact is maintained for too long, the victim can become unconscious. It has been known for victims repeatedly subjected to the Cruciatus curse to suffer permanent numbing of the nerves in their bodies, thus rendering them immune to its effects, but also leaving them incapable of ever physically feeling anything again. Some victims subjected to this curse for a longer space of time without interruption, or repeatedly within a relatively short space of time, have been known to become insane for the rest of their lives."  
  
Frank broke off and shuddered.  
  
"That's horrible," he said.  
  
"Merry Christmas," Sirius muttered gloomily. "Who sent you that cheerful book, Moony?"  
  
Frank helped Remus hunt for the gift tag and came up, holding it.  
  
"Just thought this might come in useful. Hope you like it," he read. "It's not signed."  
  
"I wonder who can have sent it?" Peter said. "Do you have any ideas, Moony?"  
  
"Maybe," Remus murmured, continuing to flick through the pages. "It is a marvellous book."  
  
"If you like that sort of thing." Sirius shrugged. "So, let's get dressed, shall we, and get Project Xmas ready."  
  
----------------------  
  
That evening, the suits of armour, thanks to Professor Flitwick's instruction, had taken to singing 'The Twelve Days of Christmas' in loud, rusty voices. Countless fireflies zoomed around the Great Hall and real fairies twirled and danced on the tops of the twelve Christmas trees, waving little silver wands and rustling their frilly little dresses.  
  
The five boys walked to the middle of the Great Hall, where the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables had been pushed together to form one big table, and were immediately greeted noisily by Damian Diggle, who had saved them seats. They sat down and James looked around at all the familiar faces. At the head of the table sat Professor Dumbledore, flanked by Professor McGonagall and Hagrid, who smiled at them. Professor Darkhardt sat on McGonagall's other side, while tiny Professor Flitwick was perched on a pile of cushions next to Hagrid. The other teachers had apparently gone home for the holidays.  
  
Then came a mixed group of students: seventh-year Gryffindor Oliver McKinnon, Florence Fortescue and Bertha Jorkins from Hufflepuff, Daniel Moore and Mary Crimple from Ravenclaw, Gemma, Crystal and Serenity from Gryffindor, Eugene Berry from Hufflepuff, Alice Spriggs from Ravenclaw, Lily and Aurora, Heather Woodcock, Oliver's younger sister and a few more of the younger Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Gryffindor girls and boys - James noticed that, while these three houses had obviously decided that Christmas was a time to be jolly together, the Slytherins had chosen, as usual, to sit on the opposite side of the table, as far away from the rest of the school as possible.  
  
"Ah, I see we are all assembled," Dumbledore's soft voice interrupted the chatter. "Excellent. In that case it falls to me, as usual, to wish you all a very merry Christmas, and may the feasting commence."  
  
He clapped his hands amid loud cheers, and platters of turkey and potatoes appeared along with gravy to spare and more than enough Christmas crackers for everyone. Remus and Peter took the opportunity to get handfuls of self- made crackers out of their pockets and sneak them onto the table in the general confusion. Sirius, meanwhile, was fiddling with something under the table, and soon a twig of mistletoe was seen floating out at the Slytherin end.  
  
It flew along the bench and upwards, then stopped just over Severus Snape's head. Several of the girls on the side opposite the Slytherins began to giggle, and even Professor McGonagall's eyes seemed to twinkle with amusement. Severus Snape, however, noticed nothing, until Florence finally gave a mischievous grin and got up. She walked around the table, tapped him on the shoulder and boldly kissed him on the lips, which caused an explosion of laughter from around the table and made Severus shoot up from his seat.  
  
"What do you think you're doing?" he shouted.  
  
But some of the other girls were emboldened by Florence's example and followed suit, until at last Lucius Malfoy rose and drew his wand.  
  
"Back off, you idiots!" he cried, looking ready to hex anyone who did not obey.  
  
"Malfoy! Sit down!" Professor Darkhardt commanded at once.  
  
Lucius Malfoy scowled at him, but did as he was told.  
  
Darkhardt turned to Sirius and nodded towards the boy with the mistletoe over his head. Sirius shrugged and, with a flick of his wand, summoned the twig back to him. Severus sat back down, glaring across the table.  
  
After they had all eaten their fill of turkey, Yorkshire pudding and potatoes, these dishes miraculously vanished and mounds of Christmas pudding and cakes appeared, along with more custard and cream than they could possibly eat. James sneaked the biscuits laced with tickling potion in amongst the desserts and helped himself to a piece of cake.  
  
They all tucked in, but their dessert was interrupted suddenly by a loud bang from the head of the table, and James spun around to see something small shoot up towards the enchanted ceiling. To everyone's astonishment, tiny Professor Flitwick was zooming around the Great Hall like a rocket, and it was a full two minutes before he came floating down again to land - rather unelegantly - right on top of Professor McGonagall's pudding.  
  
Everyone was on their feet in a moment, surveying the damage and Professor Flitwick with some concern.  
  
"Filius, are you all right?" McGonagall asked.  
  
"I'm fine," Flitwick chuckled, standing up gingerly. "That was - exciting."  
  
Professors Darkhardt and Dumbledore, meanwhile, were looking down at Professor Flitwick's Christmas hat where it had landed after toppling off his head when he had descended and studying it closely.  
  
"It appears someone has attached one of Dr. Filibuster's best to this hat," Dumbledore remarked, turning to the students.  
  
His eyes searched the rows of faces and came to rest on James, Remus, Sirius and Peter, who looked back at him guiltily.  
  
"Err . yes, well," Sirius began, "actually, something must have gone wrong there, Professor. You see, the hat was meant to spurt fireworks, not turn its wearer into one," he explained seriously, though he was hardly able to keep a straight face.  
  
"That was a very dangerous thing to do," Professor McGonagall began to scold. "Professor Flitwick might have been badly injured, or worse ."  
  
"But I wasn't, Minerva," Flitwick spoke up. "And it's Christmas, so let's not hear of any punishment. I for one am eager to return to my custard."  
  
He moved back towards his own seat and made to pick up his hat again, but Darkhardt quickly put out a hand to stop him.  
  
"Perhaps you'd better remain hatless today," he suggested quietly.  
  
Professor Flitwick, still chortling, sat down and picked up a biscuit.  
  
"Oh no," Peter muttered.  
  
But it was too late. The tiny professor had already taken his first eager bite and at once erupted in fits of laughter induced by the tickling potion. He calmed down after a few minutes, none the worse for his trials. But everyone else was very careful what they ate and touched after that.  
  
---------------  
  
When everyone had eaten so much that they thought they would burst, the dessert dishes also vanished. Eugene Berry suggested a nightly snowball fight in the grounds, and most of them agreed eagerly. The Slytherins, however, chose to remain by themselves and withdraw to their dungeon.  
  
Once outside, Remus spotted Professor Darkhardt strolling off in the direction of the Forbidden Forest. He excused himself from the others and ran to catch up with the teacher.  
  
"Professor!"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
Darkhardt stopped and turned round.  
  
"I just wanted to thank you, sir."  
  
"Thank me? What for?"  
  
The book, sir," Remus replied. "It was from you, wasn't it?"  
  
Professor Darkhardt gave one of his crooked smiles.  
  
"Oh, that. Yes, that was from me."  
  
"It's a very valuable gift, sir. I'm not sure I should accept it."  
  
"And I wasn't sure I should give it. I'm not in the habit of showing favouritism, you know. That's why I didn't sign the card, and I'd be glad if you didn't tell anyone where it came from."  
  
The professor then surprised Remus by laying a hand on his shoulder.  
  
"Remus, I have had that book for a long time," he explained. "I have read it so often that I know it by heart. It is, as you say, very valuable. But I will have no one to leave it to one day. I know you will always treasure it and use it well."  
  
The way the professor spoke made Remus feel anxious, as though something very important had been said here.  
  
"I will, sir," he said. "I promise."  
  
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4 - Snowball Fight  
  
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The students split into two teams with the boys on one side and the girls on the other. Their game was chaotic, and soon they were all covered in snow and rolling up with laughter.  
  
Sirius threw a well-aimed snowball that hit Olivia on the side of the face, and immediately suffered the girls' revenge. Alice, Crystal and Florence pounced on him, while Heather, Serenity, Aurora and Bertha gathered hands full of snow and pushed them down his collar. James and Remus looked at one another and nodded.  
  
Roaring in unison, they bent down to scoop up as much snow as they could carry and charged. Alice and Bertha jumped back, screaming. Remus and James crashed straight into the others and they all landed on the soft floor in a heap. Somewhere at the bottom of the pile, Sirius yelled.  
  
"Geroff!" he shouted, laughing. "Help, someone!"  
  
Those students still standing gathered round to survey the spectacle of arms and legs flying in all directions and laughed, then more of them joined the fray. Sirius struggled, but finally managed to crawl out from the bottom of the pile and get out of the way, gasping. Aurora came up to him and knelt down before him.  
  
"Are you all right?" she asked.  
  
"Yeah," Sirius panted. "I'm fine, thanks. Just a bit breathless."  
  
Aurora smiled sweetly.  
  
"Good," she said. "Because I've got something for you."  
  
She brought her hands out from behind her back and smothered his face with snow.  
  
"Hey!" Sirius cried, while she jumped up, laughing. "I'll get you for this!"  
  
And grabbing two hands full of snow, he chased after her.  
  
James, meanwhile, had finally managed to get up again and was looking for his friends.  
  
"Remus! Peter! Sirius!" he called, pulling several of the students off one another. "Are you in there?"  
  
"I'm here, James," Remus said, suddenly turning up right beside him. "And there's Sirius."  
  
He pointed, and they both watched as Sirius caught up with Aurora and sent her tumbling to the ground.  
  
"I don't know about you," Remus added, "but I'm exhausted. I think I'll go up to bed and read or something."  
  
James looked at his friend, his face darkening for a moment. He glanced up at the moon, which he knew would be full tomorrow.  
  
"All right," he said. "See you."  
  
Remus nodded and began making his way up to the castle. He was about to climb up the great staircase when he heard someone else step softly into the hallway. He turned and saw Heather standing there.  
  
"Hello," she said timidly. "Where are you going?"  
  
"I'm tired," Remus explained, "so I thought I'd go up to bed."  
  
"Yes - you look tired," Heather said. She hesitated for a moment, then she said, "Would you mind waiting a minute? There's something I want to give you."  
  
"All right," Remus answered, puzzled.  
  
Heather dashed off to her common room and came back a few moments later, holding a very narrow parcel in her hand.  
  
"This is for you," she said, holding it out.  
  
"Oh," said Remus, taken aback. "But I - I can't take this. I don't have anything to give you."  
  
"That's all right," she said eagerly. "I didn't think you would. But you've been so kind to me this year, helping me with Defence Against the Dark Arts and all - go on, open it."  
  
Remus did as he was told, and soon he was looking down at a smart, shiny leather wand case.  
  
"I hope you like it," Heather stammered.  
  
"It's brilliant," he said. "Thank you. This is really kind of you ."  
  
"No, no," she said. "It's really nothing. I just thought ... well ."  
  
Remus looked down at her. Her blue eyes were sparkling, her normally pale cheeks flushed from the game, and she looked very pretty. He thought of what Sirius would say if he could see them now. She was just a little girl, not even thirteen. But the way she was looking at him . Remus shook his head with a smile. He leaned down and kissed her cheek.  
  
"Merry Christmas, Heather," he said, and he turned and walked away up the stairs.  
  
--------------  
  
James straightened up and yawned. Most of the students had gone to bed by now, but a few were still refusing to call it a day. He wondered where Sirius had got to. Over to one side, a little way away from the others, he saw Lily Evans standing by herself. James went over and flopped down in the snow beside her.  
  
For a while, neither of them said anything at all. Somehow, James found the silence comfortable, very relaxing after the noise of the snowball fight. He looked up and noticed Lily look away quickly.  
  
James rose and stood beside her. She looked up at him and smiled shyly. He opened his mouth to say something, but then the night breeze caught hold of her hair and he stopped, his mouth just hanging open. The way her hair was blowing and her green eyes . they reminded him of something he'd seen before. Suddenly the images of last night's dream came back to him: Long red hair caught in the wind. A red veil, a pair of bright green eyes, that terrible feeling of doom, the glowing light, and then that scream ...  
  
"James? James, are you all right?"  
  
He opened his eyes and found himself back in the grounds of Hogwarts. Lily was still standing there, her hand was on his arm.  
  
"Yes," he murmured, feeling a little dizzy. "It's nothing. It was just ."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"You know that feeling you get when something happens that you know has happened before? You see something and it's - it's just like something you've seen before?"  
  
"Déjà-vu," Lily said.  
  
"Exactly."  
  
"What was it?"  
  
"Er - well .," James murmured, embarrassed.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"It's silly," he said.  
  
"No, I'm sure it's not," Lily insisted. "Well?"  
  
James sighed.  
  
"Oh, all right then. It was just - your hair."  
  
"My hair?" Lily repeated, surprised.  
  
"Yes. Your eyes, too. But especially your hair. I ." - he hesitated, then explained reluctantly, "I saw it in a dream."  
  
Lily laughed.  
  
"I see. And do you often dream about my hair and my eyes?"  
  
"No, only the once," he answered quickly.  
  
Then he realised that wasn't true. There had been other occasions. He could remember at least one. There was that time after the Quidditch game.  
  
"What's the matter?" Lily asked.  
  
"I've just remembered," he said slowly. "There have been other times."  
  
"Interesting," said Lily teasingly. "I'm sure Professor Trelawney would have a few good theories on that. What?" she added, noticing the dark look on his face.  
  
"It's - I don't know, somehow, whenever I have these dreams, it's as if there's something bad about to happen in them. Something frightening."  
  
"I didn't think anything frightened you," Lily said earnestly, looking at him as though she were seeing him in a new light. "You always seem so - sure of yourself."  
  
"Oh, it does," he assured her. "Lord Voldemort, for instance. What might happen if he becomes much stronger."  
  
"Yes," Lily agreed. "He frightens me, too. I've often wished there was something one could do ..."  
  
James studied her a moment.  
  
"There is," he said, taking her by the elbow and leading her away from the others. "Professor Dumbledore has formed an Order of people who have pledged themselves to the fight against Voldemort. Professor Darkhardt is one of those people, and he's started this group here at Hogwarts where he teaches us more about the Dark Arts and how to fight them. Things he can't show or tell us during lessons."  
  
"A group of students? What can students do?"  
  
"More than you think. He teaches us what weapons the other side have, and how to fight them. Several of us have already decided to become Aurors once we're finished. Frank, Damian, Gemma, ."  
  
Lily gave him a strange look.  
  
"Have you made up your mind to become an Auror?" she asked quietly.  
  
"More or less," he replied.  
  
"But - that's a very dangerous job, James."  
  
She sounded worried. James discovered he liked that.  
  
"I know," he said. "But someone has to stand up to Voldemort and his supporters. Darkhardt is preparing us for that. We won't be students forever, Lily. Once we leave Hogwarts, we'll be as much threatened by Voldemort as everyone else, if no way has been found to defeat him by then."  
  
"And you're asking me to join you?"  
  
"I'm offering you a chance to decide whether you want to or not. Professor Darkhardt himself insists that no one should be persuaded to join against their wishes."  
  
Lily thought for a moment before she said,  
  
"I don't think I could ever become an Auror, James. I would love to do something to help in the fight against . You-Know-Who . but I don't think I could do that."  
  
"You wouldn't have to," James replied eagerly. "Not everyone wants to be an Auror. Remus has made up his mind to become a teacher, Colin still wants to be a professional Quidditch player . but they're still going to do all they can to fight the Dark Arts."  
  
They had reached the steps to the castle. Lily stopped and paused.  
  
"I would like to help," she said at last. "This is a threat no one can ignore, least of all a muggle-born like me."  
  
"Great!"  
  
Lily sighed.  
  
"What's the matter?" James asked.  
  
"It's Christmas," she said. "It should be a time of peace and joy; but it seems there isn't any peace to be had while this threat is lingering outside the castle walls. There's only darkness and gloom everywhere."  
  
"I'm sorry I brought this up, today of all days," James answered, "but I'm sure Voldemort will be defeated one day, and the light will shine again."  
  
He watched her troubled face and wondered what he could do to cheer her up. Suddenly an idea came to him, and he bent down, scooped up some snow and rolled and squeezed it into a hard icy ball. Then he took out his wand.  
  
"What are you doing?" Lily asked curiously.  
  
James flicked his wand at the handful of snow and muttered something under his breath. The snowball shifted and transformed, and in James's outstretched hand lay a glass rose blossom. Lily's green eyes widened as he handed it to her.  
  
"It's beautiful," she whispered.  
  
------------  
  
Sirius and Aurora sat side by side on the fallen trunk of an old tree, talking quietly.  
  
"So who exactly is in this secret society?" Aurora asked.  
  
Sirius began ticking the names off on his fingers.  
  
"Well, there's James, Remus, Peter, Frank and me. Damian Diggle, Oliver, Gemma, Donald, Flossie Fortescue, Royle and Ross, Richard and Colin. That's about all, I think. But a few more are thinking of joining soon. Fortuna Tripp, Hornby, Crystal Rose, Mary Crimple, ."  
  
"Don't forget Aurora Borealis," Aurora added. "You're not leaving me out of this!"  
  
Sirius grinned.  
  
"I wouldn't dare!"  
  
They sat on in silence. Sirius gazed up at the moon. After a while he noticed Aurora follow his stare.  
  
"You're thinking of Remus," she said suddenly.  
  
Sirius turned abruptly.  
  
"What?"  
  
Aurora nodded towards the sky.  
  
"The moon is almost full. Tomorrow night he'll transform."  
  
Sirius's jaw dropped.  
  
"You - you know?"  
  
"I know a lot of things about people that they don't know I know," Aurora said simply. "I can't help it. Sometimes when people are touched by something emotionally, their thoughts spill out so plainly it's impossible to ignore them."  
  
"Oh, really?" Sirius mumbled, taken aback.  
  
Aurora laughed at his worried face.  
  
"Don't worry, I wouldn't poke around in your mind on purpose. I'm sure there are a lot of things going on in there I wouldn't want to know about."  
  
"And what's that supposed to mean?" he retorted hotly.  
  
"You'd better keep your temper down, Sirius. Remember what I just said ."  
  
"Oh yeah. I wouldn't want my thoughts spilling out all over the place. So tell me, what have you found out about me?"  
  
"No more than I could have deduced from your behaviour."  
  
"And that is?"  
  
She looked at him sideways, the corners of her mouth twitching.  
  
"You're a rascal," she teased.  
  
"I don't deny that," Sirius laughed.  
  
"No. In fact you're rather proud of it, aren't you?" Aurora replied. "But I think there's more to you than that."  
  
Sirius shifted uneasily at the serious tone of her voice.  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Yes. You're loyal. You'd never let a friend down, or betray any one you care about. I think, deep down, you're really a very affectionate person. But you hate to admit that. You're afraid to show sincerity, because you believe it's unmanly to be emotional, and it makes you feel vulnerable. So you make yourself out to be the happy-go-lucky mischief-maker and pretend never to take anything seriously. Am I right?"  
  
Sirius frowned.  
  
"I'm not sure I like your analysing. Next you'll be telling me it all stems from a troubled childhood or something."  
  
Aurora grinned.  
  
"And does it?"  
  
"Oh, shut up!"  
  
Sirius got to his feet and started pacing. Aurora got up and caught his arm.  
  
"You did ask me," she said.  
  
"Yes, I suppose I did. But you're wrong, Aurora. I'm not afraid of being sincere."  
  
"Prove it," she whispered, edging closer.  
  
Sirius leaned his face towards her and she closed her eyes.  
  
"Ouch!" she cried a moment later, holding her nose where he had pinched it. "You wait, you monster!"  
  
Sirius ran off, laughing, but he soon let her catch up with him and he caught her in his arms. Aurora jabbed him in the chest, and Sirius got hold of both her arms and suddenly kissed her playfully on the lips.  
  
Then he ran off again, and this time he didn't stop. Aurora watched him go and slowly shook her head. She had been right, of course. He refused to show any emotions unless he could make it appear that he didn't really care.  
  
She found herself wondering whether love would be just a game to him, or whether he really did care about her as she had to admit she was beginning to care for him. Aurora sighed. Really, Sirius was quite impossible.  
  
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5 - Slytherin's Rock  
  
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The man who had once been called Tom Riddle mocked the joyful carol singers, the priests in their festive garb, the people calling merry greetings to each other in the streets, the children singing - the very spirit of Christmas.  
  
On a large, throne-like chair made of ebony in the large, cold banqueting hall of the black stone fortress perched atop the cragged, sinister and towering island known as Slytherin's Rock, surrounded by ferocious inky black waves that crashed against the shore, he sat hidden from the eyes of the world, gathering his forces and his powers and dreaming up new ways of achieving his ultimate aim: eternal life.  
  
"Master!"  
  
His hard eyes pierced the gloom and focused on the figure moving towards him. The young woman stopped and bowed low. Lord Voldemort lifted his hand and she stood. He studied her face.  
  
Paula Lestrange had changed much since she had first come to him, when she had still been Paula Pettigrew. Her hair, for a start, had been fair, but she had since used a spell to turn it permanently dark, to distinguish herself once and for all from her sister, whom he understood she hated from the bottom of her heart. Her features were harder too, and her eyes colder. These eyes were looking at him now, both self-confidently and with submissive respect.  
  
"What is it?" the Dark Lord queried.  
  
"We have received an owl from Lucius Malfoy. He confirms his readiness to perform any deed you may ask of him, and respectfully begs to receive your further instructions. What shall I reply?"  
  
"You need not trouble," Voldemort replied slowly. "I will write to him myself tomorrow."  
  
"Yes, master. I also have news from my husband."  
  
This time, Voldemort regarded her with real interest, leaning forward in his chair.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"He was able to - shall we say 'persuade' the minister to sign the required documents. Vindictus Lothian will be released from Azkaban prison within the hour, and my husband will bring him straight to you."  
  
Voldemort gave a crooked smile.  
  
"Excellent. We shall see how long our enemies are able to hide once he returns to help us seek them. Anything else?"  
  
"Mcnair is organising the creatures you asked for. The two dozen Cornish pixies you requested arrived this morning."  
  
"Good. Write to Mcnair, Paula. Tell him I will soon be needing more, and tell him I want some house elves. Say . six. I have a plan ."  
  
"You mean you have discovered a spell that will bring you immortality?"  
  
"I am not sure. To begin with, I will settle for one that will considerably lengthen my life span. That is a start. That is why I wanted the pixies . The other possibility I have discovered may be suited to make me both immortal and invincible, but I want to be sure before I use that spell. You see, it requires the sacrifice of a human life - a wizard life, unfortunately - and if it should be interrupted, it can never be completed."  
  
"I see. You are still looking for a suitable wizard, I suppose .?"  
  
"Not necessarily. Any wizard or witch will do. All I need is the magic life force, you see. I have no doubt that there is no shortage of foolish wizards out there who will choose to oppose us. That old fool Dumbledore is, I believe, gathering forces of his own. Well, let him. When his friends start coming to look for us, we will be ready for them."  
  
"Yes, master."  
  
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6 - Boxing Day  
  
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Lucius Malfoy was tucking into bacon and egg when the screech owl landed on the Slytherin table. He picked up the letter it had dropped and looked at the writing. His name was on the parchment, written in black ink in a thin, slanted hand. Lucius tucked it away inside his robes, pushed aside his breakfast and left the Great Hall in a hurry.  
  
Back in the Slytherin common room, he found a seat in a corner and took out the letter. He opened it and began reading. It was from Lord Voldemort, and it contained instructions . instructions on where to find a certain object the Dark Lord wanted him, Lucius Malfoy, to take into his safekeeping in case it should ever be needed. A diary, at present hidden away behind a secret panel in a room off the third floor corridor. Lucius decided he would go and fetch it tonight.  
  
------------  
  
Lucius Malfoy was not the only one making plans for that night. Up in their dormitory, James, Sirius, Remus and Peter sat plotting what they would get up to.  
  
"Hogsmeade, I think. Don't you?" Sirius suggested.  
  
"I don't know," said Remus. "I wouldn't mind the Forbidden Forest, actually. We might meet one of the centaurs."  
  
Peter shivered.  
  
"I think I'd prefer Hogsmeade," he said. "The Forest is creepy. It scares me."  
  
"Doesn't bother me," Sirius shrugged.  
  
"It wouldn't, would it?" Peter answered back. "It's all right for you three. There's not much danger for a stag, a dog and a wolf in there. It's different for me."  
  
"We'd look after you, Wormtail," James promised. "But I don't mind Hogsmeade, if that's what you prefer. Moony?"  
  
"All right," Remus agreed. "I wouldn't mind taking a look at the caves round there."  
  
"Think you might come across some mysterious runes that will show us the way to a hidden treasure, do you?" Sirius joked. "Good. I'll use my share to buy myself that motorbike."  
  
"We probably wouldn't be able to open the treasure chest without our wands, though," James put in, winking at Sirius, who grinned back at him.  
  
"Oh yes," he said mischievously. "We'd need a wand. Problem is, how would we carry it without leaving teeth marks on the wand? Of course, you could lend us that nice new wand case of yours, Remus. Then I could carry it between my teeth."  
  
Remus stared at him, then he smiled back.  
  
"All right, you spotted it, did you?"  
  
"Hard not to," Peter said. "Usually you just have your wand sticking in your belt, but today it's tucked away nicely in a leather case in your inside pocket."  
  
"You got a lot of surprise presents this year, didn't you, Moony?" James commented. "Who was that one from?"  
  
Remus didn't answer, but began concentrating on the Every Flavour Bean he was unwrapping.  
  
"I think I can guess," said Sirius, nudging him in the ribs. "You want to watch it, Remus. Don't let that little Ravenclaw get her hooks into you too firmly. You're too young to tie yourself down yet."  
  
"Don't be ridiculous, Sirius," Remus protested. "She's just a kid. It's nothing serious."  
  
"Ah!" Sirius wagged his finger warningly. "Your saying that confirms my worst fears."  
  
He shook his head in mock distress.  
  
"Alas, poor Remus. He was young, he had a life of fun and adventure before him, but at the tender age of fifteen, before his life had really begun, he threw it away on a pair of sky-blue eyes and curly brown hair."  
  
"You can talk," Remus laughed. "Where were you last night? Come on, I heard you come to bed. My curtains may have been drawn, but I wasn't asleep, you know. Miss Borealis keep you up late?"  
  
"Maybe," Sirius replied, popping a Pepper Imp in his mouth, "but I'll tell you one thing. I don't intend to throw my heart away on the first girl with pretty eyes who comes my way."  
  
"Listen to Sirius Casanova Black," James teased. "Mad marauder and breaker of women's hearts."  
  
Sirius laughed.  
  
"It's all very well to sneer. I'll be the one laughing in the end, you wait. You three will be rocking a baby in each arm one day, listening to your wives nagging you to take the rubbish out the back, while I'm still taking my pick of the girls and having a good time into the bargain."  
  
------------  
  
James, Peter and Sirius sneaked out at midnight, all huddled together under James's Invisibility Cloak. Sirius held the map.  
  
"Wait," he whispered when they stood just inside the common room. "Mrs. Norris . there, she's gone."  
  
James pushed the portrait back and they climbed through the hole in the wall. As quietly as they could, they made their way along the corridor and down the stairs. Once out in the grounds, they moved a little faster. Sirius checked the map again when they reached the whomping willow.  
  
"Mischief managed," he murmured, wiping it clean.  
  
James pulled the Cloak off them and folded it carefully.  
  
"Off you go, Peter," he said.  
  
Peter Pettigrew stepped forward, and a second later he had transformed into the rat. He ran up to the trunk and pressed the knoll. The whomping willow froze. Sirius and James followed him through the hole, and James shoved the Cloak in a nook above their heads before he and Sirius quickly transformed. They hurried along the tunnel, and as they grew nearer to the end, they could hear the familiar growling and scraping sounds behind the door.  
  
Sirius pushed it open with a paw. The creature on the other side stopped growling when it saw him and trotted towards them. Only a moment later, the rat had frozen the trunk again and they were all out in the open, running towards Hogsmeade.  
  
The village was quiet. Prongs the stag tossed his antlers towards the hills beyond, and the others followed him away from the houses, through the bushes and across a small brook. They poked their noses in the caves. One of these went a long way down. Padfoot and Prongs looked at one another and strolled out again, setting off together to investigate the next cave.  
  
It wasn't until Wormtail scuttled in ten minutes later that they realised they were quite alone. Prongs raced out of the cave immediately and looked around. Padfoot came up beside him and sniffed the ground, then darted off in the direction of the village, the others in hot pursuit.  
  
Meanwhile, the werewolf was peering round the corner of Zonko's onto the lonely street. Someone had just stepped out of one of the houses, and the creature licked its lips. The man was alone, a stranger dressed in a black cloak, a hood pulled up to hide his face. He moved and was about to come round the corner. The werewolf bared its teeth . suddenly someone else appeared on the street. The first man turned and walked towards the newcomer.  
  
Lurking in the shadows, the werewolf could wait no longer. Its shackles raised, it prepared to leap out at the two men. But before it had time to do so, something large and black descended on it, and the shadow of a large stag appeared right behind. The two animals on the ground rolled about scratching each other for a moment, then the werewolf drew back and lowered its head. The stag nodded towards the hills and the others followed.  
  
Out in the street, the two hooded figures stood face to face.  
  
"You are Vindictus Lothian?" one of them asked.  
  
"Yes," the other replied in a hoarse voice.  
  
"Leonard Lestrange," the first man introduced himself. "I was sent to meet you. Come with me ."  
  
And together they walked off into the night. 


	16. Part 16: The End of Peace

Prequel, Part 16: The End of Peace  
  
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1 - Lothian's Return  
  
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Lucius Malfoy crept back into the deserted Slytherin common room. He had found what his master had told him to look for, and sat down on the sofa to examine it.  
  
The pages of the diary were blank, the only writing to be found anywhere in it or on it was the name 'Tom Marvolo Riddle' on its cover. Lucius took it over to the desk, took out a quill and ink pot and allowed his hand to hover uncertainly over the open diary for a moment before he reminded himself that it was not wise to meddle with Voldemort's things.  
  
The Dark Lord had asked him to find this little notebook and keep it safe until such time as it might be needed. Lucius had been warned that it held powers beyond his imagination, powers that could resurrect a younger image of Lord Voldemort himself. While Lucius believed implicitly in everything his master told him, even he shivered to think what might happen, were a second Lord Voldemort to appear on the scene.  
  
So he closed the diary and instead took out a blank sheet of parchment. At least he could report that he had been successful.  
  
--------  
  
Lord Voldemort stood gazing out of the window into the black night. In his hand he held a tall goblet filled with a poison-green coloured potion. He lowered his face and breathed in the reek of burnt flesh, snake venom, blood and foul-smelling herbs. This mixture was revolting. But if revolting potions were what it took to protect him from mortal death, then so be it. He took a sip and shuddered. The part of him that still had normal human reactions wanted to spit the stuff straight out again, yet he kept it down and waited patiently for the rotten taste to go away.  
  
There was a knock on the heavy wooden door.  
  
"Who is it?" he called irritably.  
  
"Leonard Lestrange, Master," came the reply.  
  
Ah - at long last. Voldemort had been waiting for this. Hesitating only briefly, he raised the goblet to his mouth and drained it in one go, shook himself, set it down on a table and made sure he had regained his composure before he called,  
  
"Come in!"  
  
Lestrange entered at once, striding into the room and bowing low before the Dark Lord.  
  
"Master, we have been successful," he said, and his voice was eager. "I met Vindictus Lothian in Hogsmeade tonight and he is here, my lord."  
  
"Excellent!" Lord Voldemort replied, rewarding his loyal servant by bestowing a rare excess of appreciation. "You have done well, Leonard."  
  
Lestrange bowed again.  
  
"Thank you, Master."  
  
"Where is Vindictus now?"  
  
"Outside the door to this very room, my lord."  
  
"Ah. Then go," Voldemort commanded. "I'm sure your wife will be anxious to see you. Go and find her, and send Vindictus in to me."  
  
"Very well, my lord," Lestrange promised humbly, withdrawing with his head still lowered.  
  
Voldemort strode over to the table set between two chairs by the empty fireplace and filled two glasses of wine. He heard the door open and close again behind him, and the familiar heavy footfall he knew so well from years of sharing a dormitory with the man it belonged to.  
  
He turned, a crooked smile on his face, and opened his arms wide in a welcoming gesture. In the doorway stood a tall man dressed in a black hooded cloak. The door fell shut behind him.  
  
"Welcome home, Vindictus," said Voldemort. "It is good to see you again."  
  
Lothian bowed his head under the voluminous black hood.  
  
"And you."  
  
Voldemort kept up his exaggerated friendliness.  
  
"Take off your cloak, my friend, and have a glass of wine," he suggested, indicating a chair.  
  
Lothian pushed back his hood, undid the clasp of his cloak and hung it on top of a stone statue that stood by the door. He sat in the chair Voldemort pointed him to, and the Dark Lord himself sat down opposite, passing him a glass and raising his own.  
  
"To freedom, eh, Vindictus?"  
  
"I'll drink to that," the other man said, and he emptied his glass in almost a single gulp.  
  
They sat on in silence for a moment before Lothian said,  
  
"I must thank you for getting me out of Azkaban."  
  
Voldemort waved his thanks away.  
  
"Please, it was nothing. The least I could do for my old school friend." He leaned forward confidentially. "Besides, I need you, and for a very special task."  
  
"Oh yes?" Lothian sounded sceptical.  
  
He held out his glass, and Voldemort refilled it.  
  
"Yes. I don't know if you remember, but not long before your arrest, one of our young supporters at Hogwarts wrote to me, and told me of a prediction made by their Divination teacher."  
  
"A seer?"  
  
"There seems to be some doubt as to that. Many of her predictions so far, I'm told, have been little more than lucky guesses, and not too many of those. And yet - our young friend assures me that this time was very different from her usual ramblings, and even the other teachers seemed to believe their was something in it."  
  
"And what did she predict?"  
  
"That someone would come who has the power to defeat me."  
  
"You?" Lothian exclaimed. "Impossible!"  
  
"So I should hope. But this is one case where I feel it wiser to put safety first. She said that the one who can destroy me is the heir of Gryffindor, Vindictus. And that is where you come in."  
  
"Me?"  
  
"Yes." Voldemort leaned forward. "You know the last surviving members of that bloodline better than anyone. Your wife, and that decrepit old fool, her father. I want you to either bring them to me, or find out where they are so I can seek them out and kill them before they have the chance to catch up with me."  
  
He sat back in his chair and added musingly,  
  
"I would rather go out and face them than sit and wait for them to find me."  
  
"But I tried to find my wife years ago when she first left me," Lothian interjected doubtfully. "She covered her tracks well, as you know. I looked for her for years, and I never found a trace of her. She probably left the wizarding world and went to live with Muggles. And as for her father ."  
  
"Gordon Gryffindor will have protected himself well, no doubt. Nevertheless, I must have them both. You will redouble your efforts, Vindictus, and you will have the help of the Death Eaters. Unless ." - he leaned forward, frowning - "You object to hunting down your wife for me to kill."  
  
Lothian held his gaze.  
  
"I have no love left in me for Bridget," he promised. "I will do anything you say, of course. But surely - no witch or wizard could ever match your strength, therefore how can either of them really pose a threat to you? Surely you don't fear anyone, let alone any heir of Gryffindor?"  
  
Voldemort had been sipping his wine continuously all the time. He now finished it, and rose to stand by the window and look out once more.  
  
"Only a fool fears no one, Vindictus," he said slowly. "I am confident in my magical skills, but there are powers even I cannot control - or shall we say, not yet. For I feel that I am coming closer by the day to my goal of conquering all the powers of the world - including death."  
  
Lothian looked up and studied the figure silhouetted by the pale moonlight. He recalled Tom Riddle as he had known him in their schooldays: a tall, dark, handsome youngster with courage, ambition, vision, and yes - charm. He compared that to what he was looking at now: a man with skin that looked waxy, stretched, as though it wasn't really his own, but had been forced to cover his bones, his nose unnaturally flat, his eyes cold and empty. The contrast unsettled him, or rather horrified him. If this was the price of immortality, did anyone really want it? Inwardly, Lothian reproached himself for asking such foolish questions. Obviously, immortality was just what Tom Riddle did want, had always desired most. Immortality and unlimited power .  
  
"Yes," Voldemort said, more to himself than his companion. "I will conquer death. The world will be my realm, and all the creatures in it my loyal subjects. At present they still think they can resist me, but in the end all will submit to my will - including Albus Dumbledore."  
  
Lothian grew a trifle startled at the venom in Voldemort's voice.  
  
"Dumbledore? What does he have to do with this?"  
  
"Dumbledore never trusted me. I am sure, if there is opposition for us to face, then he will be behind it. But we will purge it, won't we, old friend?"  
  
"Of course, Tom."  
  
Voldemort frowned.  
  
"You know, Vindictus, that I dislike being called by that name."  
  
Taken aback, Lothian murmured an apology. Voldemort waved it aside.  
  
"You are the only one whom I will suffer to call me that. But when the others are with us, you will address me as they do, is that understood?"  
  
Vindictus Lothian smiled.  
  
"Yes, my lord."  
  
Voldemort turned back towards the window and drew a deep breath through his flattened nostrils.  
  
"Already my name is feared," he said. "Many wizards and witches are afraid to speak it. Before long, they will all be afraid. None will dare to oppose me."  
  
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2 - The Close of the School Year  
  
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Remus was haunted by the near-disaster of Boxing Day for many months after. But by the time the cool breezes and sweet smells of spring had given way to the heat and buzz of the summer, he had almost forgotten that he had nearly attacked two people in Hogsmeade that night.  
  
The O.W.L. exams hadn't been too bad, and then, two days ago, Remus had had a letter that had wiped all worry from his mind for a while. He was eagerly anticipating what his friends would say when they heard .  
  
It was with a light heart and an unusual amount of optimism, therefore, that he lay on his stomach in a patch of grass on the last day before they travelled home, making notes in a small book while Sirius, his eyes closed, lay on his back chewing a stalk of grass. Peter sat reading a book his sister Pippa had sent him.  
  
The three had been sharing the sun like this for about an hour when James finally dropped to the ground beside Sirius.  
  
"Hello," Sirius said past the grass in his mouth. "You took your time, didn't you? I thought you just wanted a quick word?"  
  
"Well, I couldn't just cut her off in mid sentence and leave her there, could I?"  
  
"Oh no," Sirius agreed mockingly.  
  
"That would have been most impolite," Peter added in the same tone.  
  
"She wouldn't have like that," Remus put in without looking up from the notebook.  
  
James started to say something, but at that moment Lily crossed the grounds a little way away and he automatically waved to her. Sirius, Peter and Remus exchanged glances and burst out laughing. James scowled at them all and they tried to make their faces straight again.  
  
"It's all right, Prongs," Sirius laughed. "No need to worry yet. I'll let you know when I think you're in serious danger of falling for her."  
  
"Yes," Peter added, laughing too. "Like when she starts getting you to carry her bag to lessons for you."  
  
Sirius stopped laughing.  
  
"For your information, Mr. Wormtail," he said, "Aurora had seriously twisted her arm in Care of Magical Creatures, and it was for that reason alone that I, being a perfect gentleman, volunteered to carry her bag for her."  
  
This time James laughed too.  
  
"Yes, but she does have two arms, doesn't she?"  
  
Sirius frowned, but James nudged him playfully and at last he joined in the fun. Peter suddenly sighed.  
  
"Oh, I'm going to miss you three during the summer," he said. "My mother has insisted we should all go and visit Paula and Leonard, and I'm really dreading it. I don't think Polly really wants us there, either. And Pippa's off to Italy for three weeks to stay with a friend, so I'll hardly be seeing her. What with that, and not seeing you all summer ."  
  
"Don't look so gloomy, Peter. I think I can cheer you up," Remus said, clapping his book shut and sitting up. "I wasn't going to tell you all until tomorrow on the train, but . I had a letter from my mum, and she says she and my dad were thinking of inviting your mother, James, to come and stay with us for a week or two. Of course, you're invited too - all three of you," he finished triumphantly.  
  
"Yes!" Sirius cheered.  
  
"Great!" Peter cried.  
  
"That's brilliant," said James. "I'm sure we'll have lots of fun at your place. Didn't you say something about a forest near there?"  
  
Remus shook his head.  
  
"Not just near - our house is right in the middle of it. It's a really big woodland with lots to explore - there are even a few caves higher up - and I can show you all the best spots and hideouts."  
  
James smiled. He had wondered why his friend had seemed so much happier since the owl post had arrived the other morning. Now he knew why. It obviously meant a lot to Remus to be able to have his friends around him this summer, and that made James feel happier, too. He hated it when he could see one of his friends was worried.  
  
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3 - A House Full  
  
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Remus could hardly wait for his friends to arrive. It seemed like ages since he had seen them, yet only a few weeks had passed since that day in the grounds of Hogwarts. After lunch, he went out and stood leaning against a stump of wood in the front garden, picking the daisies to pieces. A while later, his father came out and joined him.  
  
"Why don't you come inside, Remus?" he said. "You know that with Uncle Malcolm picking them up, it's likely to be a while before they get here."  
  
Remus frowned. Uncle Malcolm was notorious for his lack of punctuality.  
  
"I wish you could have picked them up instead."  
  
John Lupin smiled.  
  
"Unfortunately, Remus, I don't have a car. And I could hardly go walking round London with a supply of broomsticks under my arm."  
  
"I suppose not," Remus admitted grudgingly. "But I wish Uncle Malcolm would hurry."  
  
"He mentioned something he had to do for Professor Dumbledore first," his father explained. "So they probably won't be here for another hour or more yet."  
  
"What's he doing for Dumbledore?" Remus asked immediately.  
  
John looked up at the house, where he knew his wife was busy getting mattresses and sleeping bags ready in Remus's bedroom.  
  
"Come," he said, placing his hand on his son's shoulder and leading him away from the open window overlooking the front garden.  
  
When they had walked to the edge of the trees, he stopped. Remus looked at his father expectantly. John spoke quietly and earnestly.  
  
"Like me, your Uncle Malcolm has been very busy for Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix. He knows a lot of people in London and elsewhere, people from all walks of life, who again know a lot of other people. Malcolm's been talking to them, getting them to agree to keep their eyes and ears open and warn him if they think anything untoward is going to happen, so that he can alert the Aurors."  
  
"You mean he's formed a spy network?"  
  
"You could call it that."  
  
"That's - well - terribly dangerous, isn't it? It would be easy for one of those spies to switch sides and inform on Uncle Malcolm, to trap him with false information and ."  
  
John shifted uncomfortably and briefly closed his eyes, nodding slowly.  
  
"Yes, it is dangerous. Then again, anyone who volunteers to become involved in the fight against Voldemort is voluntarily facing danger, possibly even death - myself included."  
  
Remus started.  
  
"Dad ." he began.  
  
John saw the fear in his eyes and his own softened.  
  
"Don't worry, Remus. I'm not eager to die a heroic death. I will be as careful as I know how. As I hope you will, too."  
  
"Me?"  
  
"Yes. Your decision to join Professor Darkhardt's group may prove no less dangerous than the choice I have made. In a way it's a kind of intermediate step before joining the fight proper on Dumbledore's side, I suppose. And that, as you've said yourself, is dangerous. You too might come up against Voldemort and his supporters some time."  
  
"If I do, I'll be ready for it," Remus assured him. "Professor Darkhardt's a good teacher."  
  
"Yes, I dare say he is. But even he can't prepare you fully for the atrocities Voldemort is capable of."  
  
Remus nodded to show his understanding, and his father smiled.  
  
"Come," he said. "Let's go back to the house - and not a word of this to your mother. Promise?"  
  
"Of course, Dad."  
  
-------------  
  
Malcolm stopped the car and looked up at the block of flats. This must be it. He got out and rang the doorbell. Almost immediately, a young lad's voice spoke through the intercom.  
  
"Who's there?"  
  
"Malcolm Marley," said Malcolm.  
  
The buzzer sounded, and he pushed the door open and went in. There was no elevator, and he didn't know what floor the Potters lived on anyway, so Malcolm walked up the stairs until he came across an open door. A lot of noise was issuing from inside the flat. Malcolm knocked on the open door and cleared his throat. A tall, dark boy immediately poked his head around the corner of a door to the left, withdrew and reappeared a moment later, followed by another boy with hair that was equally black, wearing glasses, and a shorter, chubbier boy who looked a little nervous of the visitor.  
  
"Hello," the tall boy said. Malcolm recognised his voice as the one that had spoken to him over the intercom. "So you're Remus's uncle?"  
  
"I am," Malcolm replied truthfully. "And you must be Sirius Black."  
  
"Yes. How did you know that?" the youngster asked.  
  
"Remus talks about you a lot. He says Sirius Black and James Potter look just like brothers, except that James wears glasses. Therefore, you must be Sirius."  
  
James laughed.  
  
"That's right," he said, holding out his hand to shake Malcolm's. "And I, obviously, am James. This is Peter Pettigrew."  
  
Malcolm shook all the boys' hands in turn. He studied the shy-looking Peter for a moment.  
  
"I've heard about you too," he said, "from your sister."  
  
Peter looked startled. "Oh - err - which one?"  
  
"Philippa."  
  
"You know Pippa?"  
  
"I've met her a few times," Malcolm said. "Nice girl."  
  
Peter smiled proudly, and his nervousness seemed to vanish almost instantly. Sirius shook his head in mild irritation. Honestly, Pete was nuts when it came to that sister of his. Not that Sirius pretended not to like her - he did. But he sometimes got the impression that his friend cared more about his sister than anyone else in the world, and sometimes showed it a little too plainly.  
  
"Ready to go?" Malcolm asked.  
  
"More or less," James answered. "If my mum is. Hold on."  
  
He disappeared through a door at the back and called. A moment later, he returned with Bridget.  
  
"Hello," she said.  
  
Malcolm shook hands with her.  
  
"Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Potter."  
  
James and Sirius had brought the cases forward out of the bedroom, and they, Malcolm and Peter carried one each down the stairs. The three boys squeezed on the back seat, Bridget got in the front, and soon they were struggling Muggle-style through the London traffic.  
  
-----------  
  
It was late afternoon by the time they arrived. Remus was waiting outside the front door.  
  
"Mum, Dad, they're here!" he called towards the house, running up to seize each of his friends by the arm as they got out of the car.  
  
Faith and John came out of the house and joined them, and John and Malcolm began carrying the suitcases into the house, while Remus and his friends at once headed off into the woods, though his mother did call after them to remind them supper would be at six. Faith led Bridget indoors.  
  
"It's not much, I'm afraid," she said a trifle apologetically when she had shown the other woman around the house and brought her back into the living room, where John was now pouring tea.  
  
Bridget looked around her. The Lupins' living room was small, but somehow very welcoming and homely. Faith Lupin's brother Malcolm sat in an armchair, telling his brother-in-law about the amazing amount of traffic in London, while John spread the cups around the small table.  
  
"I think it's wonderful," Bridget said eagerly, watching a pair of knitting needles clicking away by themselves while the violin that floated in the corner began playing a soft tune.  
  
"It's been such ages since I was in a house that was owned by a wizarding family, Mrs. Lupin."  
  
"Please," Faith interrupted, "call us by our first names, won't you?"  
  
She indicated a chair and Bridget sat down, smiling.  
  
"Thank you."  
  
She watched Faith go over and sit on the arm of her husband's chair while he dropped a lump of sugar in a cup, stirred it and handed it to his wife. Inwardly, Bridget sighed. They looked such a happy couple. And that reminded her of the happiness she had missed.  
  
-----------  
  
Remus took his friends straight to his favourite spot.  
  
"Here," he said proudly. "This is where I used to come to read my books. I hid some things in a box by the trunk of this tree. Here ."  
  
He pushed aside the grass and showed them his old 'treasure chest'.  
  
"What sort of things d'you keep in it?" Sirius asked.  
  
"Oh, old newspaper cuttings that interested me. A picture of my parents. An old pebble I found years ago that I liked."  
  
James strolled about among the trees and touched Remus's favourite tree.  
  
"There's a spot up there," Remus told him, "where the branches fork and form a kind of seat."  
  
James peered up with interest.  
  
"May I?" he asked.  
  
"Of course."  
  
James began climbing the tree, and the others followed behind. When they were all up among its branches, Sirius said appraisingly,  
  
"Nice place, this. I wish I'd had a place I could go and hide. There were always too many people about at the orphanage for me to really find a secret spot no one knew about."  
  
"I always had too much space and no one to share it with," Remus sighed. "I love this place. More than any other place in the world. The only other person apart from you who knows about it is my dad."  
  
"Your dad?" Sirius seemed taken aback. "What good's a hiding place if your parents know about it?"  
  
Remus smiled.  
  
"That's what I used to think," he said. "But in the end I was glad my dad found it ."  
  
His voice faded and his eyes took on a dreamy look. James watched his face and debated asking what exactly had happened. But in the end he decided that perhaps some things were better left unsaid, and just patted Remus on the shoulder.  
  
"You have a great home, Moony," he said. "Somehow I think we're going to have a lot of fun during the next couple of weeks.  
  
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4 - Disaster in Diagon Alley  
  
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The boys had a great time venturing further and further into the woods, climbing trees, building a tree house in an old oak and playing Quidditch in a clearing. Malcolm had taken the first week of their stay off work, and spent a lot of time with them.  
  
Remus's friends - especially Peter, who got on uncommonly well with him - all decided they liked his uncle. He wasn't like most adults, always reminding them of meal times, getting them to clean up the mess they made or telling them to behave more sensibly. Though in his early forties by now, he remained young at heart, like the 'overgrown child' his sister called him, and enjoyed mischief and muck as much as they did.  
  
Often Remus's mother would smile when the five of them came trudging home of an evening, covered in dry dirt and scratches from having forced their way through in between trees in places where there were no paths, and once they were so filthy that she seized her brother by the sleeve, marched him straight back out into the garden and told the garden hose to shower him.  
  
Remus could not remember when he had last laughed so much. He had been so involved in his studies at Hogwarts, and in Darkhardt's classes, that he had almost forgotten what fun it was to be home and what a wonderful, happy family he had. The presence of James, Sirius and Peter, of course, made being at home even more enjoyable.  
  
The others, for their part, were also having the time of their lives, and James sat down nearly every other evening to write a letter to Lily, telling her how much fun he was having - and the others actually let him do so without teasing, because they were far too busy plotting the next day's adventure.  
  
"How about a nice game of Quidditch this morning?" Malcolm suggested at breakfast on Saturday.  
  
"Brill!" Sirius enthused at once.  
  
"Great!" said Peter.  
  
"Not half," James agreed.  
  
"Yes," Remus said, then he turned to his father. "Will you play too, Dad?"  
  
"Well ." John looked across at Faith. "The ladies did want me to go with them to Diagon Alley today."  
  
His wife laughed at the wistful, half-pleading look in his eyes.  
  
"It's all right, John. You can stay here and play with the boys as far as I'm concerned. I'm sure Bridget and I will be ages looking round the shops, and we'll be fine on our own, won't we, Bridget?"  
  
Bridget looked a little uncomfortable. It had been many years since she had spent more than a half hour or so out in the wizard community and she was feeling a trifle nervous, especially with all the reports of Dark activities these days. If she was honest, the knowledge that John would be with them had made her feel safer about this shopping trip. Nevertheless, she daren't let her concern show.  
  
"Of course," she said as brightly as she could. "I'm sure Quidditch will be much more fun for you than looking at robe material in Madam Malkin's with us."  
  
"Excellent!" John smiled broadly. "In that case, boys, I'm all yours."  
  
---------------  
  
The women left through the fireplace at around eleven, and the two men and four boys immediately set out with their brooms to a large clearing where they would have ample room for their game. They made up two teams. Malcolm, James and Peter played on one side, John, Remus and Sirius on the other. John magicked two large wooden hoops into the air to act as goalposts.  
  
They decided to play with only one goalpost per team, since there were only six of them altogether, and they would all be chasers, since they only had the one ball and they all wanted to participate in the chase for it.  
  
A lively, very noisy game ensued, where James constantly outmanoeuvred the others and would have scored one goal after the other, if John hadn't proved so fast on his broom, racing to defend the goal and keeping the score to thirty-nil.  
  
"Remus!" he shouted, throwing the ball to his son.  
  
Remus sped off as fast as he could, flattening himself against the broom. He had a clear shot .  
  
"Stop him, Peter!" James yelled.  
  
Peter spun his broom around and charged just as the ball left Remus's hand and flew towards the goal. Peter intercepted it neatly and tucked it under his arm, turned his broom - and in his excitement let the ball slip straight through the hoop he was supposed to be guarding.  
  
"I'm sorry!" he cried at once.  
  
James groaned quietly. Malcolm, however, flew over to Peter and patted him on the shoulder.  
  
"It's all right," he said kindly. "Could have happened to anyone."  
  
James looked across the 'pitch' and grinned at Sirius, who was rolling his eyes at him. James grinned, flew down to pick up the ball, and the game continued. They played until about two o'clock, when, pleasantly tired-out and hungry, they returned to the house.  
  
John went into the kitchen and got out the delicious sandwiches and iced pumpkin juice Faith had prepared for them that morning. They all tucked in to the sandwiches covered thickly in ham, tuna, cheese and cucumber.  
  
"What are we getting up to after lunch?" Sirius asked past a mouthful of ham and pumpkin juice.  
  
"We could follow the little stream uphill to the caves," Remus suggested eagerly.  
  
"Sounds great," James said. "It's got so hot out, I could do with spending some time in a cool cave."  
  
"You'll find quite a network of those up there," John told him. "You'd better take something to eat and drink with you, I expect you'll be gone some time."  
  
"What'll you do, Dad?" Remus asked.  
  
"I think I'll sit in the garden and finish my book," John answered. "How about you, Malcolm?"  
  
Malcolm swallowed a bite of tuna sandwich.  
  
"There's someone I have to see in London this afternoon, so I think I'll head back home after lunch."  
  
And so, when the plates were empty and they had all eaten and drunk as much as they could, the boys set off alone into the woods, following Remus's lead.  
  
-------------  
  
It was a hot afternoon, even in the shade of the large pink umbrella outside old Florander Fortescue's ice cream parlour. Faith and Bridget enjoyed a large ice cream each and watched the wizarding world go by, happy with their purchases sitting in large shopping bags beside their chairs. Wizard children played in the street, and all the little shops had their doors wide open.  
  
"I must say this has been a most enjoyable day," Bridget sighed contentedly. "It's been a long time since I went out on a shopping spree round magic shops with a friend."  
  
Faith smiled.  
  
"You don't normally get out much, do you?"  
  
"Oh, I do. I mean, I go out with friends from work, but of course they're all Muggles, so we can only go to Muggle shops and cafés."  
  
"Really?" Faith said interestedly. This was the first time in a week that she had heard Bridget mention what her life was normally like. "Where do you work?" she asked.  
  
"In a little bookshop. I don't get paid much, of course, but it's enough to keep James and me in our little flat."  
  
"I hope I'm not intruding, but - haven't you ever considered changing your job? Finding something in the wizarding world?"  
  
Bridget shook her head.  
  
"I can't do that. I try to stay away from the magical community as much as possible."  
  
"But why?"  
  
"For - personal reasons."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"We all have our secrets, Faith. Everyone has a skeleton in the cupboard. Even though I fail to see what yours might be."  
  
She smiled sweetly, but Faith suddenly became thoughtful and withdrawn.  
  
"Sorry," said Bridget. "Did I say something wrong?"  
  
"No, no. You're right, of course. We all have our secrets," Faith admitted, "John and I are no exception. Our secret has led to our being - cut off from some people we used to know. You're not the only one, Bridget, for whom it's been a long time without a good friend to go on an outing like this with."  
  
"I'm sorry," Bridget apologised. "I didn't mean to upset you."  
  
"You haven't," Faith assured her. "It's just that . I would like to trust you. I think, or rather I hope, that you would not react as others have done. I'm tired of being shunned by people I used to consider friends. But I can't explain now. Not here."  
  
"All right," Bridget said. "I understand. But I'm sure that, whatever it is, I would never turn my back on you and John. You've both been so kind and I ."  
  
She broke off. Suddenly everything had gone very quiet. The children's laughter had stopped, and a strange tenseness seemed to descend on Diagon Alley. Several people appeared from the other end of the street, rushing past the ice cream parlour in hasty silence.  
  
"What is it, what's the matter?" Faith asked, startled.  
  
She turned around in her seat and her next words caught in her throat. A green light was issuing from the entrance to Knockturn Alley, and a number of people appeared, all cloaked and hooded in black despite the heat of the day, their faces covered by masks. About five detached themselves from the larger group and walked straight up to the now-closed door of a shop on the corner. One of them raised his wand arm and the door blasted apart, the shards of its small window scattered across the paved ground. The masked figures entered, and soon a scream pierced the quiet, a high, terrified squeal that made them jump. Faith trembled. Bridget grasped her hand and, with a calm that surprised no one more than herself, she turned to Florander Fortescue, who stood behind her.  
  
"Whose shop is that?" she asked the old wizard.  
  
"Toby Jones's. He sells Muggle artefacts to collectors. Electrical plugs, those ... erm ... light bulb things ..."  
  
"He's muggle-born?"  
  
"Yes, and I believe his wife is a Muggle."  
  
At that moment, they were interrupted by a gasp from the crowd that had gathered around Fortescue's, surveying the scene from what they considered a safe distance. Bridget looked down the street in time to see the cloaked figures march Toby Jones, his wife and a small girl onto the street. Some of the others were now moving into buildings on either side of Diagon Alley, all, as Florander confirmed, owned by muggle-borns or those with Muggle spouses.  
  
Faith's attention was still fixed on the first group that had appeared. One of the masked people raised a wand and pointed it at one of the children. He began to chant a curse, a flash of green light appeared, there was a scream ... the child fell lifeless to the floor. Its parents ran forward, devastated, but more flashes of green light followed and they too fell. Faith jumped to her feet, crying out involuntarily, and turned away, covering her eyes with her hand. Bridget got up and patted her shoulder.  
  
"We have to do something," she said to Florander. "It looks like they're planning to either torture or kill every muggle-born in Diagon Alley. That they would even harm an innocent child ."  
  
"I never thought that it could come to this," old Florander said. "I realised there were bad things going on in the world, but I never fully understood ... How did things get so bad?"  
  
"I can't answer that. But I won't stand by and watch them get worse. I'm going down there," Bridget announced far more bravely than she felt, taking out her wand. "Is anyone coming with me?"  
  
Florander Fortescue immediately nodded and reached for his own wand. A few of the others standing around did the same.  
  
"Bridget," Faith began, but Bridget cut her short.  
  
"We're going to try and keep them busy now, Faith. Maybe they'll decide it's safer to retreat if we put up a good fight. You wait here, but keep an eye on the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron. As soon as you see an opening, run in there and contact the Ministry at once, all right?"  
  
Faith nodded. "Good luck, Bridget. Please be careful."  
  
Bridget gave what she hoped would pass as an encouraging smile, then she and the group of people around her moved slowly towards the black-robed figures. Bridget's heart beat fast with fear. She had never considered herself to be a brave person, and was still amazed that she was doing this. And yet . as she marched down the street and a few of the masked figures turned to face her, she remembered the words the Sorting Hat had spoken to her long ago, on her first day at Hogwarts.  
  
*You will find your courage,* it had said. *You may not feel very brave right now, but when the time comes and the need arises, you will not stand by and let others suffer while you have the strength to fight them.*  
  
Strength? She certainly didn't feel very strong. Some of the people wearing masks were beginning to form a ring around their colleagues and the poor witches, wizards and children they had herded onto the street. One of them raised his arm to perform a curse, but a man somewhere behind Bridget was faster and disarmed him. A wizard fight began, the like of which had not been seen for many years, and certainly not in Diagon Alley, once considered a safe haven for wizardkind.  
  
Spells and charms, hexes and curses flashed back and forth. The line broke up and the fight became more of a mixed fray, with some wizards and witches using bare hands after having dropped their wands, the cloaked figures casting killing curses at everyone they could hit and Bridget and the others trying to block them, to stun the casters before their curses struck or at least disarm them.  
  
Bridget looked around her. Diagon Alley had been turned into a battlefield. Many of the cloaked figures lay stunned on the ground, but beside them lay too many innocent men and women, not to mention a few children. And it was still far from over. She caught old Florander's eye and saw the same despair there that she was feeling. All of a sudden, he shouted to her to look out. Bridget spun around, but Florander's spell was fast, and her assailant fell at her feet. Turning back to thank the old man, Bridget's eyes widened with shock. There was a flash of green light, and another attacker's curse caught Florander Fortescue in the back.  
  
"Noooooo!" she screamed, but it was much too late.  
  
He was dead before he hit the ground. Bridget found herself face to face with his killer, and amid the chaos saw his eyes under the voluminous hood. Her heart gave a leap of terror. She would recognise those eyes anywhere ... For a split second, the world seemed to stand still. Then someone stumbled between them, and Bridget grasped the opportunity. She turned and ran flat out towards the Leaky Cauldron. The fight behind her no longer mattered. A second earlier, she had been willing to risk her life if that meant saving a few others, but now all that had changed. Whatever happened, this man must never catch up with her, because if he did, James would be in danger .  
  
Faith had just opened the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron, and Bridget shoved her through roughly, dragging her past the astonished barman. They burst out through the door onto the busy London street, and Bridget looked around her desperately.  
  
"Bridget, what .?"  
  
"There, an underground station!" Bridget cried, cutting Faith's question short and pushing her through the crowd.  
  
And not a moment too soon. Pulling his hood back and whipping his mask off his face, Vindictus Lothian came right behind them. Bridget knew he was there as she brusquely transported Faith down the stairs. For once she was grateful that the tube was so full. She forced a path for both of them to get on the train and looked out. She saw Vindictus race onto the platform and prayed for the doors to close quickly, before he reached them.  
  
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5 - Reunion  
  
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"Hello," Remus said when he and the others got back to the cottage. "Still reading, Dad? Isn't Mum back yet?"  
  
"No," his father answered, sounding puzzled. "I know she likes shops, but I didn't think they'd be gone this long."  
  
James checked his watch. "Six o'clock, nearly."  
  
John frowned and was about to speak when a large owl suddenly swooped down and dropped a note in his lap. John opened it at once and read it silently. As he did so, he paled.  
  
"What is it, Dad?" Remus asked.  
  
John looked up, allowing the note to slip a fraction. Sirius, looking over his shoulder, uttered an exclamation. He unceremoniously grabbed the note an read,  
  
"John, Just had bad news from Ministry. Suggest you come to Diagon Alley immediately. There's no time to lose. I'll meet you there. Malcolm."  
  
"Something's happened," Peter said.  
  
Sirius agreed. James and Remus said nothing, but Remus's jaw looked tight, and James's heart felt like it was about to leap right out of his chest. John got to his feet and at once collected his wand and lit a fire in the living room. The boys followed.  
  
"I want you all to stay here," John said, but Remus shook his head.  
  
"No, Dad, we're coming."  
  
John looked like he wanted to protest, but decided it was pointless. He handed them a pinch of floo powder each and moments later, they all stepped out of the fireplace in the back room of the Leaky Cauldron. The place was deserted, but just as they were about to leave the room, Malcolm rushed in through the door. He seemed taken aback to see that the boys had come too and stopped short.  
  
"Malcolm, what's happened?" John enquired urgently.  
  
Malcolm shot a concerned glance at the boys.  
  
"I don't know that you boys ought to see this."  
  
"Malcolm!" John urged.  
  
"You'd better come and see for yourself," Malcolm sighed reluctantly.  
  
John and the boys followed him through the brick wall into Diagon Alley. The sight that met their eyes took their breath away. Ministry officials were picking their way among a heap of bodies, some unconscious, others obviously dead, that lay strewn across the street. Around the edge of the slaughter stood many witches and wizards of varying ages, some distraught and grieving, some curious, some looking scared out of their wits.  
  
Above this scene, floating among the houses and blotting out the evening sun, soared the hideous shape John had seen here once before: a huge green skull of smoke with a serpent in its mouth. James heard Sirius draw a sharp breath between his teeth just behind him. Peter whimpered quietly until Malcolm came up and put a hand on his shoulder.  
  
"I'm sorry you four had to see this," he said, "but perhaps it is just as well for you to know exactly what you're up against."  
  
John said nothing. He surveyed the scene, hardly daring to look at he startled faces of the dead, yet incapable of turning away.  
  
"John ..." Malcolm prompted gently.  
  
But John didn't even hear him. He saw old men, young women, children no more than three or four years old, and the horrible fear gained an even firmer hold on his heart.  
  
"Dear God," he murmured to himself. "Oh no, please ."  
  
He turned his face away from that of a pretty girl of about sixteen, lying with her eyes open, her back strangely twisted.  
  
"Faith," he said hoarsely. "Malcolm, where is she?"  
  
"I've no idea," Malcolm told him, "and I must admit I've never been so glad of not knowing something before."  
  
"Then she's not ..." John was afraid to finish the question.  
  
"No, she's not here. That's the first thing that I checked."  
  
John breathed a sigh of relief.  
  
"What about my mum?" James asked.  
  
"There's no sign of her either."  
  
"Well, that's a relief," Sirius exclaimed.  
  
John turned to his son. Remus had neither moved nor spoken since they had stepped into the Alley. Now he took a few steps forward, towards the body of a small girl in a red dress. Her blonde hair was in plaits, and her lifeless fingers still clutched her doll. Remus crouched down beside her and with his trembling hand reached out to close her staring eyes. He felt his father beside him, but did not look up.  
  
"Where can Mum be?" he asked quietly.  
  
"I don't know. But we'll find her."  
  
Remus's voice quavered. "I'm scared, Dad. Scared she might be ..."  
  
"No," John said forcibly, though his voice still sounded weak. "We'll find her. She'll be all right."  
  
Finally, Remus got up and looked at his father. There had never been much likeness between them, but at that moment, John's blue eyes held precisely the same gentle look of fear as his son's brown ones.  
  
"The thing is," Sirius said practically, "where do we start looking?"  
  
"Excuse me," someone interrupted. It was Tom, the barman of the Leaky Cauldron. "Mr. Lupin, isn't it?"  
  
"Yes," John confirmed.  
  
"I'm sorry to interrupt, but the thing is, I saw your wife earlier."  
  
John's heart gave a leap.  
  
"You know where she is?"  
  
"No, but I saw her and her friend come in the Leaky Cauldron from Diagon Alley and leave the other way. I think they were being followed."  
  
"Followed? What, by one of the Death Eaters?"  
  
"D-Death Eaters?" Peter stammered.  
  
"One of my informers told me that's what these people call themselves," Malcolm explained. "The people in black. You say one of them was after my sis. Mrs. Lupin and her friend?"  
  
Tom nodded.  
  
"Damn," John cursed. "This is all my fault. I never should have let them go alone. I promised Dumbledore you'd all be safe with us."  
  
"This is no time to go blaming yourself, John. Our first priority now is to find them," Malcolm reminded him.  
  
"And pray we're not too late," John added.  
  
"We'd better go back to my place to get my car."  
  
-----------------  
  
Faith was trembling uncontrollably. Bridget had led her on a mad chase through London - on one tube, off again, on the next, onto a bus - zigzagging all through the town until at last, what felt like several hours later, Bridget could finally see no sign of Vindictus any more. She had then brought them back here, to her flat, and now Faith was sitting on the sofa, shivering all over.  
  
Bridget ran into the bedroom and fetched a blanket.  
  
"Here," she said, "wrap this around you."  
  
Faith lay back and let Bridget tuck the blanket around her.  
  
"I-I'm sorry," she stammered. "It was just so - so .."  
  
"It's all right," Bridget said softly. "I know you must have been terrified, dear. I wish I had something to give you that would help. I wonder if . Would you mind staying here on your own for just a moment?"  
  
Faith's eyes widened. "Bridget, no, don't leave me!"  
  
"I'm not. I'm just going downstairs to see if Mrs. Hammersmith has some brandy. I won't be a minute. All right?"  
  
Faith nodded. While Bridget was gone, she tried to calm her nerves. She had never been so frightened in her entire life. To see those horrible people and what they did, purely out of hatred and the lust for power, had really shaken her up. And then there was the fact that she was like those victims. She, too, was muggle-born. She heard the sound of the door opening and waited for Bridget's footsteps. For a moment, all was quiet. Then she heard a movement, but it didn't sound like Bridget at all. Somewhere in the hall, someone bumped into something and she heard a muttered curse.  
  
Faith pushed back the blanket and stood up shakily. She heard the creak of a floorboard as someone walked over it and backed against the wall, her eyes fixed on the doorknob. It began to turn slowly, and it was all she could do to keep from screaming. Then she heard the door to the flat open again, an the crash of breaking glass. The doorknob stopped turning.  
  
--------------  
  
Bridget came back up the stairs with a tumbler of brandy in her hand. She had told Mrs. Hammersmith that a friend of hers had narrowly escaped being run over by a bus. Naturally, the old girl had at once offered to come upstairs and help, to call a doctor or an ambulance or at least bring her an electric blanket, as well as launching into a heated lament over the state of the traffic these days and the way London bus drivers had no consideration.  
  
Bridget had thanked her warmly, extracted the brandy from her fingers and, kindly but firmly, told her to keep out of the way. Now Bridget reached for the key in her pocket, went to unlock the door, ad discovered it was open. She touched the handle, but the door was pulled out of her hand with such sudden force that the tumbler was jogged from her hand.  
  
She found herself looking straight at the tip of a wand that was lowered when its holder saw her.  
  
"Mum!" James exclaimed, letting go of the door handle.  
  
"James," she uttered, totally relieved. "Thank God, for a minute I thought ..."  
  
"So did we, when we heard someone coming up the stairs," Malcolm said.  
  
"Well, I'm very glad to see you all," Bridget said. "How did you know where to look?"  
  
"We didn't," John answered. "We hoped you'd come back here eventually. One of us was going to wait for you. I'm glad we found you so quickly. Where's Faith?"  
  
Bridget indicated the door behind Sirius.  
  
"She's in a terrible state, I'm afraid. The horror of it all ..."  
  
Sirius stepped aside to let John pass. Remus wanted to follow his father, but Malcolm gripped his shoulder.  
  
"Give them a minute," he advised.  
  
----------  
  
Faith heard muffled voices in the hall, but she couldn't hear what they were saying. She took a few deep breaths and looked around. Her wand was in her bag back at Fortescue's, but she needed some kind of weapon. All she could find, however, was a heavy crystal fruit bowl. She emptied it and stood behind the door just as the knob was turned again. The door opened and Faith raised the bowl ... a hand shot up and grabbed her wrist. Faith stared.  
  
"John!"  
  
He gently took the bowl from her and set it down on the table. He looked at her, and for a moment they just gazed at one another. Then, just as Faith moved towards him, John opened his arms and clutched her to him. Faith began to cry.  
  
"John, I was so frightened," she sobbed against his chest. "I wanted to help Bridget, but I wasn't brave enough. I know I should have helped, but I've just never been so scared."  
  
"Shh," John soothed.  
  
"I felt such a coward."  
  
John tilted her head back with his hand and looked straight into her reddened eyes.  
  
"You're not," he told her. "There are different kinds of courage. I've seen you show more of it than I have before now."  
  
Faith shook her head.  
  
"Back there in the Alley, I felt so helpless. It was people like me they were after. It was horrible."  
  
John ran his hand over her hair.  
  
"My poor darling," he said tenderly. "I should never have let you go alone. It won't happen again, I promise you."  
  
"John ..."  
  
She edged nearer, and he held her close and kissed her passionately. There was a discreet knock on the door and the drew apart.  
  
"Hello," Malcolm said brightly. "Just thought I'd better check you weren't doing anything unpleasant to my little sister."  
  
"Quite the contrary," Faith laughed.  
  
"Do I get a kiss too?"  
  
"You, Malcolm? I thought you hated that sort of thing."  
  
"Not right now I don't," he said, embracing her tightly. Looking over to the door, Faith saw the others standing there. Bridget had one arm around James and her hand on Sirius's shoulder. Beside him stood Peter, and there ...  
  
"Remus, love. Come here."  
  
Remus came forward and let her hold him, allowing a few tears of relief to drip onto her shoulder before he straightened up and reminded himself that this was not the way one behaved in front of one's school friends.  
  
"Well," Malcolm said, "This is all very nice. Now, why don't we all go back to the Leaky Cauldron and you can get home?"  
  
"What about you?" Peter asked.  
  
"I still have work to do. Bridget ..."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"The Death Eater who followed you - did you see him? I mean, would you recognise him if you saw him again?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Malcolm was taken aback at the certainty in her voice.  
  
"You sound very positive about this."  
  
"I am. I can tell you just about everything you need to know about him. You see, I - know him rather well."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
Bridget went to sit on the sofa and looked up into all the expectant faces around her.  
  
"His name is Vindictus Lothian," she announced.  
  
James reeled as though someone had just thrown a bucket of cold water over his head.  
  
"What, you mean man who followed you from the Leaky Cauldron was James's dad?!" Sirius cried.  
  
Faith uttered an exclamation, then she looked around her, aware that no one else had reacted as she had.  
  
"Why do I get the feeling I'm the only one here who's surprised by this news?" she asked suspiciously.  
  
John sighed and, taking her hand, led her to sit beside Bridget.  
  
"Vindictus Lothian is a Death Eater - one of Lord Voldemort's closest supporters. In fact, I believe he's been a friend of Voldemort's for many years."  
  
He glanced at Bridget, who nodded.  
  
"They were at school together."  
  
"Go on," Faith prompted.  
  
"Some months back, Lothian was caught torturing Muggles," Malcolm said. "He was arrested and sent to Azkaban. It was in the Daily Prophet."  
  
"Oh, was it?"  
  
Faith looked at John, who nodded guiltily.  
  
"I'm sorry, love. I confess I hid that paper from you. I thought it would only upset you, and I didn't think he was that important, anyway. Lothian seemed like just another Muggle-hater who'd gone over the top. He'd been arrested and there was an end to it - or so I thought. Even when Professor Dumbledore told me who he was, I still thought it didn't matter. He was safely locked away, after all."  
  
"Not safely enough," Malcolm said grimly.  
  
"No place is safe with Lord Voldemort around," Bridget put in. "He's a madman, but unfortunately, he's also very powerful. I remember the first time I met him. He said that one day he would rule the world, and people would fear to speak his name. Of course, I thought it was just talk. I never realised how dangerous he really was. If I had, maybe I would have been more wary of Vindictus. As it was, I found him delightful. He could be very charming in those days. He was handsome and - experienced. He was everything I wasn't. Well, I was jut a kid at the time. Vindictus was fifteen years older than me, and he knew how to say just what I wanted to hear, and the way I wanted to hear it. Oh, he was a soft talker."  
  
Bridget looked at Faith.  
  
"I told you, Faith, we all have a skeleton in our cupboards. Vindictus is mine. I married him, found out what I'd got myself into, and ran away before he knew I was pregnant. I couldn't risk him finding James. That's why I ran away when I saw him today. Still, one day I know he will catch up with me. It's inevitable."  
  
"No, Mum!" James protested. "He won't. He mustn't!"  
  
"We'll catch up with him first and send him back to Azkaban, where he belongs," Sirius added.  
  
Bridget looked at them both and smiled.  
  
"I see I have nothing to be afraid of as long as you two are around to protect me."  
  
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6 - The Mysterious Visitor  
  
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On the Monday evening, as the sun sank down behind the trees and the hooting of the owls replaced the cries of the wood pigeons, the four boys returned to the house tired and content after visiting the caves again to find a stranger standing at the door.  
  
He was tall and old. His face was weathered, his grey hair fell to his shoulders in straggly waves. He turned when he heard them approach and scanned each in turn.  
  
"Can I help you, sir?" Remus asked politely.  
  
The stranger fixed him with his iron-grey eyes.  
  
"Are you the boy who lives here?" he asked in a husky voice. "Remus Lupin?"  
  
"How do you know my name?"  
  
The old man didn't answer. He studied the other three. His eyes rested a long while on James. At last he turned back to Remus.  
  
"Is your father at home?"  
  
"Yes," Remus replied.  
  
Actually, of course, he wasn't sure if his father was back from work yet. He ought to be. But Remus wasn't about to explain all that to a stranger.  
  
"Then tell him I want to speak to him."  
  
"What name shall I tell him, sir?"  
  
"No name," the stranger said gruffly. "Tell him the person he has been expecting has arrived. Go on," he added, in answer to the doubtful look on Remus's face.  
  
Remus shrugged, and he and the others walked into the house.  
  
"Dad!" Remus called. "Dad!"  
  
John appeared from the kitchen at once.  
  
"What's the matter?" he asked.  
  
"There's a man outside who wants to speak to you. He claims you've been expecting him."  
  
"Ah." John wiped his hands on a tea towel. "Yes. I'd better go then."  
  
He thrust the towel in Remus's hand and headed for the door.  
  
--------------  
  
It was about ten minutes later that John came back indoors. Faith left the pot to take care of dinner and walked out into the hall to talk to him.  
  
"What's going on?" she whispered. "Remus said some stranger had turned up. Who is he?"  
  
John silenced her question with a wave of his hand and strode briskly into the kitchen.  
  
"What is it, Dad?" Remus asked, pushing a glass of pumpkin juice aside.  
  
John turned to Bridget.  
  
"Bridget, there's a visitor for you," he said. "I asked him to come in, but he said he'd rather wait outside."  
  
"For me?" Bridget asked, looking up from the table, where the knives and forks were arranging themselves tidily. "Who would visit me? Who knows I'm here?"  
  
"Why don't you go and find out?" John suggested.  
  
Bridget shot him a puzzled look.  
  
-------------  
  
Bridget stepped outside. It was still quite light out, but she couldn't see anyone about.  
  
"Hello?" she called.  
  
Her eyes caught sight of a slight movement among the trees. She walked towards it cautiously and saw that there was indeed someone standing there, gazing up at the stars. All she could see was the back of a tall man with grizzled hair. He turned at the soft tread on the grass behind him, and Bridget recognised him with a thrill of shock.  
  
"You?!" she exclaimed.  
  
Gordon Gryffindor stared back at her sternly.  
  
"Yes, me. Why, were you expecting someone else?"  
  
"I wasn't expecting anyone. But when John said I had a visitor, I certainly never guessed it would be you."  
  
"He had the sense not to tell you, then. I don't suppose you'd have come if he had."  
  
"Well," Bridget said defiantly, "I have come. I can't think what you're doing here, mind you. But, if you have anything to say to me, then say it and let's get this over with."  
  
"I thought maybe you'd like to start."  
  
"With what?" Bridget demanded. "Look, if you've come here expecting me to grovel for your forgiveness, you needn't have bothered. I've been down on my knees in my life before now and you never lifted a finger to help me, I see no reason why I should get down on my knees before you now. I've done fine without you so far, and I don't see why you had to turn up now all of a sudden."  
  
The old man gave a cynical laugh.  
  
"Oh yes, you've done fine, I can see that. You messed up your life before it had really begun, you picked yourself a good-for-nothing husband and then ran away because you couldn't stick it, you rented a cramped flat in a filthy little side street, you have a son who's never met his father and probably has no idea who he really is . A fine life indeed!"  
  
"I don't have to listen to this!" Bridget retorted hotly. "James would not have had to grow up that way if you hadn't cast me aside. He may not have had the best childhood imaginable, but he's had a far happier one than I did. I'll admit I've regretted many things in my life, but never anything where James is concerned, and I won't have you use him against me. At least I will always have the certainty of knowing that my child loves me!"  
  
Gordon winced as if he had been hit by something hard. Bridget looked at him defiantly, but was suddenly startled as she noticed the change that had come over him in the years since she had last seen him. This was not how she remembered him. The broad shoulders were slightly hunched, the tall frame looked tired, his hair so much greyer, his face lined with care, and the eyes - she remembered them staring at her, cold and forbidding. Yet now they seemed to hold only sorrow and weariness.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said in his husky voice. "I didn't realise things were that bad between us."  
  
"Father, I . I didn't mean ."  
  
"Didn't you?" he said sadly. "It sounded like you did. It certainly struck home."  
  
"Forgive me," she replied quietly.  
  
"I thought you weren't going to ask me for forgiveness."  
  
Bridget started to protest, but was cut short by the smile that played about his lips.  
  
"You should never have run off like you did," Gordon said. "When you discovered what a scoundrel the man was - why didn't you come to me?"  
  
Bridget laughed dryly.  
  
"To you? And give you the satisfaction of admonishing me, of saying 'I told you so' at every opportunity, rubbing salt in the wound? To have you tell me it was all my own fault?"  
  
"You're right," he admitted. "I probably would have done that."  
  
"The problem is, you'd have been right," Bridget sighed, softening.  
  
Gordon shook his head.  
  
"No. At least part of the fault was mine as well. If I hadn't lost my temper so frequently, if I hadn't tried to force you into seeing what was good for you, you might not have been so hasty. I tried to bind you to me by force, and all I succeeded in doing was pushing you further away."  
  
Bridget stared at him.  
  
"You can say that? You admit that you made a mistake?"  
  
"Yes, Bridget. A mistake that I rued for the rest of my life. I wish it had never happened."  
  
Bridget smiled.  
  
"I forgive you. I should have listened to you. I acted out of defiance and pride. My marriage was a mistake, and I regretted it. But if I wished it all away, I would be wishing away James. And I can't do that"  
  
"You love that boy so much you think he makes it worth it? Lothian's son ..."  
  
"James can't help who his father is. If you knew him, you'd love him as I do."  
  
"Maybe I could get to know him. Maybe you and I could start afresh."  
  
Bridget watched his face strangely.  
  
"Why did you suddenly decide to seek me out and speak to me after all these years? What is it that's suddenly made you decide you want to get to know James? Why this sudden outburst of family feeling?"  
  
"Maybe I'm just getting sentimental in my old age."  
  
"Sentimental? You? Not likely, I'd say."  
  
He studied her curiously.  
  
"You must think me a very hard man. I'm not. I think sentimentality did play a part. Even when Albus suggested this meeting ..."  
  
-------------  
  
Over an hour had passed before Bridget returned to the house. She found John still sitting in the living room. He looked up when she walked in, and for a moment they simply looked at one another. Finally, Bridget closed the door and sat down in the armchair opposite him.  
  
"Well," John said, breaking the silence, "how did it go?"  
  
Bridget did not answer his question directly. Instead she said,  
  
"You knew he was coming, didn't you? And yet you didn't tell me."  
  
"I'm sorry," John apologised. "Professor Dumbledore asked me to arrange this meeting. He said it would be safer here than anywhere else. He also seemed to think that you would refuse if you knew about it. I've wanted to tell you many times during the past week, but I'd promised Dumbledore ."  
  
"It's all right," Bridget said with a sudden smile. "I'm not angry with you. I was at first, just a little . but after what my father has told me, I understand why it had to be secret."  
  
"So, he's told you about Professor Trelawney's prediction, and why we need you to join the Order of the Phoenix?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Need I ask whether you agreed?"  
  
"No, you need not ask." Bridget paused thoughtfully. "I'm frightened, John. I know it is necessary that we pledge our lives to stopping Voldemort, but I can't remember a time when I've been so afraid."  
  
"I know. This business scares the hell out of me as well. And yet - nothing frightens me more as the thought of failing. I think that's what has brought us all together. None of us really wants to die, not even for a good cause. But worse than the fear of death is the fear of what will happen if we do nothing. And so I'm in this because of Faith. Because if Voldemort's hold on our world becomes much stronger, he may very well harm her, and I can't let that happen. I have enough courage in me to face anything he can send my way - but I would not have the courage to live with myself if anything happened to her."  
  
"I understand. And I'm in it because of James."  
  
John studied her face. A new kind of determination seemed to have settled there. Gone was the youthful, spirited expression she had displayed a little over a week ago, when Faith had shown her round the house and she had been enthusiastic and happy to be here. Now she looked careworn, as though the events of two days ago and the talk with her father that night had aged her by several years.  
  
-------------  
  
Up in Remus's room, the boys were listening to the wizard wireless.  
  
"This is Bernard Barnaby for WWN news," the newsreader was saying. "Following the brutal attack on Diagon Alley in broad daylight this Saturday afternoon, the people a Ministry spokesman yesterday referred to as Death Eaters have perpetrated more atrocities that have shaken the magical community to its foundation.  
  
Several tragedies have occurred all over he British isles during the past two nights. People have come home to find the hideous green skull, the mark of these Dark wizards, hovering over their homes, and their families dead. None of the bodies showed any signs of outward interference. The lack of wounds has led officials from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to the conclusion that all these people were murdered with the unforgivable killing curse.  
  
Many witches and wizards, particularly those of Muggle descent, have stated that they no longer feel safe in their homes, let alone out of doors. Some have gone into hiding or even fled the country. I would like to take this opportunity to point out to all you listeners out there that that is no solution. We cannot let this reign of terror take hold and do no more about it than to hide. We must come together and fight back.  
  
I appeal to everyone of my listeners tonight to stop running away from the darkness that is befalling us. Take no notice of those who tell you that these Death Eaters and their Dark Lord are too powerful to resist. Let us turn the tables on them. Let us hunt them down and lock them all away before they do irreparable damage to the way of life that we love. Don't let them oppress you. Fight them off and show them that our world is still free, whatever their plans.  
  
This is Bernard Barnaby, WWN news. Good night."  
  
James turned off the wireless and stepped out onto the landing just as his mother came up the stairs.  
  
"Mum," he said.  
  
"Hello," she replied, smiling fondly.  
  
"I was wondering . The old man you went out to speak to . Who was he?"  
  
Bridget held the smile, but avoided the question.  
  
"What was that news broadcast about?"  
  
"More muggle-borns have been murdered," James explained. "People are afraid to leave their homes, but they're also frightened the Death Eaters will murder them in their beds."  
  
Bridget came up and touched his cheek.  
  
"Are you afraid, James?" she asked.  
  
James looked at her questioningly. He had never seen her act so strangely before.  
  
"Yes," he admitted. "Isn't everyone?"  
  
Again that curious smile.  
  
"Yes, my dear. I dare say you're right."  
  
Bridget looked across James's shoulder into the room where the other three boys were sitting, and thought of the other things her father had told her. About Professor Darkhardt's new defence lessons, Philippa Pettigrew's involvement in the fight against Voldemort . and the secret Faith had not been able to tell her the other day. She studied Remus from a distance, and for a moment considered mentioning to James what she had found out that night. Then she decided it was silly. There could be no reason to point out to him what Remus was.  
  
James was a smart boy, and she was sure there could be no doubt he already knew, and had probably known for many years. What worried her more was the thought of what he might have done about it. Oh, he could fool Dumbledore into believing he and his friends had accepted Remus's fate, but she knew them better. She was sure that there was something, somehow, that her son was keeping from her. She wondered whether she would ever figure out what it was.  
  
-------------  
  
Two days later, the Daily Prophet announced that Bernard Barnaby's wife had come home from a visit to her sister's to find the Dark Mark in the sky above her house, and her husband dead without sign of outward interference. 


	17. Part 17: The Final Year at Hogwarts

Prequel, Part 17: The Final Year at Hogwarts  
  
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1 - A Year of Terror  
  
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Bernard Barnaby's death was not the last. One by one, all the people who dared to openly oppose Lord Voldemort or appeal to the magical population to stand and fight suffered a similar fate. No one ever trusted anyone else any more, as reports of betrayal became increasingly frequent and word got out that seemingly harmless people were perpetrating atrocities no one would ever have thought them capable of.  
  
Few people realised that many of those crimes were committed unwittingly by their perpetrators. However, sitting in his office behind the entrance guarded by the stone gargoyle at Hogwarts castle, Professor Albus Dumbledore had begun writing a list of those he suspected to have fallen under the Imperius curse - people he knew would never have hurt anyone if they had been in control of their own actions.  
  
Yet despite the terror that ruled the outside world, life at Hogwarts remained relatively untouched by the menace. While reports of rampaging giants, Dementors and even vampires piled up on the desk of Bartemius Crouch, the new head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the Ministry of Magic, the school remained a haven of safety, for Voldemort's minions seemed purposely to avoid any place that had Albus Dumbledore in it.  
  
That year was therefore a strenuous but happy one for the four marauders, and at the end of it they travelled home with hearts lightened by the joy of having won the house cup for the third year in a row, and the pleasurable memory of Severus Snape's expression when James had snatched the Quaffle from under his nose and scored his fifth goal at the Quidditch final burned brightly into their memories. But returning to the 'real' world soon reminded them that things were not going as well for their side as it might seem at Hogwarts.  
  
Peter Pettigrew came home to find his mother in a state of almost constant paranoia, suspecting everyone from the milkman down to the lady who came to clean for them once a week of being a Dark agent. His father kept away from their home most of the time and worked late, presumably to prevent his wife from insisting he do something heroic ... like casting a total body bind curse on the chimney sweep! Even Philippa was different these days, far more serious and always heavy-eyed, but also kinder than ever, determinedly displaying her feelings for the people who came into contact with her plainly for all to see, as though preparing herself, just in case something happened that would make it impossible for her to show them how much she cared.  
  
Remus, too, found his home in a state of tension. His mother had grown jumpy and anxious. While as solid a rock to cling to as ever when it came to personal problems and worries, the fear of something seriously bad happening to those she loved terrified her. She insisted on locking and barring all the windows and doors both at night and during the daytime, and she always made John read out the news from the Daily Prophet at breakfast, even though it often made her cry. As the summer progressed, Remus noticed how she seemed to grow more and more anxious.  
  
Faith herself was not unaware of this, and she tried as best she could to fight the sense of doom that was threatening to overwhelm her, but it was no use. She searched for the reasons behind her heightened fear, and decided that it was largely down to the change she had noticed in her brother. Though she had been afraid before, though she had long known there were dangers in the world, so far Malcolm had always been the one to remind her that no threat was ever-present, that fun and good humour would prevail in the end. But Malcolm was not like that any more. For one thing, his visits to his sister and brother-in-law had become most infrequent as reports of deaths and torturing increased, and he too seemed tense and far less apt to joke.  
  
Faith also began to wonder at her husband's frequent absence from home on what he called 'important business'. John, for his part, was still determined to keep the truth from his wife as long as he possibly could. She worried enough as it was. If she found out that he and Malcolm spent many a night hunting down wizards who had sworn themselves to the service of the Dark side, that they conferred with Dumbledore on the possible location of Lord Voldemort himself and ways in which he might be destroyed if found, he knew that she would panic and probably sleep even less at night than she did anyway.  
  
James and Sirius both noticed that a change had come over Bridget too. She was subdued and withdrawn, and she hardly ever seemed to smile these days. Unbeknownst to either of them, Bridget had attended every meeting of the Order of the Phoenix since her talk with her father. They had decided to put aside their differences and start afresh, and both were forced to admit that the trials before them were easier to bear with the mutual support they gave each other. While James continued to attend all Professor Darkhardt's lessons with regular enthusiasm, Bridget had persuaded everyone who knew the truth to keep an eye out for her son, but not let him know that he himself was an heir of Gryffindor and that, if Voldemort found out he existed, his life would not be worth a single bronze knut.  
  
Professor Dumbledore and John, Malcolm and Gordon had all tried to persuade Bridget that not knowing the truth might do James more harm than good in the long run, but she remained adamant. And so, while she and her father became closer at last, Gordon was still denied any contact to his grandson, though his desire to accept the boy into his heart and home grew daily, as much through Bridget's doting descriptions of the boy as through the presence of Bridget herself.  
  
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2 - The Last Journey to Hogwarts  
  
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The depressing mood in the magical word made the holidays seem to stretch endlessly, but finally they neared the end, and then it was September 1st of their last year at school. For the last time in his student life, Remus stood on platform 9 ¾ with his mother beside him, knowing that this parting from her would be the hardest since the very first day he had travelled to Hogwarts. He looked at his mother, and Faith drew her son towards her and embraced him, clinging to him tightly.  
  
"I'll miss you," she whispered tearfully in his ear. "But I've never been so grateful you're going back to Hogwarts. Things aren't safe out here. Sometimes I doubt they'll ever be safe again."  
  
"They will, Mum," Remus reassured her, more positively than he felt. "Don't you worry. One way or another, some day, somehow - we'll win."  
  
Faith stood back and looked up into his serious young face.  
  
"You've grown up such a lot," she said with a sad smile. "Another year and I'll hardly recognise you as the little boy I put on that train seven years ago."  
  
"I'm not going to change, Mum," Remus said. "In some ways I'll always be that boy."  
  
"I hope so," his mother said.  
  
Remus looked away awkwardly. He had longed for the day when he could go back to Hogwarts with his friends, yet now he felt so damnably reluctant to go, to leave his mother standing here, looking so vulnerable and frightened.  
  
If only his father had had time to come. But John was off on another dangerous venture with Malcolm, one that would probably make his mother faint if she ever heard about it. For a moment, Remus seriously considered not getting on the train. Oh, he wanted to go back to Hogwarts, but to leave his mother at a time like this . then he suddenly spotted Heather, standing further along the train, and caught her eye.  
  
He was struck by how much she seemed to have grown over the summer. Though three years younger than him, today she looked much nearer his age, a slender and pretty girl of fourteen. She alone among all the dismal-faced people standing on the platform today seemed to radiate a soft, soothing light, her clear blue eyes calling to him from so many paces away.  
  
Heather's cheeks turned a charming pink when she saw him, and she smiled at Remus, a shy and anxious smile that told him she, too, had been greatly upset by the news over the summer. Somehow his mind was suddenly made up. Of course he would go to Hogwarts, this year like any other year. He watched as Heather got on the train with her friends. Remus turned back to find his mother watching him.  
  
"Yes, you've grown up a lot," she said softly.  
  
Remus was about to reply but at that moment, Bridget arrived with Sirius and James. Faith brightened up a little. She and Bridget had become great friends, and it made such a change to meet someone one didn't have to be wary of these days.  
  
"Here, Remus," Sirius said eagerly, "did James tell you in that letter the other week that he's been made Head Boy?"  
  
"Head Boy?!" Remus exclaimed. "No, he didn't."  
  
"I thought one of you pulling my leg was bad enough," James explained.  
  
"But that's great!" Remus cried, shaking James's hand with the same enthusiasm with which James, two years ago, had congratulated Remus on being appointed prefect. "Well done!"  
  
"Thanks."  
  
James looked around and spotted Lily Evans coming through the barrier with her parents and her sister. James waved, and Sirius looked across too.  
  
"Wait!" he cried. "Is that a Head Girl badge Lily's wearing?"  
  
James nodded, and Sirius laughed. "The Potter-Evans dream team! Hi Lily," he added as the girl hurried over towards them.  
  
"Hello, Sirius. Remus, Mrs. Lupin ... Mrs. Potter," she said shyly.  
  
Bridget smiled, practically for the first time in ages.  
  
"Hello," she said. "You must be Lily. Sirius has been teasing James about you all summer."  
  
Lily reddened. "James," she said. "I wondered if ... well, wouldn't you like to come over and meet my parents?"  
  
"Oh ... err ... now? I suppose . yes, why not?"  
  
She seized him by the hand, beaming, and marched him off. Sirius and Remus began heaving the trunks on the train.  
  
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"Mum, Dad, Petunia - this is James," Lily announced with more than a hint of pride.  
  
James shook hands with her family rather nervously. Lily's father was a thickset man with a round, friendly face and a curly mop of brown hair. Her mother was tall and thin, with a chiselled, handsome face, short red hair and green eyes, though not quite as bright as Lily's.  
  
"Pleased to meet you, son," Mr. Evans said loudly.  
  
James was conscious of many people glancing their way. Being a Muggle, Mr. Evans knew nothing of Lord Voldemort, therefore he was equally unaware that it was considered inappropriate to be overly cheerful in public at the present time.  
  
"Thank you, sir," James answered in a subdued tone.  
  
"Lily's told us such a lot about you," Lily's mother added.  
  
"Oh," James murmured. "I'm sure I'm not quite as bad as she makes out."  
  
Mr. Evans gave a hearty laugh.  
  
"This lad has a sense of humour," he said. "I like that. You ought to get him to meet up with your Vernon, Petunia. Maybe he could learn some too."  
  
James turned his attention to Lily's scowling elder sister. She was a skinny, bony girl who obviously hated being there, and all through their talk she had been letting her eyes dart back and forwards between her sister and James. He noticed that there was a deep resentment in her every feature when she looked at Lily. What the expression on her face signified when she looked at him, however, James could not tell. It was closed, unreadable - but penetrating.  
  
"Well, it's been nice meeting you," James said politely, "but now we really must get on the train."  
  
"Of course."  
  
Mr. Evans leaned forward to pick up Lily's trunk, but James was quicker. Lily's parents smiled and wished them both a good year, then stood and watched as they got on the train.  
  
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"Give me a hand with this, will you?" Remus asked.  
  
Sirius came across and helped him lift James's trunk onto the rack in the empty compartment they had found, then looked out of the window.  
  
"Ha, James is being introduced to the in-laws," he announced. "Dear, dear, poor old Prongs, you'll never escape her now. That girl's got her hooks into you good and proper."  
  
"Sirius, come on, give him a break," Remus murmured.  
  
Sirius shrugged and peered out at the people on the platform. He waved to Gemma Crowe and Florence Fortescue, from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff respectively. Both girls giggled and waved back. Sirius's eyes scanned the platform and spotted more people coming through the barrier.  
  
"There's Wormtail," he said. "And Pippa. Gosh, she looks exhausted. Come and look, Moony."  
  
Remus came over to the window, but was only just in time to catch a glimpse of Pippa's blue robes as she disappeared through the barrier again. Peter Pettigrew walked over to Bridget and Faith alone, spoke to them nervously for a moment, then dragged his trunk up onto the train.  
  
"I'll go and give him a hand," Sirius said, stepping out onto the corridor.  
  
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3 - The Last Year Begins  
  
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Their last welcome feast in the Great Hall was as delicious as ever, and the solid walls of Hogwarts all around them, the twinkling stars on the enchanted ceiling above and the warming presence of Albus Dumbledore sitting up at the staff table, wearing robes of deep mauve with yellow moons on and a matching pointed wizard's hat took away some of the fear that had crept into the students' hearts over the summer. He had given them his usual welcoming speech, reminding them like every year of Mr. Filch's ever-growing list of actions not to be performed by students (this year including smiling in public view, it seemed), and adding a strict reminder that on no accounts must the Whomping Willow that stood in the grounds be approached. This last was greeted by a loud "Hear, hear!" from Davey Gudgeon, who had tried to touch the trunk of the ferocious tree last summer and still bore a nasty scar over his right eye where the Willow's branch had slapped him.  
  
Soon the students were chatting away as if nothing had happened, as if there had been no murders, no torturings, no Death Eaters. Only a few remained serious-faced and quiet, mainly those whose own families had already been touched by the growing darkness.  
  
Over at the Hufflepuff table, Florence Fortescue was deep in conversation with fifteen-year-old Stephen Ross, the younger brother of former Ravenclaw keeper Martin Ross, who had finished school two years ago and was now training to be an Auror. The girl ran her fingers through her bobbed brown hair and leaned in closer. She had more or less got over her grief at the killing of her grandfather, Florander Fortescue, in Diagon Alley, but that event had strengthened her resolve to do all she could for 'Darkhardt's Defenders', and she was now obviously busy recruiting Stephen to their cause.  
  
At the Ravenclaw table, Daniel Moore was telling Aurora Borealis about a new book he had been given for his birthday, which dealt with all kinds of curses and counter-curses that he hoped Professor Darkhardt would help them learn, so that they could defend themselves if ever they should have to.  
  
After the meal, Sirius, James, Peter and Remus had risen and begun to make their way to the doors when Sirius was accosted by Patrick Pringle, a fair- haired second-year Hufflepuff.  
  
"I say, Black! Black, can I talk to you for a sec?" the boy asked eagerly.  
  
Sirius sighed. He remembered Pringle back at the orphanage. He had always been a pest, tagging along wherever Sirius went after that one time when Sirius had owned up that it was he, not Pringle, who had released the dungbomb. Sirius had always been - and still was - Pringle's biggest hero, but he often found it a nuisance these days, because Pringle tended to announce proudly to all the world that he had known Sirius practically all his life, and used him as a threat whenever one of the older boys - especially Slytherins - tried to bully him.  
  
"What's up, Pringle?" Sirius asked impatiently while the others moved on without him.  
  
The younger boy leaned closer and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.  
  
"I've been talking to Millie Mynx, and she was telling me that she's going to join old Scarface's secret society this year."  
  
Sirius glanced across at Professor Darkhardt, emptying his goblet of wine at the staff table, and smiled to himself. If the old wizard knew what some students had begun calling him these days .  
  
"Anyway," Pringle went on breathlessly, "I've been thinking. You get on pretty well with Scarface, don't you, Black? And I thought, well, you could talk to him, tell him I want to join too, and that I'm really keen to learn all those extra spells and whatnot."  
  
"It's no good, I'm afraid, Pringle," Sirius said with a mock sigh. "Old Scarface, as you call him, won't have any little kids in the Defenders."  
  
"I'm not a little kid," said Pringle indignantly.  
  
Sirius drew himself up and looked down at Pringle, who barely reached up to his shoulders.  
  
"Maybe you should try magicking your legs a bit longer to make you taller, then Darkhardt might not notice you're only in second year."  
  
Pringle looked crestfallen and turned away. Sirius heard a bright laugh behind him and turned to see Mary Crimple standing there, watching with a twinkle in her eyes.  
  
"They're so funny, aren't they? The little ones, I mean. Want to be so grown up."  
  
"Yeah, well, Pringle's always wanted to do anything I was doing. We were at the orphanage together and I suppose I looked after him once too often. Should have let old Dolesham punish him for setting off that dungbomb and not owned up it was me."  
  
"Dolesham?"  
  
"She sort of looks after the kids there. She's a strict old bat on the outside, but she's all right really." He grinned. "Bit like McGonagall."  
  
"I see," Mary said. "So that was your mistake. The kid's hero-worshipped you ever since, has he?" she enquired.  
  
"Yup."  
  
Mary giggled again.  
  
"Sirius?"  
  
Sirius turned and saw Aurora coming towards them, her face set in a scowl. Mary bit her lip, excused herself and disappeared.  
  
"Hello, Rory," Sirius said lightly.  
  
She looked him up and down and walked around him.  
  
"Well," she said at last. "You look healthy enough to me. How do you feel?"  
  
"Fine," said Sirius, puzzled.  
  
"Good. I'm glad. I was worried you might have hurt your hands or something. No?"  
  
Sirius held them up. "Nope."  
  
"Ah. Because I had thought, you see, that if there was something wrong with your hands, you could have got James to write me a note."  
  
Sirius looked a question.  
  
"A note, Sirius! You usually write it out on a bit of parchment, using a quill and ink. It's a kind of short letter, you know. A message. Just a few words to let someone else know how you're doing, that you're still in one piece ..."  
  
"Ahh," said Sirius, finally understanding what she was getting at. "The letters, yes ..."  
  
"You said you'd write."  
  
"Erm ."  
  
"Your promised!"  
  
Sirius looked shamefaced. "What if I said I did write, but the letters got lost in the post?"  
  
Aurora crossed her arms and shook her head. Sirius looked around helplessly for a moment. He tried an apologetic smile that came out as a sickly smirk.  
  
"Err - I'm sorry," he murmured.  
  
Aurora tapped her foot.  
  
Sirius watched her, and suddenly grinned. "You're cute when you're angry."  
  
Aurora shifted impatiently and crossed her arms more tightly. Sirius's grin broadened. Aurora avoided his now-sparkling eyes. He grasped her by both arms and planted a kiss on her lips.  
  
"Sirius!" she said, sounding shocked and pushing him back.  
  
She looked around. The Hall was still full of people, and many were now staring at the pair of them as they walked by on the way to their dormitories. Sirius just laughed, took her in his arms again and kissed her once more, this time longer. Several of the people around them had stopped what they were doing to stand and stare unashamedly. Against her will, Aurora relaxed in his arms. When Sirius finally stood back, it took her a long moment to regain her bearings.  
  
"You're a scoundrel!" Aurora complained, frustrated with herself for not being able to resist him.  
  
"And you're adorable!" he called over his shoulder as he turned to leave the Hall. "See you later, gorgeous!"  
  
The other students turned away, giggling. Aurora sighed in exasperation.  
  
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"Our last year at Hogwarts," Peter Pettigrew moaned, dropping onto his bed in their dormitory. "I can hardly believe it. This time next year, a lot of other students will be sitting down at those tables in the Great Hall, but we won't be here. We'll be out in the real world, earning our living - if we live long enough to learn a profession."  
  
"Oh, don't be so depressing, Wormtail," James sighed, lying back on his own bed and crossing his arms behind his head. "There's loads of time yet. A year for us to enjoy tormenting Filch as he's never been tormented before, finally giving Mrs. Norris the good kick she deserves, teaching Snape a lesson or two ."  
  
Remus frowned playfully.  
  
"Professor McGonagall wouldn't be happy if she heard the new Head Boy talking like that."  
  
James grinned.  
  
"No, I don't suppose she would," he said lazily, turning onto his stomach to watch Remus unpack. "So, how have things been round your place this year?"  
  
A crease deepened between Remus's eyes.  
  
"Not too good. Mum's frankly terrified of the Death Eaters. If she knew what Dad and Uncle Malcolm are up to ."  
  
James gave an understanding nod. "How about you, Peter?"  
  
"About the same."  
  
"Hm. Did any of you read the rumour in The Quibbler last week?"  
  
Peter shook his head, but Remus paused halfway through taking a brown sweater out of his trunk and sat on the end of James's bed.  
  
"About the Dementors, you mean?" he guessed. "Yes, I read that. So did Mum. Dad told her it was probably just a load of nonsense - The Quibbler's always printing stories that are too far-fetched to be true, but in this case ."  
  
"What did your dad think?" James asked.  
  
"He was worried," said Remus, exchanging a glance with his friend.  
  
That seemed to settle it for both of them, but Peter was still looking blank.  
  
"What did The Quibbler say?"  
  
Remus fiddled in his pocket and pulled out the gold locket his parents had given him. He opened it and suddenly became very preoccupied with looking at their pictures. James sighed and turned to Peter.  
  
"It said that not all of the Dementors are acting as the Ministry expects them to. Some are supposed to have left Azkaban."  
  
"Why would they do that? I thought they sort of fed on the souls of the people that live there. Why would they leave a regular supply of - food?"  
  
"The Dementors of Azkaban are only there to guard the prisoners. All right, they do feed on the poor souls' emotions to a certain extent, but the Ministry won't let them get in really close, or perform the Kiss or anything."  
  
"The - what?"  
  
"The Kiss - weren't you paying attention when Darkhardt was telling us about it?"  
  
"It's when they suck your soul out through your mouth, leaving you behind as an empty shell with no spirit at all," Remus explained, slipping the locket back into his pocket.  
  
"Oh," said Peter quietly. "Right."  
  
"It's what they long to do, really. They'd just love it if they could devour the souls of all those prisoners. But of course they're not allowed to. Now Voldemort ." - James ignored Peter's flinch at the mention of the name - "will offer them just that. A nearly endless supply of souls to suck. Mostly muggle-born souls, naturally, but the Dementors aren't fussy."  
  
"And now some of these Dementors are out of Ministry control?" Peter asked anxiously.  
  
"So The Quibbler is saying. They're claiming some of the Azkaban guards have 'gone missing'. And if Remus's dad is worried by that report, then I'm guessing it might be true."  
  
"And you were telling me not to be depressing," Peter murmured miserably.  
  
James gave a small, mirthless laugh. Remus went back to his unpacking.  
  
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4 - Mirrors and Mudscuttlers  
  
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The first two months back at Hogwarts flew by, and soon James was back to practising Quidditch once a week. Not only that, but he had been made captain of the Quidditch team last year, which meant he spent a lot of his spare time devising new tactics or spying on the other teams to check out their strengths and weaknesses.  
  
The day before Halloween was a rainy Sunday afternoon and James returned from the Quidditch pitch, soaked to the skin and freezing cold. He had a wash and dried himself, then went to join the others in front of the common room fire. Sirius was poring over a catalogue full of glossy pictures of motorbikes, while Remus sat trying to help Peter with his Herbology homework.  
  
"Hello, Prongs," said Sirius when James joined them. "Worked out how you're going to beat Slytherin in the first match of the season yet?"  
  
"I don't know that we will," James said moodily, dropping into a chair. "They've put together a strong side. Hackleby's a good keeper, and then there's their new seeker, too. Dalia Prune. She's only in second year, but she's fast - faster than Donald, anyway."  
  
"Oh come on, brighten up," Sirius said. "At least you know they've got a set of lousy chasers. I mean to say, Severus Snape! He's hopeless."  
  
"Actually, no," said James. "He's been getting pretty good lately. Saw him practising last Saturday. Anyway, let's talk about something else. It's our last year at Hogwarts, we've got some serious disrupting to do before we leave."  
  
"Oh yes," Sirius agreed, closing the catalogue. "We have to leave an impression behind."  
  
"I should think you two have already left an impression to last a lifetime," Remus chuckled.  
  
"What do you mean, us two?" Sirius demanded. "It was you who nearly blasted a hole in the wall next to that suit of armour on the fourth floor last November, unless I'm much mistaken."  
  
"Only so that Filch would come to investigate what the noise was all about and not catch you two planting exploding chalk in McGonagall's classroom," Remus reminded him.  
  
Sirius laughed. "Yes, it was lucky for us you were watching the Marauder's Map that day, I must say."  
  
"So what are we going to let Moony blow up this year?" James asked eagerly.  
  
Remus raised an eyebrow. "Nothing, I hope. I'm not really all that keen on loud bangs."  
  
But he couldn't fool his friends. They spotted the amused tug at the corner of his mouth at once, and James clapped him on the back.  
  
"Righto, Remus," he said. "Whatever we do, we'll do it quietly. Very quietly," he added with a twinkle in his eye.  
  
"What are you getting at?" Sirius asked, intrigued.  
  
James looked around the empty common room as though to make sure they could not be overheard, and leaned forward conspiratorially.  
  
"I bumped into Hagrid on my way back from Quidditch earlier. It was obvious from the way he was trying to act all nonchalantly - you know, giving me a hearty loud greeting and all that - that he was up to something he shouldn't be."  
  
"Oooh," said Peter, also leaning in closer. "What's that?"  
  
"Well, he made a big show of not telling me at first. But of course, he was itching to let it out. Didn't take me long to persuade him. It seems he's gone and got himself a half-dozen new pets. Illegal, of course, though actually quite harmless by his standards. They don't bite, as far as I know. They don't explode, so no bangs, Remus ."  
  
"What are they?" Remus asked.  
  
"Mudscuttlers," James announced triumphantly.  
  
"What are they?" asked Peter and Sirius in chorus.  
  
Remus pushed his fringe out of his face.  
  
"Invisible creatures that you can usually only track down by following the black footprints they leave behind," he explained. "My dad had some trouble at the Ministry a while back. Someone had brought a Mudscuttler to work and it kept leaving filthy pawprints all over the documents. No one knows what these creatures look like - obviously, since they're invisible. I think the Ministry suspects they're something like moles, because they also have a habit of digging tunnels wherever the ground is soft enough. And for them, 'soft' is anything that's not solid rock, I think."  
  
He looked a trifle concerned, but Sirius's eyes had begun to glow.  
  
"Great!" he said. "Imagine the fun Filch would have with one of those!"  
  
"He would," Remus said. "But since the only ones around here are Hagrid's, and he's not likely to be stupid enough to bring them into the castle ."  
  
He shrugged, but James and Sirius were already grinning at one another.  
  
"No," said James. "But we will."  
  
"But - won't Hagrid get suspicious when he sees there's one missing?" Peter put in.  
  
"Oh, Wormtail!" Sirius cried, exasperated. "How dense are you? He won't see, will he? They're invisible. Hagrid's not going to notice if there's one missing. And just one let loose in Filch's office could work wonders."  
  
"Tell you what, why don't we go down and nick one tonight?" James suggested. "Remus and Peter can stand on guard ."  
  
"Wait, you don't mean you want me to create another diversion again if Filch is coming your way?"  
  
"Of course," Sirius said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You wouldn't want Filch to hang us up by our thumbs, would you?"  
  
Remus sighed. "Knowing my luck, I'll be the one hanging by my thumbs."  
  
"Don't worry," James said, getting up to rummage in his trunk. "You may not have to cause a diversion at all." He took something wrapped in cloth out of his trunk and handed it to Remus. "Here, Sirius and I made this during the holidays. Get yours out, Padfoot."  
  
Sirius looked a touch reluctant, but he bent down and fumbled for a similarly wrapped parcel among his own luggage. Remus, meanwhile, was unwrapping the one in his hand. It was a mirror. He stared at it with a puzzled expression.  
  
"You can use that to warn us if you see Filch coming our way on the map."  
  
"Err - how?" Remus asked doubtfully.  
  
"Just look into it and say our names," James explained. "Go on, try it."  
  
While Sirius unwrapped an identical mirror and sat holding it, Remus held his up to his face, looked into it and, feeling slightly stupid, said,  
  
"Sirius."  
  
He jumped as suddenly his own reflection was replaced by Sirius's face, grinning up at him. He grinned back.  
  
"This is an ingenious bit of equipment," he said, his voice echoing back at him out of the mirror Sirius was holding.  
  
"Yes, isn't it?" James said enthusiastically. "So you see, you can sit safely in the common room and warn us if you see Filch or Mrs Norris coming our way. We'll take the Invisibility Cloak, just to be sure, and those penetrating omnioculars we made last year, so we can see if there's anyone the other side of the doors. But really I see no risk at all - we'll be two invisible marauders abducting an invisible pet."  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------  
  
James and Sirius put their plan into action that evening. Throwing James's Invisibility Cloak over them, they descended the stairs from the dormitory and crept quietly across the common room, taking care to avoid bumping into the younger students that were milling about there. Peter was standing by beside the portrait hole, and Remus sat in the corner, the Marauder's Map hidden in the large book he had propped up in front of him.  
  
He alone in all of Gryffindor Tower knew where his two friends were. The dots marked 'James Potter' and 'Sirius Black' stood right beside that marked 'Peter Pettigrew'. Remus peered over the top of the book and nodded in Peter's direction. The latter immediately pushed back the painting and scrambled through the hole, making sure not to close it behind him at once, but leave enough time for the other two to slip through after him.  
  
"Okay," Sirius's voice hissed from under the Cloak when they were out. "You can shut it now. Remember not to go straight back in, or someone might wonder what you're up to, clambering out the portrait hole only to hop straight back in again."  
  
"Right," said Peter. "Y-you two be careful."  
  
"Of course," James said. "Cheerio."  
  
And he and Sirius set off along the passage, down the stairs and out into the grounds. Peter checked his watch. When he had spent five minutes hovering nervously beside the portrait, earning some very stern looks from the Fat Lady, he finally muttered the password ('dungbomb') and slipped back inside. He strolled over in what he hoped was a casual manner and fell into a chair beside Remus.  
  
"Well," he whispered rather obviously out of the corner of his mouth. "How are they doing?"  
  
"They're by the paddock next to Hagrid's cabin," Remus whispered into his book.  
  
"Anyone near them?"  
  
"Hagrid's inside the cabin. Filch is in his office, though, and Mrs. Norris is patrolling North Tower. Professor Darkhardt left the castle just after Prongs and Padfoot, but he headed off in the opposite direction."  
  
"Oh. What else?" Peter asked, when Remus paused.  
  
Remus appeared to be looking intently at his book, but in actual fact his eyes were glued to another moving dot on the map . one that stopped moving just as Peter asked the question. Lowering the book a fraction, Remus looked up. Peter followed suit and jumped back, startled to find Lily Evans standing right over them.  
  
"Hello," she said. "Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew whispering in a corner of the common room? That smells of mischief - especially as I don't see James or Sirius anywhere about."  
  
Peter looked frightened, but Remus just smiled.  
  
"What are they up to this time?" Lily asked. "Planting dungbombs in the History of Magic classroom in the hopes that Professor Binns will notice the stink and let us off lessons? Haven't they realised by now that Professor Binns notices nothing? I really don't want to sit through another double lesson with him, pinching my nose."  
  
"No, it's not dungbombs," Remus assured her.  
  
Lily looked sceptical.  
  
"They're up to something though, aren't they?"  
  
"You know those two." Remus shrugged. "They're not happy unless they have some clever scheme to work on."  
  
Sighing heavily, Lily pulled up a chair and sat down.  
  
"What are you two doing, then? Shouldn't you be out there, peeking round corners ready to head Filch off or stuff Mrs. Norris into a sack or something?"  
  
"W-we've never done that!" Peter protested.  
  
"I'm sure we would have if Sirius had thought of it," Remus pointed out. "I'll have to tell him. I've no doubts he'll be grateful for your advice, Lily."  
  
Lily opened her mouth to protest, but then she caught the twinkle in Remus's eye, and in spite of herself she smiled.  
  
"I wonder - what makes a sensible, hard-working boy like you hang around with those two crooks?" she asked curiously.  
  
"Probably the same thing that makes a pretty, well-behaved girl like you feel a day hasn't been well spent unless she's monopolised James Potter for at least thirty minutes," he retorted with ease.  
  
Lily stared at him for a moment, then she laughed.  
  
"All right, I'll admit he has a certain - charm. You'd better not tell him I said that, though, it might make him big-headed."  
  
"Don't worry, I think he knows."  
  
Lily shook her head, still smiling. Remus stole another glance at the map. The dots marked 'James Potter' and 'Sirius Black' were on their way back to the main entrance of the castle. He looked up again to find Peter biting his lip, and Lily gazing around the common room, apparently lost in thought. She caught him watching her, smiled once more and said slyly,  
  
"So, Remus . you think I'm pretty, do you?"  
  
Remus seemed taken aback. Had he said that? It must have slipped out unintentionally.  
  
"Well, I ." he murmured.  
  
Lily's smile widened.  
  
"That's nice of you," she said. "Thanks."  
  
Remus relaxed, and was just casting around for something else to say when his thoughts were rudely interrupted by a loud crash somewhere in the hallway. The small group of people in the common room all feel silent, staring at the portrait hole. The book Remus was holding slipped so far that the map lay there, plainly visible, but luckily everyone was too distracted to notice. They waited with baited breath, and were just deciding that someone must have simply knocked something over outside when there was another crash and a thud, and then the sound of hollow, high- pitched laughter.  
  
"What the -" sixth-year Fabian Prewett exclaimed loudly.  
  
Remus and Lily got to their feet. Peter looked up at his friend anxiously. Out in the hall, the eerie sounds continued.  
  
"I think some of us ought to go and take a look what's going on," Gemma suggested.  
  
Remus nodded his agreement.  
  
"Lily, Fabian, Gemma - you stay here with the younger students," he said as several first and second-years began appearing from their dormitories, many of them looking rather frightened. "Peter, Frank, Marlene, Tina, Donald - come along."  
  
Everyone obediently did as he said. Peter snatched up the map from the table, hastily wiped it blank and stuffed it in his pocket. They clambered out through the portrait hole and made their way along the corridor, following the continuing noises that seemed to be moving away from them now.  
  
"What on earth is happening?" Marlene Moss wondered aloud.  
  
A loud wail reached their ears.  
  
"Goodness knows," muttered Donald Gills, the Gryffindor seeker.  
  
They rounded a corner and almost collided with another group of students, led by Aurora and Daniel from Ravenclaw and Damian from Hufflepuff.  
  
"Damian," Frank called, rushing forward. "So you lot heard it too."  
  
"We were in the library when the commotion began. What is it?"  
  
"I don't -"  
  
Frank was interrupted by another loud crash. Several of the younger students behind Damian jumped a few inches, and someone suddenly shot past him and Frank, heading straight for Remus like a streak of lightning.  
  
"Heather!" he exclaimed, swaying slightly with the sudden impact as she clutched at his arm.  
  
"R-Remus, I'm frightened. What's happening?"  
  
"I've no idea," he said quietly, putting his arm around her shoulder while gripping his wand more firmly in his right hand. "But don't be frightened, Heather, I'll look after you."  
  
She nodded tensely and Remus turned back to the others. "We'd better split up, try to come at the source of these noises from several directions. And someone ought to go and alert a teacher. It seems the noise hasn't reached their offices yet ."  
  
His mind went back to what he had seen on the Marauder's Map. Some teachers weren't even in their offices. He didn't know what was going on, but he knew he would feel happier if Professor Darkhardt were near right now.  
  
"We're coming with you," Frank said at once, while Damian nodded.  
  
"I'll come your way too," said Aurora.  
  
"Okay, I'll go round that way with Daniel, Marlene and Tina then," said Donald, pointing off to his left.  
  
"Right," Remus agreed. "Peter, you go and find Professor Darkhardt."  
  
"Oh, but -"  
  
"Go on," Remus urged. "He went towards the Forbidden Forest."  
  
Peter looked like he would rather be heading back towards Gryffindor Tower than go looking for their teacher on the edge of the forest, but he nodded and left at once.  
  
Donald Gills, Daniel Moore, Marlene Moss and Tina Truffle turned and went the other way, a group of first and second-year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws tailing along behind them. Remus, his arm still around Heather, led the rest of them further along the corridor they were in. The noises grew louder as they went, but they seemed to be stationary now, as though whoever was making them was remaining in one place, waiting to be found.  
  
At the end of the passage they heard a particularly loud, screeching laugh. Frank and Damian rounded the corner first, Remus, Heather and Aurora right behind them, followed by the rest of the younger students, and came face to face with a suit of armour, standing in the middle of the passage. It was from this that the continued noises were issuing. As the students appeared, the suit of armour began rocking to and fro, and then it clanked towards them, its stiff legs taking quick, awkward-looking strides. Heather squealed with fright and the suit of armour gave an evil cackle.  
  
"Hang on," said Damian when he heard the laugh, no longer so muffled now because they were so much nearer to the source. "Does anyone else think that sounds a lot like -"  
  
He was interrupted at that moment by something garishly colourful shooting out behind the visor and zooming round their heads. The empty suit of armour collapsed to the floor with a crash.  
  
"Peeves!" Aurora exclaimed. "What the devil do you think you're doing?"  
  
Peeves stuck his tongue out at her and spun upside down just as Donald and the others came running from the other end of the passage.  
  
"Peeves!" Donald panted. "So that's what all the noise was about! And for a minute I thought it was - You-Know-Who."  
  
Heather winced and clapped her hand over her mouth.  
  
"Shh, don't worry," Remus said. "He couldn't possibly get into Hogwarts."  
  
His voice was low and comforting, and cleverly concealed the fact that Donald had just voiced his own fears.  
  
"Peeves," he said more firmly, "Don't you ever do that sort of thing again! Playing tricks on people openly is one thing, but frightening the wits out of younger students like this isn't funny."  
  
Peeves made a huffy noise and glared at Remus. His glinting eyes spotted Heather, and he looked back at Remus with a wide, mischievous grin.  
  
"Oh nooo," he said. "You wouldn't want me to frighten the ickle students, would you? Pity, I could tell them some stories that would freeze the blood in their ickle veins. Shall I?"  
  
"No," said Remus, paling.  
  
"Haha," Peeves cackled. "Oh yes, I could tell them some stories ..."  
  
"Shut up, Peeves!" Frank shouted.  
  
But Peeves just went on cackling, and then he began chanting in a high- pitched voice,  
  
"Loony, loopy Lupin. Loony, loopy Lupin ."  
  
"Let's go," said Aurora quickly.  
  
But at that moment, they heard hurried footsteps coming along the passage behind them, and Peeves's face fell. There, her tartan dress sweeping through the air as she walked briskly towards them and followed by none other than the Bloody Baron, floating just beneath the chandelier, was Professor McGonagall, her lips as narrow as the students had ever seen them, her wand held out before her.  
  
"Peeves!" she exclaimed angrily. "I thought as much. How dare you cause such a raucous?! Baron, I suggest you have a word with this poltergeist ."  
  
Peeves had stopped laughing and chanting and was looking plainly terrified.  
  
"Oh - err - your baronlyness - err - I was just ."  
  
The Bloody Baron floated towards Peeves, and McGonagall turned to the students.  
  
"Come on, everyone, it's getting late and you should all be getting back to your dormitories. Run along, now, there's nothing more to see."  
  
Many of the students shot looks of regret back over their shoulders as they moved away from Peeves and the Bloody Baron, trying to catch a glimpse of what the ghost would do to punish the poltergeist for his charade. They returned to the point where they had met, and Remus gently pushed Heather away from him. She seemed reluctant to let go.  
  
"It's all right," he said gently. "There aren't going to be any more disturbances tonight, I'm sure."  
  
"I hope so," Heather said timidly. "I'm sorry I was so nervy, but - with all the bad news we've been getting this year, everything seems to frighten me."  
  
Remus nodded understandingly just as Aurora came over to them.  
  
"Come," she said kindly to the younger girl. "Let's go back to the common room together, shall we?"  
  
Heather nodded, and shot Remus a brief smile.  
  
"Thanks for being so patient with me," she whispered.  
  
Remus smiled back.  
  
"Good night, Heather. Night Aurora."  
  
He turned to follow the others back to Gryffindor Tower, wondering where on earth Peter had got to.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------  
  
Remus lay in his bed, the hangings drawn back, watching the half moon through the window. Frank was asleep in his bed by the other wall, but three beds in the dormitory were still empty. Remus looked at his watch and a worried crease appeared between his eyes. Where were the others? He stared at the door as though willing it to open and his friends to enter, but nothing happened for over an hour. He lit his wand and began reading, pausing every now and then to look at the door and his watch in turn. Finally, long past midnight, he heard a creak on the stairs outside the door and it was pushed open slowly. Peter shuffled in, looking downcast. Remus laid his book aside.  
  
"Where have you been?" he whispered so as not to wake Frank.  
  
Peter looked even more upset.  
  
"I lost it."  
  
"Lost what?"  
  
"The map," said Peter miserably. "I was just about to leave the entrance hall, and I was getting the map out to see where Darkhardt was, when Filch turned up. He whipped the map from my hand then and there and carted me off to his office. And now the map's in this drawer of one of his file cabinets, marked 'Confiscated and highly dangerous'. I tried to make him give it back, I really did, Remus - but he wouldn't. And he was furious because I wouldn't tell him how to work it. I'm so sorry, I ."  
  
"It's all right, Peter," Remus said, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Don't worry about it. It's gone and that's that. We won't be here much longer anyway, and we really won't be needing it after this year. But why were you gone so long?"  
  
"Well, Filch gave me detention and made me take it there and then. I tried to explain to him about the noises we'd heard and that I was supposed to be looking for Darkhardt, but he wouldn't listen. He made me help him hunt all over the castle for something that had been leaving muddy pawprints all over the place and digging holes in the floorboards."  
  
Remus's eyes widened. "Muddy pawprints? But - I thought James and Sirius were supposed to be bringing the mudscuttler in here first and releasing it at an appropriate time in Filch's office ."  
  
He glanced across at the two empty beds.  
  
"I wonder ."  
  
He didn't have to wonder for long. Barely five minutes later, the door opened again and James and Sirius entered. James's Invisibility Cloak hung over his shoulder and both of them were covered in mud and scratches.  
  
"What happened to you?" Peter cried.  
  
"Shhh!" the other three hissed. Frank grunted in his sleep.  
  
"S-sorry. What happened to you?" Peter whispered.  
  
"The blasted beast got away when we reached the entrance hall," Sirius complained, dropping onto the end of Remus's bed.  
  
"Mind you, we were almost glad of it," James said gloomily, looking in the mirror and surveying a nasty scrape on his left cheek. "I didn't realise these creatures were so violent. It kept trying to get away, and had almost scratched us to blazes by the time we reached the castle."  
  
"We tried to catch it, of course," Sirius said. "But - well, we couldn't see where it had gone, could we? So in the end we gave up and decided to leave it to Filch."  
  
"Yes, well - Filch decided to leave it to Peter, it seems," Remus said.  
  
James and Sirius stared.  
  
"What?"  
  
Peter nodded shamefacedly.  
  
"We still haven't found the thing, of course. But he had me look everywhere - even in the girl's bathroom on the second floor."  
  
"Eurgh," said Sirius, pulling a face. "Isn't that the one where that idiot ghost lurks around?"  
  
"Moaning Myrtle," Peter said. "Yes."  
  
"Hm. I met her once when I was hiding in there from Filch," Sirius said. "She was dreadful. Moan, moan, moan. Mind you ." - he grinned - "she seemed to fancy me a bit. Course, she's a right pest. Bit like Bertha, I suppose."  
  
"Yes, well," Peter murmured. "I didn't find your mudscuttler, anyway. And I lost the map."  
  
"What?!"  
  
"Shh!"  
  
This time it was James, Peter and Remus hissing at Sirius to be quiet. He and James listened in shocked silence while Peter told them what had happened. James seemed inclined to agree with Remus that it wasn't such a great loss to them, as this was their last year anyway, but Sirius became really cross with Peter for losing the map and actually didn't speak to him for days. He didn't know why he was reacting so violently to this news. Maybe it was because the map had been the first thing the four friends had created together. It was their brainchild, it bore all of their nicknames, it was the symbol of their friendship . and now Filch had it locked away. He tried to persuade the others that they should break into Filch's office one night and get it back, but as James pointed out, Filch would probably be waiting for them to do just that, and would love nothing better than to catch them at it, even if it meant guarding his office twenty-four hours a day.  
  
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5 - Darkhardt's Defenders  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------  
  
October melted into a wet and windy November, and soon Hogwarts was covered in a thick blanket of snow. Many students again spent Christmas at Hogwarts, a Christmas more subdued than that of the last years because of continued reports of the increasing numbers of Death Eaters, of Dark powers at work inside the Ministry, of witches and wizards turning on their friends, of attacks, torturing, killings and disasters so great that much of the wizarding community was amazed at how the Muggles still managed to go through life so blindly unaware of the danger that threatened them.  
  
The New Year's celebrations were similarly quiet, livened up only by the magnificent dragon-shaped fireworks Sirius and James had managed to obtain and the exploding pumpkin candles they smuggled onto the table. However, no sooner were the festivities over than Professor Darkhardt announced his determination to use every spare moment of time before the end of the holidays for their extra Dark Arts defence training, and so when darkness fell, James and his friends obediently made their way to the empty, normally unused dungeon that had been set aside for this purpose.  
  
James stepped into the cold and gloomy chamber and looked around. He thought back to how this group had come into being. There had been only five of them to begin with: himself, Sirius, Remus, Peter (who had taken some persuading and a lot of assurance that they would take care of him) and Frank.  
  
At their first session, Professor Darkhardt had specified three things regarding the addition of new members: One, that no one under the age of fourteen should be allowed to join. Two, that only those people should be approached who were definitely 'on the right side', as he put it. And three, that no one should join unless they themselves felt brave enough to face the worst if they had to.  
  
The first had been abided by in all cases but one, namely that of Gryffindor seeker Donald Gills, who had been only thirteen at the time. Donald had happened to overhear Sirius talking to some of the older Gryffindor boys, and there had been no way of keeping him away after that.  
  
The second, in the eyes of the group's members, automatically - though perhaps unfairly - led to the exclusion of any of the Slytherins. The mere thought of asking a Slytherin to join in fact never entered any of their heads.  
  
The last criterion had led some of the students who had been approached to regretfully shake their heads and refuse, particularly in the case of some of the Hufflepuffs who, though noted for their loyalty and their definite opposition to the Dark Arts, generally admitted freely that they lacked the courage of the Gryffindors or even the Ravenclaws.  
  
However, three Hufflepuffs had remained: Damian Diggle, Florence Fortescue and Michael Hornby. The latter, however, had already been in his seventh year, and was now no longer at Hogwarts. As far as James knew, Michael was now working for the Department of Mysteries. His place with the Defenders (and as Quidditch commentator) had been taken last year by Stephen Ross, whose older brother, former Ravenclaw keeper Martin Ross, had been Michael's best friend at Hogwarts. Damian Diggle, unsurprisingly, had been approached by Frank Longbottom almost as soon as the group had been formed and persuaded, against his doubts that he would not prove a good enough wizard, to join.  
  
Damian had in turn spoken to the adventure-loving Florence, also in seventh year, who now stood with her head of thick, bobbed black hair leaning against the wall behind her, and smiled their way as they entered.  
  
Stephen Ross stood a little further away from the door, together with a group of the older boys: Daniel Moore, the tall and broad-shouldered Ravenclaw; Ravenclaw chaser Benjy Fenwick; sixth-year Gryffindors Richard Turpin and Fabian Prewett.  
  
James counted the number of people in the room. There were twenty-one all told. He spotted Lily and Aurora standing with Mary Crimple, Tina Truffle and Gemma Crowe at the other end of the room and waved. It had taken some persuading to get Lily to join, even after the talk James had had with her that one Christmas. Oh, she had had no doubts about the need to fight the Dark Arts and was enthusiastic enough when you got her on her own, but she tended to be a little shy, and one thing she did not like was if Professor Darkhardt ever chose to call her forward to demonstrate something she had learnt. Though James had never yet seen her fail, particularly with protection charms, she did not seem to like having the eyes of all those people fixed on her.  
  
*Unlike me*, James thought with a secret smile. He and Sirius liked nothing better than to volunteer to try out new and sometimes dangerous spells and duelling techniques. Sirius, in particular, was often hard to discourage. He would persistently keep volunteering until Professor Darkhardt finally gave in and let him have his way.  
  
This display of eagerness, his courage and the pranks he kept coming up with to keep the atmosphere light and cheer people up had made Sirius extremely popular, especially with the girls. James noticed how, once again, many heads turned as they entered the chamber, and several of the girls seemed to try to catch Sirius's eye without their friends noticing. Sirius, meanwhile, seemed to enjoy this, and grinned and winked back openly, though James feared the same could not be said for Aurora. He looked her way and discovered that she had her back firmly turned towards the door.  
  
"Professor Darkhardt's late," Peter commented, interrupting James's thoughts.  
  
"Yes," James agreed. "I wonder what's keeping him."  
  
"Oh great," Sirius groaned. "He gets us all down here in the middle of the holidays, and then he doesn't bother to show up."  
  
"He'll be here," Remus said.  
  
Sirius gave a snort. "If you say so. Well, I suppose we could start without him, couldn't we? We could practise some basic disarming and blocking techniques to warm up."  
  
He looked around expectantly at his friends, and at last they nodded. Sirius cleared his throat dramatically and called,  
  
"Hello! Hello, everyone!"  
  
The murmuring voices died down and everyone turned to face him.  
  
"Right," Sirius went on, tapping his knee with his wand and strutting up and down in a perfect imitation of Professor Darkhardt's gait. "Who'd like to volunteer to show us how to disarm an attacking wizard? Anyone?"  
  
Florence, Gemma, Mary and several of the boys pushed forward, arms upraised.  
  
"Ah," said Sirius, still imitating Professor Darkhardt's manner. He even fingered an imaginary scar on his cheek. "Yes . Miss Fortescue and Mr. Fenwick, I think," he decided, indicating Florence and Benjy.  
  
The two came forward and stood facing one another. Both drew their wands at the same time, but Florence was a split second faster, and Benjy's wand flew from his hand in a controlled arc. Sirius caught it.  
  
"Come on, Benjy. You can do better than that!" Daniel Moore called out.  
  
Benjy took his wand back from Sirius and faced Florence once more, determined not to let her beat him again. He counted to three, then he shouted "Expelliarmus" so suddenly and violently that Florence not only dropped her wand, but did a double somersault backwards and landed on the floor with a thud, knocking her head against the wall.  
  
Benjy bit his lip. Everyone grouped round the girl on the floor, but Sirius managed to push his way to the front.  
  
"Florence?" he called, worried, crouching beside her and touching her shoulder.  
  
She stirred and opened her eyes. It seemed to take her a moment to focus, but at last she smiled and answered,  
  
"I'm fine."  
  
Sirius grinned.  
  
"That was quite a spin you took."  
  
"Yes. My head feels like it's spent too long in mum's washing machine."  
  
There was a brief interruption while some of the purely wizard-born students present asked the muggle-borns and those with one Muggle parent to explain just what exactly a washing machine was. Then Sirius and the apologetic Benjy helped Florence to her feet, and Sirius was about to call for a new pair of volunteers when the door to the dungeon opened and Professor Darkhardt came in, followed by another man.  
  
The students eyed this newcomer suspiciously. He was tall, with dark but greying shoulder-length hair and a long, pointed nose.  
  
"Good evening, everyone," Professor Darkhardt said. "This is Mr. Alastor Moody, a good friend of Professor Dumbledore's. He has come to help us learn more about the weapons of Lord Voldemort and his supporters."  
  
As always when the professor spoke that name, a hush fell on the assembled group. That name had become a synonym for death and destruction, and many people in the wizarding world - not just students - had grown afraid to speak it. Others, however, like Professors Dumbledore and Darkhardt, insisted that the fear to use that name would only increase fear of the person it described, and therefore refused to use the more common forms of referring to the Dark Lord by saying "You-Know-Who" or "He who must not be named".  
  
Alastor Moody looked around him, and studied each of the students in turn. Many of them could not hold his gaze for long. His eyes were piercing and made them feel uncomfortable. Moody's eyes settled on Sirius.  
  
"So, you decided you would give a little lesson of your own, did you?"  
  
"I thought it couldn't hurt to start practising while we were waiting for the professor," Sirius replied coolly.  
  
Moody nodded and turned to Darkhardt.  
  
"We did keep them waiting rather, didn't we, Narbus?"  
  
"Yes," Darkhardt agreed, walking slowly to the opposite wall where stood the only table in the chamber. "But we will make up for that now we are here. Mr. Moody," he told the students, "is an Auror, and knows more about the Dark Arts than even I can boast. Tonight, he will show you certain curses that our enemies may use, curses that the Death Eaters have been using to torture Muggles, and even to kill - curses that are forbidden by all civilised laws of wizardry. You know the curses I mean, Lupin?"  
  
Remus looked up.  
  
"Yes sir," he said slowly. "The Unforgivable Curses."  
  
"Exactly," Moody agreed, coming over to stand beside Professor Darkhardt.  
  
"The Imperius curse, the Cruciatus curse and Avada Kedavra. Do you also know what these are used for, young man?"  
  
Remus nodded.  
  
"The Imperius curse gives the user total mind control over his victim. The Cruciatus curse causes unbearable pain and the last is known as the killing curse. It is impossible to block," he finished.  
  
The other students swallowed hard and looked at their two teachers.  
  
"Right again, Lupin," Professor Darkhardt agreed. "We will start tonight with the first of those curses and then proceed to the second, if we have time. Alastor ."  
  
Alastor Moody looked around at the expectant faces of the students. Then he began,  
  
"The Imperius curse can be fought, but it requires a lot of willpower. The important thing is to remember what you want to do, and who you are. Concentrate. Never relax your guard for a moment. Constant vigilance is the motto you must remember. Any volunteers?"  
  
Many hesitated, looking nervously at their friends, but Sirius at once stepped forward. Professor Darkhardt smiled crookedly. Moody inclined his head to one side.  
  
"You again, eh?"  
  
"Yes sir," Sirius replied.  
  
"What's your name?"  
  
"Black, sir. Sirius Black."  
  
"Well, Sirius Black," Moody continued, "let's see if your willpower is as strong as you think."  
  
He took out his wand, pointed it at Sirius and said,  
  
"Imperio."  
  
Sirius at once felt a lot lighter than he had done before. He was drifting, floating, soaring above the world. The dungeon wasn't dark any longer. In fact, it wasn't even a dungeon. It wasn't even a room. He was outside, the sun was shining and it was hot. He felt sweaty and uncomfortable. He needed to cool down. But how . Ah! There, a few yards in front of him, was an open- air swimming pool. There was a small board just a few paces away, all he had to do was step on it and .  
  
No. Something told Sirius this wasn't right. He wasn't outdoors, he couldn't be. He hadn't moved an inch. Besides, how could it be hot out? It was the middle of winter, the water should be freezing.  
  
*Go on,* said a voice in his head. *Climb up onto the board and jump.*  
  
Sirius stared ahead, determined to find out what was going on here. There couldn't be a pool there, could there? Sure enough, as he concentrated on it, the pool evaporated, and with it went the board, the sun and the sweat. He was back in the dungeon, and in the place where the board had been stood an old wooden table. But still something was urging him to climb onto that table and jump. Sirius took a step towards it, and another. Suddenly he stopped.  
  
No, why should he? What was the point in climbing onto a table, only to jump off of it again?  
  
*Because I want you to,* said the voice in his mind.  
  
*No,* Sirius answered it back.  
  
*Yes. You will do it .*  
  
The voice sounded so persuasive, and yet ...  
  
*No!* Sirius protested firmly. *I won't do it.*  
  
With an effort, he turned around and walked back to his place between James and Peter. Suddenly the world came back into normal focus again and he turned to see Moody smiling down at him.  
  
"Very good," the strange man said. "In fact, that was excellent for your first attempt. Now, anyone else like to try?"  
  
Encouraged by Sirius's success, several people this time stepped forward. Moody was about to pick Daniel from Ravenclaw when Professor Darkhardt intervened. He turned around and looked straight across at Aurora, who was standing quietly beside Lily to one side of the room.  
  
"Wouldn't you like to try, Miss Borealis?"  
  
Aurora hesitated, then she shook her head.  
  
"I think I'd rather not."  
  
"Oh, come on, gorgeous," Sirius laughed. Several of the other girls giggled or murmured jealously. "I'll dare you. See if you can beat me."  
  
Aurora shot him an odd glance.  
  
"Well, what do you say?" Darkhardt persisted. "Are you going to let Mr. Black here have all the glory?"  
  
The girl looked steadily up at the professor and shrugged.  
  
"Very well."  
  
She stepped forward, and the other students formed a semi-circle around her, Moody, Professor Darkhardt and the table against the wall. She steadied herself. The rush of strange thoughts came racing at her like a bull charging a red rag. Without really knowing how or why, acting purely out of some deep-rooted self-preserving instinct, Aurora quickly began assembling a kind of blockade in her mind. She reached out and grabbed the thoughts of those around her. A memory here, an idea there, a hope, a dream. She put them up in front of her, one by one, like bricks in a wall.  
  
Moody gripped his wand tightly as it began shaking in his hand and tried to penetrate, but there were too many different thoughts, to many conflicting personalities and thought patterns for him to concentrate on hers. His curse was being deflected, unable to reach her as she kept her mind too occupied to accept it by concentrating on the thoughts of others. Moody kept it up for about five minutes, then the assault stopped.  
  
"Miss Borealis?"  
  
She felt a strong hand grasp her arm and opened her eyes to look up at Moody. He gave a queer smile.  
  
"That was a pretty powerful defence you put up," he praised her. "I couldn't get through to you for even a second. It was as though you weren't even there."  
  
Aurora smiled faintly. "Thank you, sir."  
  
"Yes, you did very well," Professor Moody repeated approvingly. "But I think you could have done more, if you had tried. Would you care to have one more go and show us what you can really do?"  
  
The girl looked at him, puzzled.  
  
"What do you mean?" she asked.  
  
"Don't concentrate on defence," he told her. "That method is fine when you know your attacker is not really determined to force you, and when there are enough others around you so you can build up your little wall of strange thoughts. Now, imagine you and I are alone. Imagine, for the sake of this exercise, that I am a true supporter of Lord Voldemort . why don't you try to turn the tables on me this time?"  
  
Aurora looked puzzled for a moment, but finally she seemed to know what he meant. She sighed and agreed. The others held their breath while they watched Moody stand back and cast the curse once again.  
  
This time, Aurora changed her strategy. Instead of grasping around for other thoughts to concentrate on, instead of distracting herself, she locked on the full blow of the curse.  
  
*Climb onto the table, jump .*  
  
She pulled that thought in, held onto it, concentrated, waited for it to come again .  
  
*Climb onto the table, jump .*  
  
Yes, it was getting stronger now, but she was holding it. She was in control, she had the thought encapsuled like a tiny bullet. It came at her again, and again she held it. She began slowly turning it around in her mind, and her temples started to throb. But she did not give up. The thought was still coming at her, ever-repeating, stronger every time, but she was succeeding. Every blast she received, she added to the load of thoughts she had accumulated, and at last she was ready.  
  
The others saw her open her eyes and stare straight at Moody. Her lips parted, and in a barely audible voice she murmured,  
  
"Climb onto the table, jump ."  
  
Alastor Moody stumbled as though a volley of bullets had hit him. He cried out in pain and doubled over. His assault on Aurora's mind had stopped, but her thoughts were still charged with the malice of the Imperius curse. She turned around wildly, hardly seeing the faces before her. Someone stepped forward, and at last the thought capsule cracked and the curse broke free, it was unleashed in full force on the person standing opposite her.  
  
Sirius Black ran towards the table, climbed onto it and jumped. He climbed it again, and again he jumped, and again, and again.  
  
"Sirius!"  
  
Aurora felt several people brush past her as she dropped to her knees. Her head felt like it was splitting. She closed her eyes, but it was still no better.  
  
"Aurora . Rory!"  
  
She forced her eyes open. Lily's pale face hovered just in front of her, looking terrified. Aurora opened her mouth to speak, then she fell forward into her friend's lap.  
  
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Several hours later, Aurora woke to find herself in a bed in the hospital wing. She blinked, and saw a pair of green eyes looking down at her.  
  
"Lily ." she murmured.  
  
"Welcome back," said Lily.  
  
Aurora paused a moment to collect her thoughts.  
  
"What happened?" she asked at last. "What did I do?"  
  
"You made Professor Darkhardt very proud, that's what," Lily said, smiling. "I've never seen him smile so much."  
  
"But I . I thought. I mean, I hurt that man, didn't I?"  
  
"Moody? Yes. But that's all right, he was expecting you to. He said you must be a very powerful - what was it? - oh yes, a very powerful 'Natural- born Legilimens' to be able to turn an Imperius curse around like that, especially without any wand. And after you'd hit him, you still had so much force that you hit Sirius, too. He got the full blast of it."  
  
Aurora groaned. She dropped back on her pillow, closed her eyes and didn't move for a while. The door to the hospital wing opened soon, however, and she looked up once more to see James stroll over to join them.  
  
"Hello," he said, stopping beside Lily. "And how is our thought-cannon feeling now?"  
  
"Not too bad, apart from a splitting headache," Aurora answered. "How's Sirius?"  
  
James's expression darkened.  
  
"Furious, to be honest. It took four of us to stop him climbing on that table again and again. After having been so proud before that he had been able to block Moody's curse so well, I think that made him feel rather a fool. And you know what he's like - he's certainly got a temper."  
  
"Oh dear. I wish I hadn't hit him, of all people."  
  
"Oh, cheer up, Aurora. I'm sure he'll get over it - in a few years," James laughed.  
  
Lily shot him a 'how could you' look and patted her friend's arm.  
  
"Well, at least no one was seriously hurt," she said. "And Mr. Moody was very impressed. He says you should consider a career as an Auror."  
  
"What, me, in his law enforcement division? Chasing Dark wizards for a living, tracking them down, sending them to Azkaban, using my gift to make them come peacefully?"  
  
Aurora shook her head.  
  
"No, thank you. I'd rather use my talent to help people. I'm sure there are a lot of people in St. Mungo's that I could do something for. People who have been put under the Imperius curse themselves and can't break free of it, for instance. That's more my line, I think."  
  
"Sounds a very good idea," James said appreciatively. Then he grinned. "After what we all saw today, I'm sure we all feel a lot safer knowing you're not likely to be deflecting any more curses in the near future."  
  
"James!" Lily scolded, but Aurora actually smiled.  
  
"Maybe you're right, James," she said. "It could be a lot safer for all of us."  
  
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6 - The Lone Wolf  
  
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It was Saturday morning, about four weeks into the new term. Remus was making his way to the empty Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, feeling like several pixies were fluttering around inside his stomach. And yet, at the same time, he was unusually cheerful this morning. All right, so there would be a full moon next week, but who cared? This morning he would be teaching Heather about hexes and counter-hexes, and he had made up his mind that he would ask her to come into Hogsmeade with him this afternoon.  
  
He didn't know what had brought about this sudden decision, but last night before falling asleep, he and the others had been talking about what they would do before their last year at Hogwarts came to a close, the things they would get up to before their final exams. They had also looked back on the things they had done, and Remus had found himself thinking back on the events of the past, and every time he did so, images of a young girl with curly brown hair and the clearest blue eyes he knew had filled his mind. He realised that he had known her for nearly four years now, and still he had never asked her out, probably because he had always been highly conscious of the fact that she was so much younger than him.  
  
Remus cleared his throat before he pushed open the classroom door. Heather turned around in her seat and beamed at him.  
  
"Good morning," she said brightly.  
  
"Hello," Remus answered as casually as he could.  
  
His stomach gave a nasty lurch and he wondered why he felt this way. He knew this girl, he knew she liked him, she wasn't likely to refuse - and even if she did, what would be so bad about that? He hadn't been out with her in four years, and he'd been fine, what would be so bad about her not wanting to go out with him now?  
  
"Err - are you ready for some hexes?" he asked, placing his bag on the teacher's desk as usual.  
  
"I suppose so. But before we start, could you take a look at that cupboard over there?"  
  
Heather pointed to the far corner, which was rocking back and forth and nearly toppling over.  
  
"It's been shaking like that ever since I came in. I . I think there might be a Boggart in it."  
  
Remus went over to take a closer look. He went back to his bag and took out the penetrating omnioculars he and the others had made. Holding them up to his eyes, he looked at the cupboard, and right through the closed door.  
  
"Yes, it's a Boggart," he said. "Okay then, that's quite handy actually. We'll leave the hexes till next time and do Boggarts today instead."  
  
Heather blanched.  
  
"Oh no, Remus, please. I'd rather go straight to the hexes. I . I don't like Boggarts. We did them with Professor Darkhardt last year and I was absolutely hopeless."  
  
"You didn't tell me about that." Remus frowned.  
  
"No," Heather admitted guiltily. "I knew if I told you I was having trouble with Boggarts, you'd get one for us to practise with, and I'm really terrified of - of mine. I mean, I know the spell you're supposed to use and all that, but I just can't think of anything that would make my Boggart less frightening."  
  
"What does your Boggart turn into?"  
  
"It's - err - no, I can't tell you," Heather said helplessly. "I can't even mention it, it's so horrible. I used to have nightmares when I was a little girl. I'd wake up crying and ."  
  
Remus nodded.  
  
"All right. If you can't tell me, we'll just have to do it the hard way. We'll let it out, and then I'll see what it turns into, then I'll step in, put it back in the cupboard, and together you and I can think of something that will make it less frightening for you."  
  
"Must we?" Heather asked plaintively. "Can't you just get rid of it?"  
  
Remus smiled.  
  
"I could. But I'm meant to be teaching you to defend yourself against dangers, and there's no greater danger than fear," Remus said, looking at her sympathetically. "It's always better to face your fears. It's the only way you can overcome them. And isn't it better to face them here, in this old classroom, within the safety of Hogwarts than out in the world at some later time when the danger might be a lot more serious? Remember, a Boggart is only the image of your greatest fear, not the thing you fear itself."  
  
"That sounds like the sort of thing Professor Darkhardt would say," Heather remarked, frowning.  
  
"He did," said Remus with a smile. "I adapted it a little. Because I think he's right. And wouldn't you rather I helped you overcome your fear now, than wait until you might be in real danger, and all alone?"  
  
"I suppose so," Heather admitted.  
  
"Well then. Let's go," he suggested, standing back from the cupboard that was being rattled from the inside.  
  
Heather resigned herself to the fact that she was not getting out of this one, and gripped her wand firmly. Remus gave her an encouraging nod, then he said "Alohomora" and the cupboard door sprang open. Heather screamed at the sight of what immediately appeared in the open space, and Remus gave a heavy gasp, stepping back a pace.  
  
There stood a monster, huge and ferocious, grey saliva dripping from its yellowish fangs, snarling and growling fiercely, its shackles raised. Remus looked at Heather, and all of a sudden it felt like a cold hand was taking hold of his heart and twisting it right round in his chest. There was a look of unmistakable terror in her eyes, her face was white and her mouth twisted. There was no way that look could be misinterpreted. She was not only scared to death of the thing that faced her - she was revolted by it.  
  
"R-riddikulus," Heather said half-heartedly.  
  
Her spell was too weak, cast with too little conviction and too much fear and uncertainty. It had not effect, and the beast began advancing on her, its fangs bared. Heather backed away against the wall.  
  
"No," she pleaded. "No, don't. Stop!"  
  
She stumbled and fell backwards, dropping her wand with a clatter. The creature was almost on top of her now.  
  
"Nooo!" she screamed, crawling backwards. "Remus! Remus, make it stop! Help me! Remus!"  
  
Remus seemed to come out of a kind of trance. Just as the Boggart-werewolf lowered its shaggy head to bite the girl, he leapt forward, grabbed it by the scruff of its neck and dragged it off her. The creature turned, but when it saw Remus, it transformed at once into a shimmering, silvery orb.  
  
"Riddikulus," he said hoarsely. The orb vanished in a puff of smoke.  
  
Heather sobbed quietly. Remus shook himself and stuck his wand back inside his wand case and in his pocket.  
  
"Come," he said, trying to sound normal and pulling Heather to her feet. "We'd better get you down to the kitchens for some butterbeer. Warm you up."  
  
Heather leaned against him, but Remus hesitated before he very gingerly patted her back. He led her out the room and down the stairs, he tickled the pear in the painting and explained to the eager house elves what they wanted, and when he felt that he could safely do so without arousing suspicion, he left Heather in their care and made his way back upstairs with heavy footsteps. He would not ask her to come to Hogsmeade with him after all, he couldn't. In fact, he didn't know how he could ever face her again. Something inside him had gone dead, killed by the look on the young girl's face when the werewolf had leapt out of the cupboard. Remus felt his eyes burning and blinked furiously.  
  
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Bang! There was a loud explosion and playing cards flew up in the air, then came tumbling down again like a shower of snowflakes.  
  
"I don't believe you've won again!" Peter complained.  
  
Sirius laughed, picking bits of card out of Lily's hair and laying them together again.  
  
"Sorry, mate. That's the way the card tumbles, you might say."  
  
Frank shook his head in mock despair.  
  
"Somehow these cards seem to be jinxed to keep tumbling your way," he said.  
  
"Sorry," said James, also laughing, "We should have warned you Sirius here is the greatest card sharp you ever saw."  
  
"Aww, come on, don't embarrass me," Sirius begged. "Another game, anyone?"  
  
The others all shook their heads, some playfully, some dejectedly.  
  
"How about a game of gobstones instead?" Lily suggested.  
  
"Yes - I'll play," said Damian Diggle.  
  
Marlene Moss, Mary Crimple and Stephen Ross agreed. Peter decided to join in too, but Sirius managed to persuade Frank, Bertha Jorkins, Gemma and James to one last round of exploding snap. They were about half way through this when Remus walked into the Great Hall.  
  
"Hello," Sirius said cheerfully. "Come to join us?"  
  
"No," Remus said, sounding very distant.  
  
James looked up at once and caught the strange look on his friend's face.  
  
"What's up?" he asked.  
  
"Nothing," Remus lied. "I just . I think I'll go for some fresh air."  
  
"It's raining," Mary pointed out casually.  
  
"I know."  
  
He turned and walked out of the Hall again, wondering why he'd gone there in the first place. He hadn't wanted company. He wanted to be alone. Remus walked down the front steps and towards the Forbidden Forest. Mary had been right, it was raining. In fact, as he walked, the rain became heavier. But Remus didn't care. It suited his mood.  
  
He reached the first line of trees and walked on, and on and on, further and further into the Forest until it grew dense and dark and he couldn't see the castle when he looked back over his shoulder. He could not remember when he had ever felt so empty. He wasn't angry, he didn't blame Heather for her fear or her disgust of the thing her Boggart had turned into. He could understand it. He, himself, had been disgusted by the sight of it.  
  
So he continued to walk, treading all the paths, marked and unmarked, that he and the others had discovered over the years. He didn't know how long he'd been walking when he finally came to a clearing and looked up at the sky, imagining that he could see the waxing moon up there, though the sky was only a pale grey littered with rain clouds, the sun struggling uselessly to shine through. He looked around and realised he didn't know where he was. He must have come further than they had ever ventured before. It occurred to Remus, quite detachedly, that he probably ought to feel nervous at that realisation, but he didn't. He didn't feel anything.  
  
He sat down on a very damp log and looked up at the sky again, feeling the faint drizzle of rain on his face, and he realised that he didn't feel so bad any more. Maybe this was his destiny, to roam the world alone and live under the sky, to commune with the elements and ignore all the people back in the 'other' world, the world where people like him were considered monsters - and rightly, too. That world didn't really want him, he had known that for ages. For a number of years, he had made out it wasn't so, but he had been reminded of the truth today. Why should he go back there? There had always been rumours that werewolves lived in the Forbidden Forest. Well, why shouldn't he make those rumours true? If they weren't already. He looked around him, peering into the gloom among the black trees. Perhaps there were others like him here, others who would accept him, because they were no different, their lives were no happier.  
  
But no. When he thought about it, he didn't think he wanted that, to live with other outcasts like him. Solitude was preferable to living as one outcast among many. It was probably the best thing he could do, for his family, his friends, and himself. What had he ever brought anyone but difficulties and misery? Even his parents . He suddenly thought back to memories he had almost forgotten:  
  
Waking up one night to hear subdued murmurs in the bedroom next door. His mother crying bitterly because a friend she had known since girlhood had left her after hearing what Remus was. Her red-rimmed eyes, from the tears she had concealed so bravely during the day but could not suppress at night. His father's serious face, so many years ago; his gruffness, his grief, his desperate struggle to find a cure for his son, scraping together the money to buy useless remedies . his gentleness to his wife and the brutal aggressiveness of his row with Remus's grandmother that time. John was not aware that Remus had even been in the house, but Remus remembered nearly every word. His grandmother had blamed his mother for what he had become, had called her the worst names he had ever heard and cursed her. His father had been furious, had called his mother an old hag to her face and shown her to the door, threatening to hex and jinx her to unrecognisability if she ever set a foot in their clearing again. That night, Remus had again heard his mother crying.  
  
Yes, he was definitely a bad-luck charm. He was responsible for his parents being cut off from all their friends, he was responsible for James and Sirius and Peter having gone against the law by secretly becoming Animagi, he was responsible for Severus Snape nearly having been killed that night down in the Whomping Willow and, worst of all, he was what Heather Woodcock feared and despised most in the world. It didn't matter that she had always seemed to like him, she had never really known him. If she knew what he really was, she would hate him, she would shrink away. He couldn't tell her. He couldn't bear the thought of her looking at him like she had looked at her Boggart this morning. He couldn't bear the thought of ever facing her again after what he had seen today.  
  
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7 - The Search Party  
  
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James, Sirius and Peter looked everywhere for their friend, but he was nowhere to be found. In the end, like it or not, they were forced to go to Hogsmeade without him. But the outing was not so much fun when they didn't know what had become of Remus. They returned to Hogwarts that evening in a glum mood, planning to seek Remus out and demand an explanation. But he was still missing. They checked the common room, their dormitory, the library, the grounds and even the Shrieking Shack, but found no sign of him. Standing out by the lake, Sirius placed his hands on his hips impatiently and gazed into the murky water.  
  
"Maybe he went for a dive," he suggested with a moody attempt at a joke.  
  
"Oh, don't be ridiculous," said James impatiently, a worried frown fixed on his face. "Something must have happened to him. If we don't find him soon, we'll have to go and tell a teacher."  
  
"Oh, I'm sure he'd love that," Sirius said. "He probably just fancied a bit of peace and quiet."  
  
"He still wouldn't go wandering off without telling us," James objected.  
  
"Pity we lost the map," said Sirius with an angry look at Peter. "If we still had it, we could see where he is."  
  
"I-I'm really sorry about that, S-Sirius," poor Peter stammered.  
  
"He must have gone into the Forest," James guessed, ignoring them. "There's nowhere else he can be, we've looked everywhere."  
  
"Well, let's go and find him then."  
  
James checked his watch.  
  
"We can't, not now anyway. We need to get down to the dungeon and meet Darkhardt."  
  
Sirius snorted. "Tell you what, you two go, and I'll look for Remus. I don't really feel like practising my defence skills today."  
  
"You just want to avoid Aurora," James said shrewdly. "Sirius, I wish you'd stop this. What she did to you that time was an accident, she didn't mean to hurt you. Besides, it was weeks ago. Give her a break."  
  
"Oh yeah, I'm sure you'd have loved it if she'd made you climb up on that table and act like a fool in front of everyone, wouldn't you?" Sirius said snidely. "The little mind-bender."  
  
"Sirius!"  
  
"S-Stop it, you two," Peter begged miserably. "Please. Let's just go down to the dungeon, maybe Remus will turn up. He's never missed one of Darkhardt's lessons yet."  
  
The other two agreed and together the three of them made their way to the Defenders' meeting place, but Remus was not there. Professor Darkhardt questioned them closely as to what had become of their friend, but in the end he was convinced that they knew no more than he did. Aurora, meanwhile, was keeping very much in the background tonight, as she had been doing ever since the unfortunate night when her spell had hit Sirius, eyeing him nervously while he made sure to avoid looking at her at all, but bestowed dazzling smiles on every other girl that glanced his way. All in all, everyone was rather grateful when Professor Darkhardt announced that they had done enough for one night and sent them off to bed.  
  
They trooped back to their common room, checked the dormitory once more and came back down to sink into their usual seats at the corner table, but not alone. Lily, Frank, Gemma and several of the others gathered round.  
  
"So where is Remus, really?" Frank asked, sitting down with them.  
  
"We don't know," James said, the worry showing ever more plainly on his face.  
  
"This isn't like him," said Lily quietly. "He's never missed a meeting before. I do hope nothing's happened to him."  
  
Her words voiced the sick feeling that was building up in James's stomach. What if something had happened to Remus? Maybe he had gone for a walk in the Forest - though James couldn't think why he would do that - and had met someone or something in there. What if he had been attacked by one of the beasts that lived there? What if he was lying wounded somewhere in the dark, unable to walk back to the castle, unconscious - or worse.  
  
"Someone ought to go and look for him," Frank said.  
  
At that precise moment, there was a commotion at the other end of the common room and the portrait hole opened. Professor McGonagall climbed through it and looked around her. She came over to their table and looked around at the students, her face white with worry.  
  
"Professor Darkhardt tells me Lupin has gone missing," she said. "Is that so?"  
  
"He's not in our dormitory," James replied. "We've looked all over the school for him, but he's nowhere to be found."  
  
"When did you last see him?" McGonagall asked, her voice shaking slightly.  
  
"This morning at breakfast. No - after that. Some time before lunch. We were playing games in the Great Hall, and he said he was going for a walk."  
  
"It was raining, wasn't it?"  
  
"Yes," James agreed.  
  
"Did he say anything about his plans for today?"  
  
"Not then. But at breakfast he'd mentioned he was going to give Heather Woodcock from Ravenclaw her usual extra tuition in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom this morning," James said. "I think he was also planning to ask her to go to Hogsmeade with him this afternoon."  
  
"Did he say that?" the Transfiguration teacher asked.  
  
"No, but I sort of got that impression. He asked Sirius and me what places in Hogsmeade we thought were nicest to sit and have a drink and talk. He seemed pretty cheerful - then."  
  
"And the next time you saw him he was going for a walk in the rain . As far as you know, Miss Woodcock would have been the only person to speak to him between breakfast and when you saw him in the Great Hall?"  
  
"I suppose she must have been."  
  
McGonagall nodded and made her way back to the portrait hole, but just as she was about to climb through it, Professor Darkhardt came the other way.  
  
"Narbus," she exclaimed, seeing the dark look on his face. "What is it?"  
  
"I've spoken to the girl," he announced. "Last time she saw him was down by the kitchens."  
  
"The kitchens?" Sirius repeated. "What were they doing there?"  
  
Darkhardt looked across at them and paused for a moment, then he said. "Minerva, we'd better send out a search party. And I suggest Potter, Pettigrew and Black come with us."  
  
"Can't I come too, sir?" Frank asked eagerly. "I want to help find Remus too."  
  
"So do I," Lily agreed at once, and several of the others murmured their assent, but Professor Darkhardt shook his head.  
  
"No, just those three," he said. "Come on."  
  
Lily and Frank looked hurt.  
  
"Please be careful," Lily begged James. "Oh, I hope he's all right."  
  
"We'll search the castle again while you're gone," Frank said. "He's got to be around here somewhere."  
  
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James followed behind Professor Darkhardt, holding his wand aloft. The Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher had chosen to take him, Sirius and Peter into the Forbidden Forest to look for their friend, while Professors McGonagall and Flitwick were searching the paths down to Hogsmeade, Professor Sprout and Hagrid were combing the grounds and several of their fellow Gryffindors were going over the school. Hagrid had wanted to come into the Forest with them, but Darkhardt had refused. He had, however, accepted the offer of taking Fang the boarhound with them, hoping that he would be able to pick up a trail.  
  
"That dog's useless," Sirius whispered in James's ear. "If only we didn't have Darkhardt with us, I could sniff out old Moony myself in a jiffy. Ouch!" He had scratched his arm on a bramble. "I'll kill Remus, if we ever find him."  
  
"Professor Darkhardt," James said when they stopped for a moment to decide which way to go next, Fang sniffing the ground and looking every bit as lost as the humans. "What did Heather tell you, sir?"  
  
The old wizard sighed and turned to face the boys.  
  
"Something happened today that I had hoped could be avoided. I've known for over a year that it was likely to happen, and that Remus would be deeply hurt by it, given his affection for Miss Woodcock. And it's all my fault, since I brought them together in the first place."  
  
"You mean you deliberately hooked him up with Heather?" Sirius exclaimed.  
  
Darkhardt gave one of his crooked smiles.  
  
"Not exactly. I guessed he would find it hard to become close to girls with his condition. Miss Woodcock struck me as a very sweet and understanding creature, and she did need help - I thought that teaching her would give him more confidence, perhaps embolden him to address other girls at some time. But by the time I found out just how much she might hurt him one day, I'd known for ages that he wasn't interested in any other girl but her. I probably knew before he did. I almost regret having introduced the pair of them now. Young people are so easily hurt - and so deeply."  
  
"I don't understand," James said. "How could Heather hurt Remus? She wouldn't hurt a fly!"  
  
"Not willingly. She has no idea that it's her fault he's run off, or she would be even more upset than she is anyway."  
  
"Run off?"  
  
"Oh yes. Like I said, young people take things badly. Potter, you know what it's like to become attached to someone."  
  
"Me, sir?"  
  
"Miss Lily Evans?"  
  
James felt his face flush. "Err ."  
  
"You see? How would you feel if you discovered that the thing she was most afraid of in the whole world was you?"  
  
"What do you mean?" James asked. "Heather's not afraid of Remus, that's ridiculous. Frank told us how she ran straight to him the day before Halloween, when Peeves was making a racket to frighten the younger students. We teased Remus about it after. But the thing is, she knew Remus would protect her."  
  
"Yes, but he couldn't protect her from her fears. Today, the pair of them tackled a Boggart in my classroom. It saw Miss Woodcock first, and changed ."  
  
"Oh my ..." James paled. "You don't mean to say it changed into . into ."  
  
"Oh-oh," Sirius muttered.  
  
Peter looked puzzled.  
  
"Well, what did it change into?" he asked.  
  
"Oh, for heaven's sake use your brains, or haven't you got any?" Sirius scolded.  
  
James was still looking steadily at Professor Darkhardt.  
  
"It changed into a werewolf, didn't it?" he said.  
  
Darkhardt nodded.  
  
"Damn!" Sirius cried. "So that's why he's run off. The silly idiot, as if that meant anything. Heather doesn't even know he's a werewolf, just because she's afraid of them in general doesn't mean she's afraid of him!"  
  
"No," Professor Darkhardt agreed, now leading the way further into the Forest. "But to see her reaction when this creature - and she says it was the most horrible thing she'd ever seen - jumped out of the cupboard must have been terrible for him."  
  
"Have you told her?" James said. "Did you explain what happened?"  
  
"No. I considered doing so, but I changed my mind. If she had worked it out herself, it would have been a different matter. But - surprisingly for a Ravenclaw, since they're supposed to be so bright - she suspected nothing. So I decided Remus has a right to decide for himself whether he wants her to know the truth or not," the professor said earnestly. "I had no right to meddle in the first place, I should have left him alone. From now on, I intend to let him know the truth and make his own choices. I've messed up his young life enough, I won't interfere anymore."  
  
"You were only trying to help," James said. "And you did, sir. The trust you showed him by suggesting he teach Heather did give Remus confidence, and a goal to work towards. He decided he wanted to make teaching his profession, and he was happier than he had been before."  
  
"And now he'll be unhappier than he was before," Darkhardt said coldly. "No, Potter, I made a mistake by interfering with your friend's life. I suppose I hoped that I could correct a mistake I made once, many years ago . I was wrong. In future, I will . Fang?!"  
  
The boarhound had stopped in his tracks, sniffing the air. Then he charged forward suddenly through the undergrowth and began barking furiously.  
  
"He's found him!" James cried.  
  
Professor Darkhardt let out a deep sigh of relief, and they all followed the dog.  
  
Remus looked up in surprise when the large black dog, followed by his friends and his teacher, came running towards him.  
  
"Remus!" James yelled, coming straight over and gripping him by the shoulder. "Are you all right?"  
  
"Fine," Remus said in a quiet, withdrawn voice. "What are you lot doing here?"  
  
Sirius gave a dry laugh. "What are we doing here? What a question! Looking for you, of course!"  
  
"That's nice of you, but you needn't have bothered," Remus said. "I've made up my mind not to come back to Hogwarts. I'm going to settle down here in the Forest, or in some other wood. Somewhere where no one will ever come across me by accident and I can't hurt anyone."  
  
"Remus, don't be stupid. You could never hurt anyone!" James said.  
  
"I'm not being stupid. I'm being sensible. What I am - I'm dangerous, and people are frightened of things like me ."  
  
"No one's frightened of you," James disagreed. "They care about you."  
  
"They wouldn't if they knew what I am."  
  
"Oh yes they would!" James insisted. "And if you told them the truth and gave them a chance, they'd tell you so themselves. Look around you. All four of us here know the truth, and we've been worried sick about you."  
  
Remus drew a halting breath.  
  
"I'm sorry for that, but the rest of the school would probably feel much safer with me gone if they knew ."  
  
"No, they wouldn't. If you only knew how worried you've had everyone. McGonagall was so white in the face she looked like a ghost, Sprout and Hagrid are searching every inch of the grounds, we've gone over the castle with a tooth comb. Frank's probably pulling the place apart right now."  
  
"I'm sorry I worried you," Remus said. "But my mind's made up."  
  
"Oh, will you stop it?!" Sirius exploded. "Just give it a rest, can't you? Shall I tell you something, Moony? I'm sick and tired of seeing you make yourself miserable and looking for ways to pile more weight onto your own shoulders. So the first girl you ever looked at is scared of werewolves - forget her! She's not the only girl at Hogwarts, Remus, and she certainly isn't the only girl in the world!"  
  
Remus opened his mouth to protest, but closed it again without speaking.  
  
"Sirius is right," James agreed. "You really shouldn't go wasting all you've ever worked for because of Heather. I can understand you're upset, but that's what you've got us for. We're your friends, and we don't want you running off and leaving us. We've told you before we don't care what you are, we're here for you - and when things like this happen, we want to be there to help you. You shouldn't run away from us, Remus, whatever else happens."  
  
"Come back to the castle," Darkhardt added in a low voice that was much gentler than his usual growl. "The teachers are worried about you, and I don't suppose any of your friends waiting back there will get much sleep until you're back either."  
  
Remus looked reluctant, but he nodded with a sigh and rose slowly to follow them back. He said nothing all the way back to the school, nor when they got there and McGonagall, her eyes slightly damp, insisted on bringing him a cup of tea personally, when Frank and Donald slapped him on the back warmly and Lily smiled at him. He took his tea straight up to the dormitory and was grateful that no one followed him up for a long while. By the time James, Sirius, Frank and Peter decided to check on him, he had fallen into an uneasy sleep.  
  
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8 - Professor Darkhardt's Secret  
  
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Even though no one but the marauders, Frank, Darkhardt, McGonagall, Dumbledore and possibly Aurora Borealis knew what had really happened that day, everyone seemed to have realised that something had happened to upset Remus Lupin very much. Most people put the crisis down to the build-up of nervous strain before the N.E.W.T. exams in summer, and everyone was kinder to him than usual - everyone except the Slytherins - and everywhere he went he was greeted with friendly smiles.  
  
Remus made use of everyone's assumption that he suffered from fear of exams to take the opportunity, on the Tuesday after the moon had waned again, to inform Heather Woodcock quite casually when he met her in the entrance hall that morning that he would not be able to give her extra tuition anymore, because he would be too busy studying for his own exams. Heather looked upset and said she hoped that this would not mean that she would be seeing very much less of him. Remus avoided giving her an outright answer, but excused himself as soon as possible and did not speak to her for the rest of that day or the next. On Thursday after their afternoon lesson, Professor Darkhardt summoned Remus to his office.  
  
"Sit down, Lupin," Professor Darkhardt said when he had closed the door.  
  
Remus reluctantly did as he was told. The professor leaned back in his chair and fingered the scar on his cheek as Remus had seen him do so many times before. At last he spoke.  
  
"First of all, I want you to know that I fully understand why you don't want Heather or anyone else to find out what you are. I realise you've been forced to learn the hard way that many people are liable to turn their backs on their closest friends for fear of what they are. I know there's a lot of prejudice going around against people like you. And the reason I know is because I was once the most prejudiced of the lot."  
  
"You, sir?" Remus said disbelievingly. "But ."  
  
"Yes, me. In fact, when Professor Dumbledore first spoke of bringing you here, I was dead against it, and I told him so. The others had their doubts for safety reasons, of course - especially Professor McGonagall. But when Albus told her he'd met you and told her your story, she soon softened up. Minerva just can't keep her eyes dry when she hears a hard-luck story like yours. But me - I was a very different matter."  
  
He paused, and this time Remus said nothing, but sat stunned, waiting for the professor to continue.  
  
"I rigorously opposed the idea of having you here," Professor Darkhardt went on. "I was convinced it would never work, that whatever precautions were taken, you would somehow escape, you would find a way to attack your fellow students while you were transformed, because the bloodlust was in your nature, and no matter how peaceful you may appear on the surface, a werewolf is a werewolf and not to be trusted."  
  
"Y-you really believed that?" Remus asked quietly, stammering slightly for the first time in years.  
  
"I did. I hated werewolves," he said so bitterly that Remus flinched. "I hated and despised them - I hunted them. That was my profession, you see, before Albus Dumbledore persuaded me to settle down and I became a teacher here over thirty years ago. I was always on the move, from one end of the country to the other, and everywhere I went I carried a set of ten razor- sharp silver daggers. Everything I owned that was made of metal, was made of pure silver. Whenever there was a full moon, I went looking for prey. I could smell a werewolf for miles against the wind, I could feel his presence - none that I had once begun to track down ever got away."  
  
"You mean y-you . killed them?"  
  
"Yes," Darkhardt said coldly. "I killed them. All of them. And not once did I feel any kind of compassion or remorse. They were monsters and deserved no better. Even if their human parts tried to fight the beast in them by day, when the full moon came out, they were all the same." He touched the side of his face. "Including the one that gave me this scar."  
  
"Who was he?" Remus asked chokily.  
  
"He was only a boy," the professor replied in a hushed, almost dreamy voice. "A young lad just about your age. He too was bitten as a child, but he was not as lucky as you. His mother fretted herself to death over what had happened to her son and his father . Well, his father was a man who had long been convinced that werewolves were nothing less than demons sent from hell, monsters that had to be destroyed. As far as he was concerned, his son had been touched by the devil and become an outcast, a mere . thing that he must get rid of as soon as possible, or rot in hell himself. But he couldn't bring himself to kill his own flesh and blood. So he made his son's life hell instead. He treated him like an animal, keeping him locked up day and night, even when there wasn't a full moon. He starved him until he was so weak he could barely move. And yet, somehow, the boy escaped ."  
  
"And you hunted him down?" Remus guessed.  
  
"Yes. It took me the longest it had ever done to catch up with him - two years. He was sick and weary. When I found him, he fell on his knees and begged me to kill him. You see, he believed what his father said about him, that he was a monster that had to be destroyed."  
  
"And did you?"  
  
Darkhardt shook his head.  
  
"Not then. I couldn't bring myself to do it. Though perhaps it would have been better if I had. His brain became twisted. He didn't have the courage to kill himself, and he didn't have the courage to make his way in life despite the odds against him. He began to believe it was his fate to be a demon, and that there was nothing he could do about it. He believed he was evil. And in the end, he had convinced himself so effectively that he became evil. When he gave me this scar, Remus, he had not transformed. He attacked me with his bare hands."  
  
There was a silence before he added, "So you see I have every reason to hate werewolves."  
  
Remus got up and turned his back on the teacher.  
  
"Why are you telling me this?" he choked.  
  
"Sit back down and I'll tell you."  
  
"I'd rather stand."  
  
"Remus ."  
  
The boy turned round, and his chin went up defiantly. Professor Darkhardt sighed.  
  
"I just wanted you to know that I was very much opposed to your coming here and that I had very good reasons."  
  
"Because you hated me simply for being a werewolf, even though you hadn't even met me and didn't know the first thing about me?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Well, thanks for telling me," Remus said bitterly. "I'll just go then, if you don't mind."  
  
He turned to the door, but Darkhardt got up suddenly and gripped Remus firmly by both shoulders, looking piercingly into his eyes.  
  
"You don't understand. Yes, I hated werewolves. Yes, I was convinced that all werewolves must necessarily be a menace to society, mere beasts to be slaughtered. Dumbledore was sure I was wrong, he said he'd met you, spoken to you, and you were quite different. I laughed at him. I told him it was no more possible to tame a werewolf than tell the moon to stop changing.  
  
When I first met you, I was determined to prove my point - but I couldn't. You were everything he had said you were. And that gradually made me rethink my whole opinion of werewolves. Was I wrong all those years? Were not all werewolves necessarily vicious and dangerous characters?  
  
I think about the many werewolves I killed over the years, and then I look at you and I wonder . How many innocent lives did I destroy? How many good men and women did I kill? How many of those people really deserved to die? Were they all really like that kid ended up? Were any of them like him? Or were most of them perhaps more like you? Was that boy really to blame for what he had become? What right did I have to end his life? Would he have turned out all right, if only someone had shown him a little understanding?"  
  
He released Remus and returned to his desk, his back towards the boy. His shoulders sagged and his voice when he spoke again was hoarse.  
  
"Those questions have tormented me ever since I came to know you. I have carried this weight around with me now for seven years, and for a long time I was determined that you should never know - now that you do, I will understand if you want nothing more to do with me."  
  
Remus hesitated, then he walked back to the chair and placed a hand on the backrest.  
  
"I'm sure you only did what you thought was right, sir," he said.  
  
Professor Darkhardt gave a snorting laugh and turned around.  
  
"I wasn't looking for your sympathy, Remus," he said dryly. "God knows I don't deserve it. I was trying to show you that people can change their opinions. I can think of no one who hated werewolves more than I did, yet here I am, blaming myself for having done so and determined never to let prejudice misguide me again. We only hate and fear what we don't know, Remus. And I'm sure anyone who knows you would find the idea of fearing you ridiculous."  
  
"Now you're talking about Heather." Remus frowned.  
  
"Maybe. I'm not thinking of making you tell her the truth, or of persuading you. I just want you to consider that she, like me, only feels a revulsion she can't explain to something she doesn't fully understand. If she knew that the beast she fears can be hidden within someone like you, someone she considers a friend, even more than that - she may learn to overcome her fear. But it is your secret, and therefore the choice of whether to keep it or share it must be yours, too."  
  
Remus thought on this for a moment.  
  
"Yes, sir. Thank you for being honest with me. I - appreciate your concern."  
  
Professor Darkhardt just nodded and watched Remus as he slowly left the room. He sat down in his chair and took out his gold pocket watch. Once upon a time he had carried a silver one, but he had destroyed that a while ago, together with everything else made of silver that he owned. He hated silver, hated it because of that set of shiny silver daggers he had once carried. He stared at the dial of the watch without seeing it. He didn't know what time it was, but it felt late.  
  
He was weary, as always these days, and he felt old, much older than his years. He laid his head against the backrest of his chair and closed his eyes. Once again countless images of ferocious beasts with wide-open jaws, of jagged teeth and blood under the light of a full moon passed before his eyes in a never-ending stream, and the face of that poor, crazed boy screaming the words of a psalm while he charged towards the hunter, his fingers outstretched like claws .  
  
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9 - The Trouble With Sirius  
  
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A week later, Sirius stepped out into the first real sunshine of the year and breathed in deeply. After Double Potions in a cold and clammy dungeon, the crisp, fresh air was just what he needed. He heard the sound of girls' laughter and turned his head. Florence Fortescue and Gemma Crowe were walking across the lawn towards him with a group of friends, chatting animatedly.  
  
"Oh, hello Sirius," they said when they reached him.  
  
"Hi," he answered, and several of the younger girls in the group began to giggle, whispering among themselves.  
  
"What's up with you friends?" Sirius asked Gemma and Florence while the other girls burst into another fit of irritating giggling.  
  
"Oh, nothing," said Florence airily. "We were just talking about boys and ..." She shrugged her shoulders.  
  
"Flossie was saying she thinks you're ever so good-looking," Gemma added. Florence punched her hard in the ribs.  
  
"Oh, were you saying that?" Sirius asked, amused. Florence blushed furiously.  
  
"She said the sound of your voice makes her feel all goose-pimply," one of the younger girls piped up.  
  
"Will you shut up!" Florence shouted. The other girls giggled and Sirius laughed.  
  
"We'd better all get to our lessons," Gemma said suddenly, checking her watch.  
  
The others agreed. Sirius and Florence hurried off to the Charms classroom. Neither of them said a word, but Sirius was still grinning to himself. During the lesson, while everyone was busy banishing cushions and heavier objects, Sirius took the opportunity of sending a scrap of parchment soaring across the room. Her cheeks bright red, Florence picked it up and read what it said. Her cheeks went even redder. She glanced around her anxiously, then nodded at Sirius, who smiled back broadly. Sitting in the corner beside Damian, Bertha Jorkins watched them jealously and made up her mind to keep a close watch on Florence tonight.  
  
Sure enough, as soon as she thought all the others were asleep, Florence slipped out of her pyjamas and put her clothes back on. Bertha pretended to be sleeping, but only a couple of seconds after the other girl had left, she got up herself, wrapped a thick cloak around her and sneaked out of the Hufflepuff dormitory and common room. She tiptoed along the hallways, following the muffled sound of Florence's footsteps. Through the entrance hall she followed like a shadow, and then she had to keep back a little.  
  
There was too much open ground outside the castle. That had the disadvantage of making it risky to continue her pursuit, but also the advantage of exposing everyone else who walked there. The moon and the stars were bright tonight, and she could clearly see not only Florence, but another figure standing waiting for her. Bertha's heart gave a leap of jealous fury. Sirius Black, tall, handsome, delightfully roguish, was waiting for skinny little Florence Fortescue in the middle of the grounds on a crisp, starry night.  
  
Bertha watched, fuming inside as she saw him take Florence's hand and lead her away towards the greenhouses. She waited until they were out of sight, then she dared to sneak across the grounds and approach the greenhouses herself. She heard murmuring voices as she drew near; Florence's voice was anxious yet eager, Sirius's low and coaxing, persuasive - not that Florence seemed to need much persuading.  
  
"B-but I thought ... you and Aurora ..." she was saying. Sirius snorted.  
  
"After what she did to me? No thank you. If there's one thing I can't stand, it's people poking around in my head."  
  
"Sirius ..." Florence began, but she got no further.  
  
Whatever she had been about to say became muffled. Bertha leaned forward to peer around the greenhouse and scowled deeply in the dark. Florence was in Sirius's arms and he was kissing her. Bertha trembled with rage. She turned away so suddenly that she knocked a plant pot flying with a clatter. Jumping nervously, she fled through the night just as Sirius came out to investigate.  
  
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Try as he might, Remus could not help missing the hours with Heather on Saturday mornings. He had told her he needed the time to study, and that was partly true, but he couldn't concentrate on his books this morning. He thought of what Professor Darkhardt had told him, and for about fifteen minutes sat picturing himself telling Heather the truth, imagining her saying she didn't care, watching her stop her next Boggart with ease . then the picture shifted back to that day in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, and his heart went cold again.  
  
No, he could no more bring himself to tell her what he was than escape from the life he was trapped in. It was time he resigned himself to that fact and went on living, concentrating on the handful of friends that he had, the friends he knew would never leave him, doing all he could to show them that they could count on him, whatever happened, maybe somehow finding a way of redeeming himself by doing something for them, something that would make a difference somehow.  
  
He stared around the library and felt a sudden urge to get out. Closing the book that lay open before him and gathering all his things into his bag, Remus went outside and made his way to the bench by the lake. But as he drew nearer he saw that there was already someone sitting there. He could see the back of an auburn head bent forward and was about to turn away again when he thought he heard an unhappy sniff. Miserable as he felt himself, somehow he couldn't bear to see someone else upset. So he walked straight over to the bench and, as Aurora looked up, he ignored the slight puffiness of her eyes and said brightly,  
  
"Good morning. Do you mind if I join you? I've been trying to study since breakfast, but I just can't seem to concentrate."  
  
"Of course you can join me," she said in an attempt to sound cheerful. "I think I've sat alone feeling sorry for myself long enough."  
  
"Feeling sorry for yourself?" he enquired politely, sitting down.  
  
"Yes. Silly, isn't it?"  
  
"Well, for that I'd have to know why you're feeling sorry for yourself," he remarked, lowering his bag to the ground beside him.  
  
"Yes, well - I doubt you'd understand."  
  
"Perhaps not. Then again, I've experience with feeling sorry for myself too, so ... try me?"  
  
Aurora studied him silently, as though trying to make up her mind whether he would laugh at her.  
  
"Okay," she said at last. "It's because of Sirius."  
  
She paused, waiting for Remus to show surprise, derision, or unwillingness to discuss his friend in this way. But he just nodded. Emboldened by this reaction, Aurora went on. Soon she was pouring her heart out to him, explaining how sorry she was for what she had accidentally done, how she knew that Sirius, with his pride, must have felt humiliated, how he hadn't spoken to her since and how miserable that made her. Remus sat beside her in silence, listening with a look of complete understanding on his face.  
  
"I just don't know what to do, Remus," she finished.  
  
"Have you tried talking to him?"  
  
"Yes, but I never seem to catch him alone anymore, and he just ignores me when he's with others. I wouldn't even mind if he got mad at me, but I can't bear the silence."  
  
"He has no reason to be mad at you. What happened wasn't your fault. You shouldn't blame yourself for it. I know it isn't easy not to but you must try to stop feeling guilty."  
  
"Sirius blames me."  
  
Remus glanced at her sideways. Her eyes were fixed hopefully on his face. He sighed deeply and went on in a very gentle voice.  
  
"Aurora - Sirius knows, deep down, that you couldn't help it. He's not stupid. Yes, his pride was hurt, but that's no reason to hold a grudge like he's doing. I think ..."  
  
He looked anxious, afraid to go on.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"I think there's a struggle going on inside Sirius at the moment. Not so much about whether or not to forgive you, but ... He's restless."  
  
"What are you saying? Do you mean that this is just an excuse on his part for staying away from me? Do you mean he doesn't ... he ...?"  
  
She left the question unasked, but tears were filling her eyes.  
  
"Aurora," Remus said softly, taking her hand in both of his, "I do believe Sirius cares about you. In fact, I'm sure he cares about you a lot. And that's the problem. You know him as well as I do, if not better. He's the best person to have by your side when you're faced with danger, but if there's one thing he shies away from, it's a relationship like he feels you will eventually want. He's afraid of ..."  
  
"Sincerity," the girl finished with a sad smile. "Love is fine when it's just a game, but ask him to think of you while you're apart, to be with you and only you for over two years, threaten to love him for the rest of his life, and it scares him. He's like a trapped animal, he doesn't want to be tied down, he's eager to escape, any excuse will do."  
  
Remus smiled.  
  
"You read my mind."  
  
"Yes, I confess I did," she admitted guiltily. Remus did not complain.  
  
"What shall I do, Remus?"  
  
"You're asking me? After what I made of my first ..." he hesitated. "My first romance," he ended hoarsely.  
  
"Yes, I'm asking you. Because no one knows Sirius better than you do - except James. Because I know whatever advice you give will be well considered, not rash. And, frankly - because you're here and I have no one else to turn to."  
  
"What about Lily?"  
  
"Lily's no good at this sort of thing. She's nuts about James, and he's never hidden his feelings for her. She knows nothing of problems, nothing at all. And you ..."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"I don't know. Somehow talking to you is different. You know what it's like . to have problems."  
  
"Oh yes, I know what problems are, all right," he agreed dryly.  
  
"Please help me, Remus. Tell me what to do."  
  
Finally he nodded.  
  
"As I see it, you only have two options. One: hard as it may seem, forget Sirius and find someone else, someone more serious, since that's what you're looking for; two: take a chance that I'm right and he does care more than he'll admit - talk to him and force him to be open with you for once, one way or the other."  
  
"You make it sound so easy. I have tried and failed before to get Sirius to be sincere, but still ... I feel I have to try again, just one more time. But how do I get him on his own?"  
  
Remus smiled. "I have an idea."  
  
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James took Lily's hand as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He felt her fingers tremble slightly and smiled down at her. She smiled back, her green eyes aglow. She had meant to do some studying this morning, but when James had come up to her in the common room and asked if she'd like to go for a walk, she had somehow forgotten all about goblin rebellions and said yes. The sun was bright this morning.  
  
"Which way would you like to go?" James asked.  
  
"I don't mind, really. To the lake perhaps?"  
  
They set off in that direction, but before long they spotted two people sitting on the bench there, their heads together, hands joined.  
  
"Let's go the other way," said James, but Lily paused.  
  
"James," she said, sounding puzzled. "That's Aurora and Remus."  
  
"What? No, it can't be." James looked again, polished his glasses and blinked against the sunlight. He felt a queer jolt somewhere in the region of his stomach.  
  
"Oh hell," he murmured, "Sirius is going to love this."  
  
But Lily was shaking her head, looking confused.  
  
"There has to be an explanation for this."  
  
"Oh, there's an explanation all right. Remus is upset about Heather, Aurora's upset because Sirius has been angry with her for about a month now - I dread to think what he'll say when he finds out."  
  
"Like he'd have a right to say anything," Lily muttered.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Oh come on, James! I know he's your best friend, but you can't deny he's always flirting with every girl he meets."  
  
"So? Why shouldn't he? He doesn't really care about them. Why shouldn't he?"  
  
"Right, and in that case, why shouldn't Rory be sitting on a bench with Remus?"  
  
"Holding hands?"  
  
Lily shook her head. "I'm sure it's not how it looks. Rory's crazy about Sirius, and Remus would never ... I'll talk to her when I get a chance, and you can talk to Remus - promise me you'll talk to him before you tell Sirius."  
  
"All right," James agreed grudgingly, allowing her to guide him away.  
  
They strolled aimlessly about the grounds for a long time. It was almost midday when they stopped to sit down on a log and gazed out towards the castle. Only the Whomping Willow blocked the view, and Lily shuddered at the sight of it.  
  
"What's the matter?" James asked.  
  
"I don't know why they had to plant that horrible tree. It gives me the creeps."  
  
"I think it's actually very valuable."  
  
"Valuable? That thing? Did you hear it nearly took Davey Gudgeon's eye out?"  
  
"Well, he did try to poke it, didn't he? You could say it was self defence on the tree's part."  
  
Lily frowned. "You remember Fortuna Tripp?"  
  
"Girl who fancied herself as the future Trelawney? Yes."  
  
"Well, she told me the Whomping Willow's not as old as it looks, it was only planted the year we came here. Did you know that?"  
  
"Yes, I knew," said James uncomfortably. "But let's not turn this into a Herbology lesson. Let's talk about something nicer."  
  
Lily flashed her brilliantly green eyes at him.  
  
"Like what?"  
  
James cast around for a subject. "Uh ... Hogsmeade," he said.  
  
"We've just had a Hogsmeade weekend."  
  
"Ah, yes, but I'm not talking about Hogsmeade weekends. Tell me, Lily, have you ever seen Hogsmeade by night?"  
  
"No!" she cried, appalled. "Of course I haven't. We're not allowed to leave the grounds at night, it's dangerous. The Forbidden Forest alone is full of unfriendly centaurs, I've heard, not to mention giant spiders and werewolves -"  
  
"Only at the full moon," James pointed out without thinking.  
  
The suddenness of his answer startled Lily.  
  
"So," said James, eager to get off the topic of werewolves and full moons, "Will you come into Hogsmeade with me one night?"  
  
"No!" Lily exclaimed, seeming horrified at the thought of straying so far beyond school rules.  
  
James sighed. "Pity. You don't know what you're missing. The twinkling lights of the village, the starry sky, the caves ... You're interested in runes, aren't you?"  
  
"Yes, how did you ..."  
  
"Remus told me you're the best in the Study of Ancient Runes class."  
  
Lily blushed.  
  
"Anyway, there are some runes around those caves that you can only see by moonlight. And one particular one ... You'd have to see it to understand."  
  
Lily looked tempted, but she shook her head. "It's not safe outside Hogwarts, especially not at night. I wouldn't leave the safety of these walls at night by choice ... and I really wish ..."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"I wish you wouldn't, either."  
  
James frowned. "You want to deny me my bit of adventure and fun?"  
  
"No," said Lily, her green eyes reflecting the moonlight, "I just don't want anything to happen to you."  
  
She said it quickly, shyly, and her words brought a smile to James's lips.  
  
"How long have I known you now?" he said.  
  
"Seven years, of course."  
  
James nodded. "Seven years. I can still remember the first time you spoke, at our sorting. You said 'excuse me' and your eyes were the greenest thing I'd ever seen. Those eyes have followed me in my dreams ever since, Lily."  
  
He paused, and Lily stared at him, her lips half-parted, feeling dry. James tried to go on talking, but he could think of nothing more to say. He leaned closer ...  
  
"I wouldn't, if I were you, Potter," said a voice right beside them. Both of them whirled around. Severus Snape smiled down at them.  
  
"Severus! You ..." James started to say, but Severus interrupted him.  
  
"I just prevented you from collecting the biggest mouthful of disease you could possibly imagine. A mouthful of mudblood filth."  
  
James was on his feet in a moment, his wand drawn, but so was Lily.  
  
"James, don't," she begged.  
  
"I suppose I shouldn't really be surprised at your choosing a mudblood for a girlfriend," Severus went on. "It fits in with your record, after all. Your choice of friends has always been poor. Creeps, vandals, half-br."  
  
He got no further. James had forgotten his wand. The arm Lily was still clutching hung loose at his side, but the other hand shot up and struck the taller boy squarely on the jaw. Severus wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth.  
  
"Temper, temper, Potter," he said quietly.  
  
Lily moved forward a fraction, standing in between the two boys.  
  
"Your little mudblood girlfriend seems to be afraid for your life, Potter," Severus said. "I wonder if she would be just as worried for you if she knew you and your friends were once perfectly willing to end mine. Maybe I should tell her about our nighttime adventure ."  
  
"Maybe you should go, now, before I really do lose my temper," James said through clenched teeth.  
  
Severus smiled once more, turned on his heel and strode away across the lawn. James tucked his wand away again. Lily was watching him with a look of deep concern on her face. He cast around for something to say, but could think of nothing.  
  
"Shall we go back to the castle?" Lily suggested.  
  
James agreed and they walked back in silence, James feeling extremely grateful that Lily wasn't asking any questions about what Severus had said.  
  
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10 - Bertha Interferes  
  
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Remus and Aurora had chosen Monday lunch break for the execution of Remus's plan. Tucking his bag under his arm after Defence Against the Dark Arts, he cleared his throat and hurried to catch up with Sirius, who was first out the door.  
  
"Err - Sirius?" he began.  
  
"Yes, what's up?" Sirius asked, flashing a casual smile at a passing third- year Hufflepuff and sending her and her friends into a fit of giggles.  
  
"I want to talk to you," Remus said.  
  
Sirius looked surprised. "Okay, go ahead."  
  
"No, not here. It's - a bit private."  
  
The puzzled crease on Sirius's brow deepened.  
  
"Let's go down here," Remus suggested undaunted, leading the way down the main staircase and along an empty passage, Sirius trooping along behind him, intrigued. They rounded a corner, and Sirius stopped dead. Aurora was standing there, clearly waiting.  
  
"What's going on?" Sirius demanded.  
  
"I'll see you later," said Remus, turning to go.  
  
"No, you won't, because I'm coming for some lunch," Sirius said.  
  
Remus placed a hand on his friend's chest to stop him.  
  
"She wants to talk to you, Sirius. Just listen, will you?"  
  
Sirius scowled, but at last he nodded moodily. Remus shot an encouraging smile at Aurora and hurried away. Sirius turned his scowling face to the girl.  
  
"Well, get on with it," he said after a long, uncomfortable pause.  
  
"Sirius," she began, secretly cursing her voice for sounding so weak. "Look, about the other week . what I did . I'm sorry," she stammered, and then the words began pouring out like a waterfall.  
  
"I didn't mean that to happen, I don't know how it did. I didn't know I was that strong. If I had known I'd have been more careful, I'd never have let that happen. I never wanted to hurt you, Sirius, or humiliate you like that in front of everyone. It was just an accident, I couldn't help it, and I've been so miserable ever since because you haven't talked to me, you've been avoiding me and I . I miss you. I just had to talk to you, to explain, and you mustn't blame Remus, he found me crying by the lake on Saturday and he's only trying to help and ."  
  
She paused for breath, not even realising that the frown had faded slightly from Sirius's face already.  
  
"I know you hate me now, and I can't bear it," Aurora went on.  
  
But Sirius smiled.  
  
"Don't be silly, gorgeous. Of course I was cross, but you know me. It never lasts. I forgive you."  
  
Aurora gulped, half-startled by this sudden change in his mood.  
  
"You - you do?"  
  
"Of course," he said brightly.  
  
Aurora stared. "I . don't know what to say."  
  
"Well, that makes a change, you were going pretty well just then. Something about having missed me, wasn't it?"  
  
The girl smiled. "Yes, though I can't think why I did, you brute!"  
  
"Brute?"  
  
"Making me think you were going to hate me for the rest of your life or something. That wasn't fair! You know how much I ."  
  
"Go on," Sirius said teasingly. "How much you - what? Love me, need me, adore me? Don't they all?" he joked.  
  
"You are impossibly arrogant sometimes, do you know that," Aurora laughed. "You act like any girl would have you if you just snipped your fingers for her."  
  
Sirius grinned broadly and raised his hand. "What, like this?" He snipped his fingers. "Here, Rory."  
  
Aurora stepped closer, still smiling, and Sirius took her in his arms and kissed her more warmly and affectionately than he had ever done.  
  
"You know, gorgeous, you really are the only girl for me," he whispered. "I couldn't hold any other girl like this."  
  
Aurora felt his breath against her cheek and closed her eyes. For a wonderful moment, she thought she had finally achieved it - for once, Sirius was being sincere, and she found she liked him even better this way. He kissed her again, but at that moment someone else appeared, poking a round face around the corner of the wall at them.  
  
"Oh, hello," said Bertha Jorkins so loudly and suddenly that Sirius pushed Aurora back rather roughly. "Well, well, Sirius, I must say I am disappointed in you. You chop and change rather quickly don't you?"  
  
"Go away, Bertha," he said carelessly.  
  
"Go away? Oh no, I don't think so," she went on, her voice as sweet as honey. "I think I ought to tell dear Aurora here a little story first."  
  
"What are you talking about?" Sirius demanded impatiently.  
  
Bertha shrugged. "I just thought she might be interested to know that I took a little stroll last Thursday night. I couldn't sleep, you see, so I thought I'd take a walk around the greenhouses ."  
  
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"Ah, that was good," James sighed, flopping on his bed after lunch.  
  
Remus smiled, leaning back on his pillow.  
  
"Yes. Just makes me feel like staying right here for the rest of the day rather than doing Potions this afternoon," he agreed.  
  
James nodded, and an awkward silence followed. James knew what made it awkward, too. He had been avoiding having a talk with Remus ever since he had promised Lily he would do so, and the knowledge that he must broach the subject sooner or later weighed heavily on his mind. He decided now was the time to talk, since they were alone.  
  
"Look," he said, "I've got something to say, and I hope you're not going to be offended or feel I'm intruding or anything."  
  
"Why should I feel that?"  
  
"Well, it's a bit difficult to say this, but ." He took a deep breath. "Listen, Lily and I saw you and Aurora by the lake on Saturday," James finished, as if that concluded everything. But Remus just looked back at him blankly.  
  
"Oh yes?" he said.  
  
James was stupefied. He wasn't sure what he had expected - a guilty look, defiance, hurt - but certainly not this apparent indifference to having been found out.  
  
"Well," James went on hesitantly, "It was just - I was a bit - surprised. I mean, there's you, you've only just given up Heather ."  
  
Remus's face clouded over slightly, but he said nothing.  
  
"And there's Aurora. I know Sirius jokes a lot and likes to look at other girls and that, but . you know, I think he really does care about her, and I always thought that she . Anyway, I never would have expected you and her to . you know."  
  
Remus frowned at him for a moment, then at last he seemed to understand what his friend was saying, and suddenly he laughed. James stared.  
  
"I'm sorry," Remus said, muffling his laughter behind his hand. "But you should see the look on your face. You look so serious, Prongs, you'd think someone had died. But don't worry, everything's fine. Aurora and I were just talking, that's all. I know that sounds like a poor excuse, but it's the truth. I went down to the lake to study, I found her there, she was upset about Sirius, and I was trying to comfort her. You can ask her yourself, if you like - unless that's Lily's job, of course," he guessed accurately. "Aurora's downstairs with Sirius now, being happily reunited, if my plan's worked."  
  
"Plan?" James asked, stunned.  
  
"I told Sirius I wanted to talk to him privately so I could lure him to a quiet corner and leave him on his own with Aurora so she can make him listen to her apology and they can make it up."  
  
"Oh," said James. He sighed with relief and smiled. "Moony, I'm sorry. I should have known you wouldn't start going out with a girl one of your best friends is that fond of. Forgive me?"  
  
"Of course," Remus smiled, leaning forward. "So, what were you and Lily doing by the lake?"  
  
James was about to start telling Remus what had happened that Saturday when the dormitory door was flung open roughly and Sirius strode in like a storm cloud.  
  
"Just thought I'd let you know I'm not coming to lessons this afternoon. I'm going for a walk," he announced. "Oh, and Moony, you may be interested to know your bright idea didn't work."  
  
"What do you mean? What happened?" Remus asked anxiously.  
  
"Bertha Jorkins, that's what," Sirius said savagely. "She stepped in right when we were . well, anyway, she told Aurora about Thursday night."  
  
Remus glanced at James, who shrugged.  
  
"What about Thursday night?" Remus asked.  
  
"Florence Fortescue," Sirius growled. "Bertha saw me kissing her behind the greenhouses."  
  
"Oh no," James groaned. "You didn't!"  
  
"Yep. Anyway, Bertha won't be able to talk at all for about a week now. Reckon it'll take Pomphrey that long to stop her teeth from chattering. I'm going for a walk," Sirius repeated, and he marched off again, slamming the door shut behind him.  
  
James looked across at Remus, who had buried his face in his hands.  
  
"It's not your fault, Moony," he said gently. "You did your best. And maybe she'll come round again, if Sirius has the sense not to go running after the next girl straight away."  
  
"I've got to talk to her," Remus said abruptly, getting to his feet.  
  
"But Remus, it's Potions in ten minutes."  
  
"Save me a seat," Remus asked, heading out the door.  
  
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Aurora kicked at a stone she could barely see and sent it plunging into the lake with a splash. Something stirred under the black surface, but she neither knew nor cared. She felt humiliated and betrayed, but what was worse was that she felt jealous. She had always been determined never to feel jealous of anyone for any reason, and especially where Sirius was concerned. Hadn't she always known that he was the sort who would take a long time before he settled down, if he ever did? Hadn't she seen him, often enough, exchanging fleeting glances with other girls when she herself was standing just a few feet away?  
  
But then, glances were somewhat different from this. Although she hated herself for it, she pictured Sirius and Florence behind the greenhouses over and over again, and she felt a most unfair hatred of Florence building up inside her. She wanted to scream, but couldn't. Such a short while ago, she had been prepared to put up with anything to have Sirius back again. Now she felt like she never wanted to see him again. She heard hasty footsteps coming her way across the soft lawn, and she looked up and saw someone coming towards her. It was Remus.  
  
"Aurora," he said, drawing level with her. He looked hurt. "I just saw Sirius. I'm sorry."  
  
She began to nod, but the tears she had suppressed so far just started pouring out and before she knew it, Remus was holding her in his arms and the shoulder of his robes was becoming soaked. When she had calmed down a little, he led her to the bench and they sat down.  
  
"I know it hurts," he said softly. "But you know what Sirius is like. What happened between him and Florence is really nothing serious. It's just his restlessness, it didn't mean anything."  
  
Aurora gave an unhappy sort of snorting laugh and looked at him through a haze of tears.  
  
"No, it didn't mean anything. Nothing ever means anything with Sirius. It's all just a game with him, isn't it? A smile doesn't mean anything, a kiss doesn't mean anything, and I mean even less ."  
  
"That's not true, and you know it. Sirius is fuming now because he knows he's made a mistake. He knows he'll never find another girl like you."  
  
Aurora shook her head.  
  
"It's no good, Remus. Even if you're right, it only means he'll go and find some other girl to help him drown his sorrows, doesn't it?"  
  
"It might," Remus admitted. "Unless you get in first and forgive him this one mistake."  
  
"I can't, Remus. I wish I could. But when I think of Sirius now, I always see him and Florence . and then I picture him, if we did manage to make it up, feeling trapped, chained to me . and it's almost worse than the thought of letting him go. Almost."  
  
"Give it another try," Remus said pleadingly.  
  
"No," Aurora sighed. "I've had enough. It's not just the way he so easily gets offended, or the way he flirts with other girls - he's just too restless, and I feel that, with things in the world the way they are, I want someone steadier, someone reliable. Someone - someone who's good for me."  
  
"Sirius can be that. He's not easy, I know, but he's a good person, really. You two seemed so perfect. No one understands him like you do."  
  
"No, they don't, and I think that sometimes scared him," she said quietly. "But it's no good, Remus. We all make choices that other people may think are mistakes. Maybe in time I'll find that this was a mistake, that I'm letting my pride ruin the rest of my life. And maybe I will find someone else, someone who can give me the sincerity I've always wanted from Sirius."  
  
She smiled suddenly.  
  
"You wouldn't be free, by any chance, would you?"  
  
Remus studied her, unsure whether she was serious or not.  
  
"If I didn't know that, deep down, it's still Sirius you want, I might be tempted. And if I hadn't just recently made up my mind that I'm better off without girls and they're better off without me."  
  
Aurora's smile widened.  
  
"You see, I told you we are all entitled to make foolish decisions. Perhaps one day we'll both find out we were wrong." She sighed, and the smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. "But until then, you're right of course. Deep down, I do want Sirius. But the thing is I have this perfect image in my mind of what I want him to be like, and I can't force him into that mould. This morning, for a moment I thought I had, but . I don't think I'd really like him anymore if I could. Does that sound very silly?"  
  
"Not at all," said Remus, and Aurora sighed again. Blinking against the afternoon sunlight, she lay back comfortably against his arm and gazed at the sky.  
  
"You have Potions now, don't you?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"You're late."  
  
"So are you."  
  
"Yes," she said carelessly. "I suppose I am."  
  
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11 - The Truth About James  
  
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Throughout the next months, Sirius and Aurora's friends kept trying to persuade them both to give it another try, but it seemed that, without ever having discussed the matter between them, they had both come to the decision that it was easier not to risk it. So Sirius remained stubbornly single - if going from one girl to the next nearly every other week could be classed as being single - while Aurora avoided the society he kept and spent more and more time indoors, playing wizard chess with some of the younger students and often going to the library to study.  
  
Actually, it was only the library and the increased need everyone felt to devote more and more time to their studies that made her talk to Sirius again at all. By the time their N.E.W.T.s were drawing close, they were almost on normal speaking terms again, and actually managed to sit together quite pleasantly at the same table comparing notes and discussing Potions.  
  
A week before the exams were due to take place, everyone was in a state of heightened tension, and they practically had to be ordered out of the school on the last Hogsmeade weekend by their teachers and Madam Pomphrey, who insisted that a bit of fresh air and a day out would clear their heads and make studying that much easier. Many of the seventh-years refused, but some followed the eager horde of chattering younger students, most taking their books out of the school with them so they could continue reading in Hogsmeade.  
  
In the Three Broomsticks, Remus ordered two butterbeers, paid and thanked Madam Rosmerta, then carried them across to a table by the window. Peter Pettigrew looked up from a sheet of parchment and a thick book.  
  
"Here," said Remus, holding out a mug.  
  
Peter thanked him and took a large gulp.  
  
"Thanks for offering to help me, Remus," he murmured as Remus pulled the book across and pored over it.  
  
"Don't thank me too soon," said Remus, his brow furrowed. "I warned you I'm not much good at Potions myself."  
  
"You're better than me."  
  
Remus refrained from saying that that was not much of an achievement.  
  
"Dad's going to kill me if I don't pass my N.E.W.T.s," Peter added.  
  
Remus's frown deepened. "I don't know why you had to pick such a difficult subject in the first place."  
  
"You know Dad wants someone to join the family business. Pippa wasn't interested, and Polly ... well. So that only leaves me."  
  
"Doing something you hate just because you don't want to upset your dad."  
  
Peter shot him a piteous glance.  
  
"I know you must despise me, Remus, but I just don't have your courage. I never could stand up to my parents. In any case, I wouldn't know what else to do."  
  
Remus gazed at him earnestly. "Of course I don't despise you, don't be ridiculous. I just think ..."  
  
He was interrupted by a scream in the street, and the door of the Three Broomsticks being flung wide and Mary Crimple bursting in, shaking with fear. Confusion reigned for a moment while the handful of mostly third-year students in the pub and Madam Rosmerta grouped around her, trying to find out what was the matter. Remus wound his way to the front of the crowd and managed to silence the others, who were all talking at once.  
  
"Now, Mary," he said, turning to the girl calmly.  
  
She clutched him by the shoulder of his robes, her eyes wide with terror.  
  
"Remus, they ... they're ... I never realised they were that bad. Just practising against thin air with Professor Darkhardt is one thing, but ... oh, Remus, they're horrible."  
  
He opened his mouth to ask what she was talking about, but suddenly he shivered as though someone had blown on his face with ice cold breath. A hush fell on the assembled crowd. Remus felt cold and miserable. It was like all the happiness he had ever felt was draining away. He felt Mary tremble, felt Peter come up beside him. A towering shadow fell across the curtained door and there was a rattling sound that sent shivers down his spine. Something was sucking the air around it.  
  
"What is it?" Peter whispered.  
  
"Dementors," Remus hissed back.  
  
Someone gasped. Mary sank lower as her knees threatened to give way. Remus pulled her back up and pushed her into the arms of Stephen Ross.  
  
"Get out," he whispered hastily, drawing his wand. "Out the back door, go on. Peter, take them to the well."  
  
"But ... Remus," Peter stammered even as the door began to open.  
  
"Do as I say," Remus insisted. "Go, now, all of you!"  
  
Stricken with what they feared was about to happen, the others did as he said just as the door burst open and the first Dementor stepped in. Remus clasped his wand firmly and thought hard of the moment, so far back now, when his friends had told him they would learn to become Animagi for him.  
  
"Expecto Patronum!" he shouted, and a puff of silver smoke shot out of the end of his wand.  
  
The Dementor stumbled backwards, back through the door, pushed by Remus's Patronus, feeble though it was. Behind him, Remus could hear shouts and scraping noises as everyone scrambled to the back door. For a brief moment he considered following them, but then the shadow of the Dementor loomed again. He had to stop it, or they would not escape.  
  
With new resolve he stepped up to the door and pulled it open, he marched out into the sunlight and saw no less than five Dementors bearing down on him, seemingly angered by the fact that he had repelled the first attack.  
  
"Expecto Patronum!"  
  
The silver smoke reappeared, throwing back the first Dementor. Whether it was the same one as before, Remus never knew. What he did know was that his Patronus was too weak to take them all on. He felt cold, deathly cold. The happy thought he was trying to cling to was evaporating. However hard he tried to recapture it, or to concentrate on other happy moments of his life - being told he could go to Hogwarts, his father telling him he loved him - they all slipped away and he was plunged into a sea of nightmare images instead. Himself, a young and skinny boy, enduring agony as he transformed into a werewolf . changing back into his human form to discover he had killed his mother's cat . more agony, more transformations, more horrors, more scars that would never go away completely . his father rowing with his grandmother and banning her from ever entering their house again .  
  
Remus felt something hard hit his knees and discovered to his horror that it was the floor of the main road in Hogsmeade. He had dropped to the ground, he was falling. A scabbed, decaying hand reached out and gripped his neck while several more black shapes loomed closer, blotting out the sun.  
  
He heard the rattling breath of his attackers growing louder and louder, drowning out every other sound. This was it, this was the end. It had been a troubled life, but short. As he felt the last of his strength leave his muscles, as the cold swept over him like a deluge of freezing waves, Remus thought of his mother. Her tender brown eyes, her sweet face. Soon he would no longer know her, but she would still be able to see him. She would come to him, to look at the son she loved and see nothing but an empty shell looking back at her, a body without mind, a still-breathing carcass without spirit or heart. He closed his eyes and shivered. Somewhere in the blackness beyond, a rough voice shouted words that he thought he recognised, but somehow he could not grasp their meaning.  
  
"Expecto Patronum!"  
  
Remus forced his eyes open a fraction to see a huge, silver bird swoop down towards him. Its beak pierced the Dementor nearest him and Remus fell flat on his back. The sun was coming back again, the shadows that had blocked it from view were withdrawing rapidly, fleeing the soaring silver eagle as fast as they could. A pair of strong arms reached down and dragged Remus to his feet.  
  
"Lupin! Come on, lad, talk to me, are you all right?" Professor Darkhardt asked anxiously.  
  
Some of the cold drained from his veins, the miserable images grew paler. Remus nodded.  
  
"Yes, I . I think I'm fine."  
  
The gruff old man heaved a sigh of undisguised relief. Remus looked up and attempted to smile back meekly, though his knees felt like they might give way again at any moment, but then he froze once more.  
  
"Professor!" he exclaimed, pointing beyond Darkhardt's shoulder.  
  
The teacher spun round. Several more black shapes were moving their way, a whole line of them. But these were not Dementors, for with their approach came no sense of misery and cold. They were humans, witches and wizards dressed in long, black cloaks with masks pulled over their faces and slits that allowed them to see and speak.  
  
Remus was only vaguely aware that several more students had stepped out of houses all around him and many of them were screaming, that Darkhardt shouted at them to run back to Hogwarts and they turned and fled wildly up the street and away. All Remus's attention was fixed on those shapes, these people that were slowly drawing nearer and nearer to him and his teacher.  
  
One of them seemed to be keeping his eyes fixed on Remus. They were filled with loathing and it seemed to him that there was something familiar about the way that one walked, the long, sweeping strides. He recalled a boy, tall and fair, handsome but arrogant . could it be . Lucius Malfoy?  
  
"Lupin," Professor Darkhardt said quietly, "I want you to leave this to me. The Dementors have weakened you, you don't stand a chance against this lot . go on, now, you follow the others and go back to the castle."  
  
"But sir, you can't possibly fight them all off alone ."  
  
"Go!" Professor Darkhardt said firmly. "There's nothing you can do here! Go back to the castle!"  
  
"Sir .," Remus still protested.  
  
"Please, run!" Darkhardt insisted. "Get James back to Dumbledore. You've got to make sure James is safe, do you hear me?!"  
  
"James? But ."  
  
"Just do it, will you?"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"Good."  
  
Remus hesitated briefly, then he turned to go, but the professor caught him by the arm and looked him in the eye.  
  
"It's not what you are that matters, Remus," he said. "It's who you are. Never forget that."  
  
"No, sir," Remus replied uncertainly.  
  
Amidst the fear and panic, Professor Darkhardt smiled suddenly.  
  
"Good lad. Now go, Remus . go!"  
  
And with that, he pushed Remus away from him and began walking towards the black-cloaked figures moving up the street.  
  
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Sirius was in Zonko's when he heard the commotion outside. People were running and screaming out there. Like many of the other students in the shop, he dropped what he was holding and strode to the door. He grabbed hold of a girl who came running past him and urgently asked her what was going on.  
  
"Death Eaters," a boy near them panted. "Death Eaters, here in Hogsmeade. They're coming up the street!"  
  
"No!"  
  
Sirius released the girl and she ran on. Many of the students standing around Sirius now began joining the group that were running away too.  
  
"Wait!" Sirius shouted, grabbing two of them by their sleeves. "You can't run all the way back to Hogwarts like this, the Death Eaters are bound to catch up with you before you're halfway there."  
  
"What do you suggest we do, then?" someone asked. "Wait here for them to come and get us?"  
  
"No," said Sirius, coming to a decision. "Follow me, I know a quicker way."  
  
No one protested as he led them away from the main road to an old well that stood back a little, hidden behind the houses of Hogsmeade. He found Peter already there, together with Mary Crimple, Stephen Ross and the others that had been in the Three Broomsticks. James came running up from the direction of the Shrieking Shack, pulling Lily along by the hand. Right behind them came Aurora, Damian, Bertha and Eugene, trying to count the amount of younger students that had followed them obediently out of Honeydukes when they had heard the news of the Death Eaters' arrival from a terrified second-year Hufflepuff. Sirius spoke up.  
  
"Right, now listen, everyone. You have to climb down this well-shaft until you're just above the surface of the water. Don't worry, it's quite safe. You'll find a hole down there. Climb through and just follow the tunnel, and you'll come out right back inside Hogwarts," he said to the group, then he turned to Peter.  
  
"You'd better go on ahead and show them the way. Damian, you go too."  
  
"All right," they said in unison, at once doing as he suggested.  
  
Frank came running up.  
  
"Any students left in the shops?" James asked.  
  
"No, I think they're all here," Frank panted. "But ."  
  
He had to pause to catch his breath.  
  
"What?" Sirius demanded impatiently, but James was already looking round him.  
  
"Where's Remus?" he asked Peter. "Weren't you two supposed to be studying together today?"  
  
"We were," Peter stammered, "but then Mary came and warned us there were Dementors outside, and Remus stayed behind to cover us while ."  
  
"You left him behind on his own?!" Sirius shouted incredulously while Lily let out a frightened squeak.  
  
"That's - what I wanted - to tell you," Frank said breathlessly. "I think I saw Remus. As I was checking the side streets, I saw someone back down there with Darkhardt." He pointed back over his shoulder.  
  
The others turned pale.  
  
"Oh no," Aurora gasped quietly.  
  
"You follow Peter and Damian," James told the girls. "Go behind the younger students and make sure they all get back safely. Quickly, before the Death Eaters see where you're going."  
  
"No, I'm coming with you," Aurora insisted.  
  
James opened his mouth to protest, but she was obviously determined. He turned and clapped Sirius on the shoulder.  
  
"Let's go."  
  
Sirius nodded, and he, Aurora and Frank set off in the direction where Frank had last seen their friend, but James found himself restrained by a trembling hand on his arm. Lily looked up at him anxiously.  
  
"James you - you will be careful, won't you?"  
  
He smiled and squeezed her hand.  
  
"Of course."  
  
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Darkhardt's push had almost sent Remus to the floor. He swayed, but didn't fall. Turning back, his breath coming in quick gasps and the cold still lingering, he saw those hideous shapes coming ever nearer and felt a wave of terror. What should he do? He couldn't just leave the professor here and go, but he didn't see that he could do much to help his teacher fight these powerful witches and wizards either. And then there were the Dementors. They had drawn back for now, but with the professor so hopelessly outnumbered, it could not be long before they returned.  
  
Then he heard the sound of running feet far behind him, and saw Sirius and Frank coming his way, closely followed by Aurora and James. Suddenly, all doubt had gone from his mind. He might not be able to save Darkhardt, but he could do what the professor had told him to, as a final favour to a man he knew he would likely never speak to again. He stumbled towards the others as fast as he could, and immediately grabbed James by the arm.  
  
"Get away from here!" he panted, tugging James back the way the others had come.  
  
"Remus, what are you doing?" James objected. "Darkhardt ."  
  
"We can't help him," Remus retorted urgently. "Come on, let's go!"  
  
"What the . Remus, what's got into you?" James asked.  
  
"You've got to get back to the castle, now! Sirius, Frank, Aurora - help me!" Remus begged, swaying dangerously and still shivering from the Dementor attack.  
  
Frank grabbed him by the collar to keep him on his feet. He looked from Sirius to Aurora, and without knowing why, they suddenly found themselves obeying Remus. Sirius dragged the reluctant James back the way they had come and the others followed, Remus stumbling as he ran. Frank looked back over his shoulder. A few witches and wizards were pouring out of the houses of Hogsmeade now to stand with Professor Darkhardt, but the Death Eaters still greatly outnumbered them. One of them raised his wand and aimed a curse at the retreating students.  
  
"Get down!" Frank yelled, giving Remus a shove, dragging Aurora to the floor and flattening himself on top of her.  
  
A second spell disarmed the Death Eater, and Frank pulled Aurora back to her feet. They each took hold of one of Remus's arms, and half-carried him back to the well, where Remus urged them all to climb in quickly - James first.  
  
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When they clambered out of the tunnel behind a very rusty suit of armour on the third floor, Professor McGonagall was standing there, waiting for them, her face ashen.  
  
"There you are," she murmured, helping them out of the hole one by one.  
  
"Where have you been, for heaven's sake? Everyone's been so worried about you!"  
  
She unnecessarily brushed a speck of dust off Sirius's shoulder, causing him to eye her with suspicion.  
  
"Where are the others?" Frank asked, still hovering by Remus's elbow in case he stumbled again.  
  
"They're down in the Great Hall," she replied. "Come, Professor Dumbledore will be anxious to see you all."  
  
They followed her down the stairs. When they entered the Great Hall, a crowd of students surged towards them. Professor Dumbledore managed to calm them down and came forward, flanked by Peter and Damian.  
  
"Frank, Aurora, Sirius, Remus, . James. I'm glad to see you're all well," the headmaster said.  
  
"Yes sir," James said. "We're fine. But Professor Darkhardt ."  
  
"I know," Dumbledore interrupted him. "Miss Evans told me that you had gone back to help him."  
  
"Well, we did," Frank answered quickly, "but ."  
  
The others all looked at Remus.  
  
"There was nothing we could do," he said uncomfortably, finally breathing more evenly, though he was still shaking. "And Professor Darkhardt himself told me ."  
  
"Yes?" the professor encouraged him.  
  
Remus glanced at James, and at once Dumbledore nodded.  
  
"Yes. Yes, I see," he murmured. "He told you to get James back to safety."  
  
James shifted uncomfortably under the gaze of his friends and the two teachers.  
  
"I would rather have stayed to help the professor," he said.  
  
"Of course," said Professor Dumbledore. "But Professor Darkhardt knew what he was doing. And Remus, you did well to heed his words. He was right, there was nothing you could have done. Sadly, I could not help him either. I will go down to Hogsmeade directly, of course, but naturally it will be too late. We had to secure the school first - nevertheless, it would have been too late, I fear, even if I had gone there the moment I heard what was happening."  
  
"Why did Narbus stay?" Professor McGonagall whispered. "There was little he could do against such overwhelming odds. He could have come straight back with the students."  
  
"Perhaps he hoped he would be able to buy them a little extra time to escape," the headmaster answered. "And perhaps there were other reasons as well that we shall never fully understand."  
  
He shot a glance at Remus, who nodded slowly.  
  
"Minerva," Dumbledore went on, "get the prefects to take the students back to their common rooms. No one is to leave them tonight. Boys - you, I think, had best wait for me in my office. Yes, Aurora, you may come too. Professor McGonagall will take you there. I promise I shan't be long. Oh, and James ."  
  
"Yes, sir?"  
  
"I think you should take a moment to assure Miss Evans you are quite well before you go upstairs. She has been very worried about you. Perhaps she would also like to come along to my office."  
  
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Professor McGonagall took them to the headmaster's office and left, though she returned moments later with a large slab of chocolate and stood watching Remus until he had eaten it all up. It seemed like an age before Professor Dumbledore finally joined them. His light blue eyes were dim with sorrow, and he took his time walking over to his chair and sitting down. He studied all the boys carefully, and his eyes settled on Remus, who looked very pale, standing by the window and gazing out into the night. Remus seemed to feel that he was being watched, because he turned around and looked at his friends, the headmaster and Professor McGonagall. At last he forced a smile.  
  
"What did I do, break someone's favourite cauldron or something?" he asked wryly.  
  
"Remus," Professor Dumbledore began in a soothing voice, "I understand that out of all the students here, you were probably closest to Professor Darkhardt."  
  
"He was my friend," Remus blurted out, his voice catching. "Even though ."  
  
"Even though you knew the truth about him. Yes, he said he had told you about that. But our grief will have to wait for now. There are more urgent things to think about."  
  
Remus nodded. James started towards him, but Remus waved him back.  
  
"It's okay, James," he said, blinking furiously. "I'm all right. As long as . Professor, could I ask you something?"  
  
"Of course, Remus," Dumbledore replied.  
  
"It's about Professor Darkhardt. He is - dead, isn't he?"  
  
The others stared at him, looking a trifle confused, but Dumbledore's bright blue eyes showed understanding. He nodded.  
  
Remus sighed. "Good."  
  
"Good?" Peter stammered. "But Remus, you just said he was your friend. How can him being dead be good?"  
  
"Peter, don't," James interrupted.  
  
Dumbledore fixed Peter with a penetrating gaze.  
  
"There are worse things than death when Dementors are involved," he said gently.  
  
Peter still looked blank.  
  
"For god's sake, Peter, you are thick sometimes!" Sirius exploded. "The Dementor's Kiss ."  
  
"Oh!" Peter exclaimed, shuddering. "That."  
  
He glanced nervously at Remus, but he had turned back towards the window.  
  
"Professor Dumbledore," James began. "Why did Professor Darkhardt tell Remus to bring me back here? I mean, I could have understood if he'd just wanted to send Remus back to safety, but why say that about me?"  
  
"Yes," Sirius agreed. "Why James?"  
  
Dumbledore sighed heavily.  
  
"Sit down," he said, as more chairs appeared opposite his desk.  
  
James, Sirius, Peter, Lily and Frank took their seats, but McGonagall and Aurora remained standing, and Remus stayed by the window.  
  
"The reason Professor Darkhardt said what he did," Dumbledore said slowly, "was because he knew that it was imperative that no harm should come to you."  
  
"But why?" James asked, running a hand through his hair so that it stuck out even more haphazardly than usual. "Why should he want to protect me, of all people? Remus has always been his favourite."  
  
"It had nothing to do with favouritism, I assure you," the headmaster continued. "It was because of who you are."  
  
James frowned. "Because I'm a Death Eater's son? That doesn't make sense, sir."  
  
A small smile flickered on Dumbledore's face.  
  
"No," he said, "this has nothing to do with your father. It has, however, everything to do with your mother."  
  
"My mother?"  
  
"Yes. I have been wrestling with myself for some time, debating whether I should tell you this, or keep you in the dark as she requested."  
  
"Why would she do that?"  
  
"To protect you, James."  
  
"From what?"  
  
It was Professor McGonagall who answered.  
  
"Basically - from the truth," she said.  
  
James fell silent, puzzling. Why should his mother want to protect him from the truth? That didn't make sense.  
  
"But that's stupid," Sirius said sharply. "Professor Darkhardt's always taught us that it's better to face the truth and be prepared for the worst than let it take you by surprise."  
  
"I know," Dumbledore agreed, "and I have been trying to persuade your mother, James, to take that view - with the help of Remus's father."  
  
Remus looked up, a mildly questioning look on his face.  
  
"Oh yes," the headmaster continued. "Ever since that night when a 'mysterious stranger' came to call on Bridget at your house, we have been trying to persuade Bridget to tell James who he is. And now, I no longer have to feel guilty for telling you, James, because you have stumbled across the fact that there is something special about you yourself, and naturally you want to know what it is."  
  
James returned his stare steadily and nodded. Leaning back in his chair, Dumbledore placed the tips of his fingers together and half-closed his eyes.  
  
"It has to do with Professor Trelawney's prediction," he announced.  
  
"The prediction?" said Sirius, intrigued. "What, that night when she scared half the school by going all peculiar on her way to the Great Hall? But that was just a load of phooey. We tried to find out more, and for a while it seemed like there might be something in it, but Remus couldn't find any books and nor could Lily - there was no way we could discover anything about any heirs of Gryffindor that might still be alive ."  
  
He broke off. While listening to him, Dumbledore's eyes had never left James's face. Sirius turned his head and saw that James had gone a shade paler than usual. His hazel eyes flickered strangely.  
  
"No," he said quietly. "But that's not possible. It can't be."  
  
"Why not?" Dumbledore asked simply, as though reasoning with a small child. "Why can't it be possible? What do you know - really know - about your mother?"  
  
"Her name is Bridget Potter, and she married Vindictus Lothian when she was very young," James said with a hint of defiance. "She told me that. She also admitted it was a mistake. He was already in with Voldemort at the time, and she grew scared and left him before he ever knew she was expecting me. She never saw him again until the day of the attack in Diagon Alley."  
  
"True," said Dumbledore, "but for one detail. Your mother's name is not Bridget Potter. Nor was it ever that. Think, James. Professor Darkhardt once told me that he had caught you and your friends in Filch's office, searching for information about your father and Tom Riddle. While you were there, you discovered something else, didn't you? Something you asked Professor Darkhardt about ."  
  
Realisation seemed to dawn on James's face. "Yes," he said very slowly. "I had looked into the file cabinet where my mother's name should have been, but it wasn't there. Professor Darkhardt said he supposed he must have known her when she was a girl at Hogwarts, but he wouldn't say more. He seemed to guess something though."  
  
The headmaster nodded his wise old head.  
  
"Oh yes, he guessed, and his guess was correct. The reason your mother's name was not there was because you were looking in the wrong place. Potter was not her maiden name, it was your grandmother's: Greta Potter. You should have looked not under 'P' for 'Potter', but under ."  
  
". 'G' for 'Gryffindor'," Lily finished in a hushed whisper.  
  
James glanced at her, then turned his head to look up at the Sorting Hat, lying high up on a shelf behind him. What had it said on his very first day here at school?  
  
*Your mother sat on this very stool, and I had no doubts when I put her in Gryffindor. It was in the blood she had inherited from her father.*  
  
He had been so stupid. The signs had all been there. Even when Trelawney had made that ridiculous prediction. Hadn't she been looking straight at him? How could he have been blind enough not to see it? He looked around at the faces of his friends. Frank was staring at him open-mouthed. Lily was gazing fixedly at her hands. Aurora was biting her lip. Peter's eyes were boggling. Sirius looked stupefied. Remus just looked thoughtful. Their eyes connected, and Remus inclined his head just slightly.  
  
"Of course," he said in a quiet, steady voice. "All that time we were trying to find out who the prediction referred to, the answer was staring us in the face. It was you."  
  
Sirius came out of his stupor with a jolt.  
  
"So that's what Darkhardt meant tonight. Why James had to get to safety. The Death Eaters were there for him."  
  
"No," Dumbledore contradicted. "No, they couldn't have known. Even James's own father doesn't know he exists - yet. Their attack was as random an act of terror as any. But Professor Darkhardt was afraid that they would kill James without even knowing who he was. And that would mean that we may have lost our only hope of defeating Voldemort. Because we don't know which member of the family that prediction referred to."  
  
"You mean it could mean me, but it could also mean my mother?"  
  
"Yes. Or neither of you."  
  
James looked a question.  
  
"It could have meant some future heir of Gryffindor who has not been born yet - your child, perhaps." James felt his cheeks flush as he saw Lily's eyelids flicker. "Or it could have meant your grandfather."  
  
"My - what?"  
  
"Your mother's father. The wizard who came to see her when you were staying with Remus and his parents."  
  
"That old man was James's grandfather?" Sirius cried.  
  
"Yes."  
  
Sirius turned to stare at James again, but he said nothing. Everything inside him was utter turmoil. How could his mother have kept all this from him? Hadn't he had a right to know this all along? It was all very well protecting him while he was a little boy, but he was seventeen now, he wasn't a child any more. He was a young man, almost ready to begin a life of his own, with courage and the determination to fight what was evil and defend what was good. There was a long silence while these thoughts and emotions coursed through his mind. At last he looked up to find several pairs of eyes watching him. He picked out Dumbledore's blue ones.  
  
"I'm joining the Order of the Phoenix," he announced calmly.  
  
The noises his friends made told him that they had expected him to say something rather different, to express his delight at being told the truth at last or anger at having been kept in the dark for so long. But what was the point? What was done was done, and all that was left now was to do what had to be done - to unite the efforts of all the living heirs of Gryffindor without exception and find a way to defeat Lord Voldemort and his followers once and for all. Recovering from the initial surprise of James's announcement, the others all looked at Dumbledore expectantly. He studied James for a long moment, then nodded his head.  
  
"Albus ." Professor McGonagall began, but a look from Dumbledore silenced her.  
  
"We're joining too," Sirius vehemently announced at once, so determinedly that Peter jumped.  
  
"I don't know that ." Dumbledore began, but Sirius cut him off.  
  
"If James is going to take the next step from Professor Darkhardt's classes to the Order proper, then so are we. We're all of age, we've nearly finished school, and what's more we're his friends, and he's going nowhere without us," Sirius insisted.  
  
"Sirius," James said, "it's dangerous."  
  
"We all know that, but when has that ever stopped Gryffindors from sticking together?" Lily said surprisingly. "Or Ravenclaws," she added with a smile at Aurora.  
  
James looked from her, to Sirius's eager face, to the others. Aurora smiled. Frank nodded grimly. Peter looked shell-shocked and stole a sideways glance at Remus, who said quietly but resolutely,  
  
"Sirius is right. Where you go, we go."  
  
Peter gulped and lowered his eyes. This time, Dumbledore took so long to consider that Sirius began shifting impatiently on his chair. But it was Remus who spoke up.  
  
"Professor Darkhardt didn't give us extra defence lessons so that we would go home and hide. He thought us brave enough and capable of defending ourselves. He knew that we would all come up against the Dark forces one day, and he prepared us well. He taught us the importance of fighting Voldemort ourselves, not leaving it to others."  
  
There was a new kind of cold determination in his voice that the others hadn't heard there before, an edge of unshakeable resolve.  
  
"Very well," Dumbledore sighed at last. "I will inform the Order that we have seven new members. But you will all take your exams and wait until you have finished school before you attend any of our meetings. I must also warn you all that you may be heading for grave danger, or even death. Things will be getting darker before the light breaks through, and many or all of us may not survive the storm that is coming."  
  
He looked at them all in turn. James nodded curtly, while Lily shifted her green eyes to his hazel ones. Sirius squared his shoulders - Frank Longbottom smiled.  
  
"We know what we're facing, sir," he said. "But even if we should all end up getting ourselves killed, at least we'll die knowing that we've done something worthwhile."  
  
Professor Dumbledore smiled back.  
  
"There is no beating the courage of our Gryffindors," he said proudly. "And Ravenclaws," he added as Lily had done, winking at Aurora. 


	18. Part 18: Entering the 'Real World'

Prequel, Part 18: Entering the 'Real World'  
  
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1 - Homeward Bound  
  
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Nine people had died that day in Hogsmeade, including Professor Darkhardt. Several more had been seriously injured. The Death Eaters were continuing the reign of terror that had begun that day, so far back now, in Diagon Alley. The Ministry of Magic, with the exception, perhaps, only of the Department of Mysteries and the Aurors, was almost entirely in Voldemort's pocket. The Minister for Magic herself had disappeared, to be replaced by yet another of Voldemort's puppets.  
  
What with this news to occupy their minds, the sorrow over the loss of one of their best teachers and the prospect of attending the next meeting of the Order of the Phoenix, the friends found they were far less nervous of their exams than they had been - after all, what were N.E.W.T.s compared to what was going on in the world outside Hogwarts, the world they would soon be returning to for good? The whole school seemed to be in a similar mood, for even the first and second-years were very quiet nowadays. Even the leaving feast, usually a day of noisy celebration, turned out to be a sordid affair. Black drapes lined the walls, and one chair at the staff table remained painfully empty. It was to this chair that Professor Dumbledore, rising solemnly from his own seat, turned.  
  
"My dear students, colleagues and friends," he said. "Before we begin our meal this evening, I would like to propose a toast. To a man who placed his life in the service of the fight against the Dark Arts and of this school, who dedicated his life to preparing all of you to defend yourselves against the very greatest danger - and who gave it willingly, without doubt, hesitation or fear, for you, me ... for all of us."  
  
The headmaster raised his goblet, and the rest of the teachers followed suit. Professor McGonagall dabbed at the corner of her eye with her finger, and Hagrid sniffed so hard that his end of the table shook.  
  
"To Narbus Darkhardt, a brave man, and a dear friend."  
  
All around the Great Hall, a murmur greeted his words as all the students - or nearly all - raised their own goblets and joined in the toast. Professor Dumbledore watched them with a benign smile.  
  
"And now," he said when everyone's goblets were back beside their plates, "I know that, if Professor Darkhardt were here, he would not want this school year to end in grief over him. He would want us to hold our heads high and look to the future - and to honour the courage of those who are still among us. As those of you who studied the giant hour glasses before you entered the Hall will have noticed, points have been awarded to the students who showed outstanding presence of mind and bravery on that fateful day in Hogsmeade. These points were awarded to Miss Mary Crimple of Ravenclaw, for wasting no time in alerting her fellow students to the presence of the Dementors ."  
  
Cheers and clapping greeted this news, and Mary blushed furiously.  
  
"To Mr. Peter Pettigrew of Gryffindor, Mr. Damian Diggle from Hufflepuff and Miss Lily Evans, also of Gryffindor, for taking care of the younger students and leading them safely back here ..."  
  
Again the Great Hall cheered. Peter and Damian exchanged pleased glances - neither of them had ever earned house points before.  
  
"To Mr. James Potter, Mr. Sirius Black and Mr. Frank Longbottom of Gryffindor, as well as to Miss Aurora Borealis of Ravenclaw, for going back to help their friend, Mr. Remus Lupin ..."  
  
The cheering grew to a deafening pitch as everyone endeavoured to show their appreciation more loudly than their neighbours, as much as a token of recognition of the courage of their fellow students as a tribute of respect to their late teacher. Dumbledore looked down at the Gryffindor table and smiled. While he waited for the noise to die down, many heads were already turning in the direction of the person they all guessed would be mentioned next. Remus shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He felt James's hand on his shoulder.  
  
"And finally," he said quietly. "To Remus Lupin himself, for facing the Dementors to let the others escape."  
  
Amid the cheers, James squeezed Remus's shoulder and Sirius thumped him hard on the back. Remus forced a smile, embarrassed by all the attention.  
  
"This means," Dumbledore announced, that the House Cup this year goes quite unmistakably to Gryffindor."  
  
It was amazing that the students still had it in them to clap even louder than they had before. It was another several minutes before Dumbledore spoke again.  
  
"Now," said the headmaster, raising his hands for silence. "It is time for all of us to fill our bellies with the best of the best, and be grateful to Professor Darkhardt and all those who fill follow in his footsteps."  
  
And with these words he sat down and mounds of food appeared on the tables. But Remus sat staring down at his empty plate for a long time, still picturing his old mentor and friend, his gruff voice, his grizzled hair, the way he fingered his scar when he was thinking . It was a full five minutes before he realised that someone was talking to him.  
  
"Remus? Remus," Lily was saying gently.  
  
He looked up with a start. She was holding a bowl of potatoes out to him across the table.  
  
"Come on, have something to eat, won't you?"  
  
At last he nodded, and took the bowl from her.  
  
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Aurora hurried after Remus up the main staircase.  
  
"Wait!" she called.  
  
He stopped and let the others go by. Aurora caught up with him.  
  
"I just wanted to congratulate you," she said. "I don't know exactly how many of those Gryffindor points were yours, but I'll bet it was a lot."  
  
"I didn't do anything special. Any one of you would have done the same, if you'd been there."  
  
"Perhaps, but the point is you were there, and it was a very brave thing you did. Professor Darkhardt must have been proud of you."  
  
"Yes, I think he was," Remus agreed quietly.  
  
"You miss him, don't you?"  
  
Remus nodded tightly. Aurora gave a sad little smile and touched his arm sympathetically.  
  
"I always thought it was strange, the way he took to you. Almost as though he looked at you as a surrogate son or something."  
  
Remus's brow creased at her words.  
  
"What is it?" Aurora asked.  
  
"What you just said . I wonder ."  
  
He looked thoughtful.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Nothing." He shrugged. "I was just thinking of someone he told me about not all that long ago, and I wondered . Still, it doesn't matter now."  
  
Aurora watched him closely, and without meaning to found herself looking into Remus's memory of Professor Darkhardt, sitting behind his desk and telling the tale of the teenage werewolf who had given him his scar.  
  
"Oh. I see," she said slowly.  
  
They fell silent, and walked that way until they reached the corridor leading up to the portrait of the Fat Lady and Aurora realised she had come much too far the wrong way.  
  
"Well," she said. "You'll be wanting to get to bed, I expect."  
  
"Hm."  
  
"Will I see you on the train tomorrow?"  
  
Remus shook his head. "We're all taking the Knight Bus to my place."  
  
"Oh," Aurora said, sounding a touch disappointed. "In that case ."  
  
"I'll see you at our first meeting with the Order."  
  
"Yes . Yes, of course."  
  
They stood awkwardly for a moment, then Remus held out his hand. Aurora shook it with a smile.  
  
"Goodbye," Remus said, and he walked away to the portrait, said the password and disappeared through the hole in the wall.  
  
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James sat back in his seat on the top level of the triple-decker Knight Bus and looked out of the window, watching Hogwarts disappear rapidly from view.  
  
"Anyone else feel strange about not seeing the old place again?" Sirius asked into the silence.  
  
Everyone nodded.  
  
"Mind you," Sirius went on, "Moony'll probably be back here teaching soon, won't you?"  
  
Remus smiled.  
  
"I doubt it. First of all I have rather a lot of studying to do, and I really need to get some practical experience before I can think of teaching. I dare say Dumbledore might let me use the library once in a while. But I don't think I'll ever be able to come and teach here. Having a student who's absent from lessons once a month is one thing, but for a teacher ."  
  
"So what are you going to do, then?" Peter asked. "Private tutoring?"  
  
"I expect that's what it'll boil down to. First, though, I'm going to take a part-time job to pay for all the books and things. Dad says he's spoken to a friend of his at the Ministry who's willing to take me on as a kind of secretary. When do you start in the family apothecary?"  
  
Peter turned slightly red.  
  
"I don't."  
  
"What? But I thought you said ."  
  
"Yes, but I - I told Pippa I'm not really all that good at Potions and Herbology and stuff, and she spoke to my parents for me. So I'll be starting at the Apparition Test Centre instead in about three weeks."  
  
"But you haven't even learnt to apparate yourself!" Sirius exclaimed.  
  
"No, but I'm planning to take the test this summer. Did you know the Ministry are planning to lower the age limit to seventeen, by the way?"  
  
"No," Sirius replied, sounding as though he didn't much care, either. "I'm taking my apparition test as soon as possible too. And of course, Frank, Damian, James and I will be starting our Auror training before long."  
  
"Hm?"  
  
James looked up when he heard his name, apparently waking from a kind of day dream.  
  
"Auror training, Prongs! Can't you stop thinking about Lily for a moment?"  
  
"Not very well," James confessed, going as red as Peter.  
  
Sirius tutted.  
  
"Oh boy, how are you going to get through the next few years without seeing her every day in classes? I suppose you haven't been able to persuade her to become an Auror after all so you can spend more time together?"  
  
"No. She's going to learn more about protection charms. There should be quite a market for those at the rate things are going. I think Professor Flitwick's introduced her to someone in the Department of Mysteries who knows all about hiding valuable things - and people - from prying eyes."  
  
"Oh well, we're bound to be seeing a lot of her then, if she's working at the Ministry too."  
  
"Yes. Seems like the only one out of our little group who won't be at the Ministry is Aurora then, doesn't it?" Peter pointed out casually.  
  
Sirius fell silent, but Remus nodded his agreement.  
  
"She's taking a short break, and then she'll be starting at St. Mungo's. She'd have made a great Auror, of course, but she didn't want to."  
  
The Knight Bus braked suddenly, and James was almost thrown forward out of his seat. They looked out the window, and discovered to their surprise that they were already in the forest where Remus lived. They picked up their trunks and all the rest of their luggage, thanked the driver and climbed out. No sooner had their feet all touched the pavement than the Knight Bus took off with a roar and was gone. They lugged their trunks along the overgrown path towards the house. The door opened before they got there and Remus's parents came towards them, followed by James's mother.  
  
Remus hugged his mother warmly, pleased to see that she was looking better than she had when he had last seen her at King's Cross, nearly a year ago now. But when he looked at his father he was startled. John Lupin's blue eyes no longer sparkled as they had used to do, and his face was lined with care. Remus also noticed that his father had begun going grey and, though it suited him quite well, it bore witness to the heavy weight of worry that rested on his shoulders these days. He smiled at the boys, however, and helped them carry their trunks indoors.  
  
Faith had, as usual, prepared a vast supply of juicy sandwiches and several pitchers full of pumpkin juice. She was obviously making an effort to appear unconcerned, but after they had eaten their fill and moved to the living room, she sat down on the sofa next to Remus and began asking the boys for more information about what really had happened in Hogsmeade.  
  
Remus gave her the much-summarised version of the story, reducing his own part in the proceedings to the minimum of what he had to tell her for the tale to make sense, but he was interrupted frequently by his friends, who seemed to feel that the adults should know the whole story in all its details.  
  
"So you actually managed to fight off the Dementors?" Bridget asked Remus when they had finished.  
  
"I wouldn't exactly call it that. My Patronus was just a puff of smoke. It was only enough to throw one of them back at a time, and not for long."  
  
"Nevertheless, that's quite an achievement. I don't think I could have done it."  
  
They were interrupted at that moment by a loud knock on the door. Faith started and stopped smoothing the sleeve of Remus's robes as she had been doing for the past ten minutes, but John rose at once.  
  
"Don't worry, love, it'll only be Malcolm. He told me he might be coming round today."  
  
"Oh, good. At least each of you two always seems to know what the other one is doing, even if I don't," Faith murmured while her husband went to answer the door.  
  
Sure enough, they soon heard Malcolm's voice in the hall, and a few moments later he came into the room, looking tired but smiling. He shook hands with all the boys and gratefully accepted a plateful of leftover sandwiches and a bottle of butterbeer.  
  
"I suppose it's no use asking you where you've been," Faith remarked a little testily.  
  
"I've been busy in London, actually," he said. "A . friend of mine runs this little theatre. It's not much - nothing like the big shows - but it's quite a cosy little place, and they actually put on some decent plays. In fact, I got us all some tickets for Saturday night," he added, whisking them out of his pocket.  
  
This news was greeted by a good deal of surprised but pleased noise, and Faith brightened up a little, for once ceasing to eye her brother with troubled suspicion and accepting his story at its face value.  
  
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2 - Initiations  
  
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Severus Snape sat back in the small rowing boat as it skimmed the black waves that separated Slytherin's Rock from the mainland. Opposite him in the boat sat a man who called himself Rosier, though Severus had still not seen his face, which was covered in a black mask with slits allowing him to see and speak. The oars were paddling away by themselves, and Slytherin's Rock loomed ominously closer, silhouetted black against the still-light, summery evening.  
  
They reached the shore and Severus climbed out of the boat. A man with pale sweeping hair and a pointed face glided down the front steps, his black cloak billowing out behind him.  
  
"Severus, it's good to see you here at last," said Lucius Malfoy. "The Dark Lord is expecting you most eagerly."  
  
Severus shook his hand without a word and followed him up the stairs. After the warmth outdoors, he shivered slightly when they entered the hallway of the black stone fortress. Eerie, slightly squeaky screams were echoing from a passage off to their left. Lucius Malfoy's cold grey eyes followed Severus's.  
  
"House elves," he said briskly. "Our master needs them for a potion. Take no notice of their screaming."  
  
Severus nodded and followed on, up the stairs, along a corridor, past shelves stacked with severed hands, shrunken heads and peculiar boxes. Lucius stopped outside a heavy door and knocked. There was a quiet movement beyond, then a strangely sing-song voice told them to enter. Lucius pushed the door open slowly and entered. Severus kept a few paces behind him. Both of them bowed as Voldemort turned towards them.  
  
"Master, Severus Snape is here," Malfoy announced.  
  
"Yes yes, so I see," said Voldemort impatiently. "Go, leave us - and tell Paula there will be one more for dinner."  
  
"Yes, my lord."  
  
Lucius Malfoy bowed again and withdrew, leaving Severus alone with Voldemort, who began to study him appraisingly.  
  
"So," he said at long last. "I hear you have finally finished school."  
  
"Yes, master."  
  
"That, in a way, is a pity. Your inside information has been invaluable to me these past years. Nevertheless, I feel sure you will be of even greater service to me in future."  
  
"I hope that I may fulfil all your expectations, master."  
  
"Of course you do. Our numbers are increasing, Severus. More and more wizards and witches are eagerly joining us, and others are finding it impossible to resist the - persuasiveness of my supporters. The ranks of the Death Eaters are increasing almost daily, and each of them strives to satisfy me by developing a particular skill that will make them invaluable to me. Macnair is an expert at dealing with magical creatures of the Darkest kind, as well as being a passionate killer. The Lestranges' great quality is their loyalty. Mulciber excels at performing the Imperius curse . your contribution so far has been the information you have supplied. However, I already have a new source inside Hogwarts taking care of that. The question that remains, then, is what you can do for me now that you are no longer a student."  
  
Severus made sure to take deep, even breaths as he replied, keeping his voice at once steadily confident and humble.  
  
"Master, I believe I do have a skill that will serve you well. You seek immortality, my lord, which is no less than you deserve. But the potions that will allow you to achieve your goal are complicated, their ingredients often hard to obtain, and the slightest error could lead to disaster."  
  
"Are you suggesting I would perpetrate an error?"  
  
"Never, master," Severus said with a slight bow. "But it can never hurt to have a second pair of eyes supervising the concoction of such a delicate brew. And I humbly suggest you would find it hard to find someone who has achieved as high marks in Potions as I have."  
  
"Very good."  
  
Voldemort tilted his head to one side. His voice held approval, but he eyed Severus with a look of mild doubt, as though he was not entirely sure that he could be trusted.  
  
"You will not let me down, I trust?"  
  
"Never, master," Severus affirmed. "There is nothing our enemies can do that would ever make me turn from you, my lord."  
  
Voldemort seemed satisfied.  
  
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James could hardly believe his eyes when his mother and Remus's father led him and his friends up to the great gates of Gryffindor Hall. Bridget could not conceal a gleam of pride when the gates swung back and they began the long walk down the gravel drive. Sirius looked around him and whistled.  
  
"This is some place," he declared, awestruck. "Did you really grow up here, Bridget?"  
  
"Yes. But before you get too envious, you might like to know I hated it. Oh, it was all right while my mother was still alive, but she died when I was only in my third year at Hogwarts."  
  
"What was she like?" James asked with real interest as they came to a halt before the huge front door.  
  
Bridget's face took on a dreamy look.  
  
"She was sweet. Generous and lively. But you should ask your grandfather about her, I'm sure he'll be able to describe her much better than I could."  
  
"Was he very fond of her?"  
  
"Yes, he was." Bridget went on thoughtfully, "I think perhaps that was part of the reason he and I became so estranged. We both loved her, but instead of sharing our grief, each of us withdrew into a kind of shell. I dare say part of it, with Father, was the shock. She was ever such a lot younger than him, you see, so for her to die before he did ."  
  
Bridget broke off and tugged at the bell. Almost at once, the wooden doors swung back to let them enter, and a moment later they stood in the dimly lit entrance hall, staring up at the gallery. A group of people were waiting up there, and John led the way towards them. The boys at once recognised Alastor Moody, who stood talking to a ginger-haired wizard who eyed them keenly.  
  
Frank was already there, standing with a very small wizard in a violently mauve top hat who turned out to be Damian Diggle's uncle. Professor McGonagall joined them presently, accompanied by Hagrid, and after greeting them with her usual stern air became engrossed with John in a discussion on the policies of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures with regard to Animagus registration.  
  
Philippa Pettigrew and Aurora turned up soon after. The latter seemed genuinely pleased to see them all - though there was something stiff in the way she and Sirius shook hands while she was hugging everyone else enthusiastically - and was soon questioning Remus and Frank on what they'd been doing with themselves since the start of the holidays three weeks ago. Bridget drew James aside.  
  
"Come along," she whispered. "This way. I think it's time you met someone."  
  
She led him to a heavy oak door, knocked and entered. The tall wizard James had seen at the Lupins' rose from a seat by the empty fireplace.  
  
"Father," Bridget began proudly, closing the door behind them, "this is James. James, this is your grandfather, Gordon Gryffindor."  
  
Gordon Gryffindor peered at James through the yellowish candlelight.  
  
"Well, come closer, boy, so I can take a look at you," he said gruffly.  
  
James did as he was told, feeling more awkward than he could ever remember having felt in his life. The iron-grey eyes of his grandfather seemed to bore into him as though they were trying to see through his eyes and into his soul. Finally the old man held out a rough, wrinkled hand and James shook it.  
  
"Welcome to the family home," said Gordon stiffly.  
  
"Thank you, sir," James replied politely.  
  
His grandfather gave a kind of grunt, nodded at Bridget and strode past them both into the hall. James was puzzled by his strange demeanour, but Bridget laid a hand on his shoulder and smiled.  
  
"It's all right," she said quietly. "He likes you, I'm sure. But it will take him a while to show it."  
  
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Dumbledore was waiting for them in the small, narrow room where the Order of the Phoenix habitually met, Fawkes the phoenix perched on the arm of his chair. They were surprised when Oliver McKinnon and Gideon Prewett walked in, who had both been two years above them at Hogwarts. Everyone took seats around the table, but many spaces remained empty. Last to arrive, as usual, was Malcolm, who smiled at all those present and sat down between John and James.  
  
"Have I missed anything?" he whispered.  
  
John shook his head. "I think we're just about to get started."  
  
Sure enough, Professor Dumbledore rose from his chair and raised his hands for silence. A series of faces turned towards him expectantly.  
  
"My dear friends," he began. "I am filled today with very mixed emotions as, I am sure, are many of you. Firstly, I am pleased to welcome our new young members to the Order: Sirius Black, Aurora Borealis, Frank Longbottom, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew and James Potter. I fear Miss Lily Evans was not able to join us today, for I believe she is on holiday ."  
  
"She's in Spain," said James and Aurora together.  
  
Dumbledore smiled.  
  
"Yes. Well, I have no doubt you will fill her in when she gets back. Secondly, of course, I would like us all to take a moment to remember one of our Order whom we have lost. Narbus Darkhardt, a brave and loyal man and a good friend."  
  
The people seated around the table lowered their heads, and John glanced anxiously sideways at his son. Remus pretended not to notice. After a brief silence, Dumbledore went on to emphasise the importance of the occasion on which they had come together: the first time that all the surviving heirs of Gryffindor were assembled under one roof, reunited against the darkness. James, seated between Sirius and Malcolm, returned his mother's smile, then stole a hidden glance at his grandfather, that tall, cold, impressive presence. Gordon, however, seemed not to notice.  
  
Dumbledore went on, taking care to point out that they had many supporters - though several members of the Order had been unable to appear tonight - and that they had made great achievements to date, but he also did not conceal from the newcomers the fact that Voldemort was growing ever stronger, the numbers of his supporters increasing daily.  
  
"So what are we doing about it?" Sirius demanded impatiently, unable to listen to any more talk that seemed to be getting them nowhere.  
  
Bridget placed a calming hand on his arm and murmured to him to wait, but Dumbledore merely smiled again.  
  
"A very good question, Sirius," he said. "What are we doing about it? Well, for one thing, we are keeping as close a watch as we can on the people we know are on Voldemort's side. Sadly, with their numbers increasing so much more rapidly than ours, that is not an easy task. We have also tried to find some of the people who have gone missing, and to find and begin the hard and often impossible process of attempting to cure some of those whose names are on this list," - he took out a roll of parchment - "which I have compiled and which holds the names of witches and wizards I suspect have fallen victim to the Imperius curse. This curse has caused us much trouble, and I believe it will continue to do so for a long time into the future. It is, as you all know, most hard to block, unless one possesses particular strength of character and thought."  
  
He gazed significantly at Aurora, who stared fixedly down at her folded hands on the table before her.  
  
"Other than that," Dumbledore went on, "we are also trying to be quicker than the Death Eaters, to find out where they are going to strike and be there before them, ready to prevent the worst from happening. This is a difficult task, but Malcolm here is making great progress building up a kind of spy network."  
  
Malcolm nodded.  
  
"Yes. It's surprising, the amount of people in and around London who suddenly remember that they have heard something that might be useful if you offer them a bag of galleons. Lots of the reports we're getting are nonsense, of course. Some people are just after the gold or a bit of sensationalism and excitement, they like to feel important. But I've got quite a few contacts in the Ministry and working for the Daily Prophet, and they're very experienced at separating the truth from the lies and fancies. Of course, it would be ideal if we could find someone in Voldemort's inner circle willing to spy for us, or get someone on our side to somehow find a way into the ranks of the Death Eaters. I'm working on that, but it's not going to be easy ."  
  
"And while we're looking for a spy on his side, he's bound to be looking for one on ours, isn't he?" Pippa pointed out, looking at Malcolm. He nodded his agreement.  
  
"There are always many spies and counter-spies in any war," Professor McGonagall put in, her voice quiet and filled with apparent sadness. She looked first at Pippa, then at Malcolm. "It's one of the most important, and the most dangerous pursuits in wartime. It was back in the Muggle Second World War, and it will be again in this one, except that, this time, the danger will be even greater. There are limits to what a Muggle dictator can do. In the case of . You-Know-Who . we have no way of knowing where the limits to his powers lie."  
  
She fell silent, and for a while no one spoke. At last, Dumbledore spoke again, and they continued discussing the possible ways in which someone could infiltrate Voldemort's Death Eaters for a long time, compared notes on the extent to which the Dark Lord had expanded his influence so far, then went on to confer about the dangers of his newly formed alliances with Dark creatures and the behaviour of the five Dementors who had appeared in Hogsmeade. At the end of two hours, Dumbledore sent them all home, agreeing that another meeting would be summoned very soon.  
  
James hovered by the door as everyone else filed out, hoping to catch his grandfather's eye, to speak to him, get to know him a little better - but the old man remained seated, obviously intending to speak to Dumbledore when the others had left. Bridget took James's arm.  
  
"Come along," she said. "You'll have lots of opportunities to talk to him yet."  
  
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Remus couldn't sleep that night. He tossed and turned for hours, and at last he got up, tiptoed past the mattresses of his sleeping friends on the floor and down the stairs, taking care to avoid the creaking step. He made his way quietly to the kitchen, but when he got there he discovered there was already a flickering light shining through beneath the door. Pushing the door open, Remus stepped into the room. His father looked up, startled. There was a glass of firewhisky on the table beside him and tell-tale red blotches on his cheeks gave away the fact that he had been resting his face in his hands.  
  
"Remus!" he exclaimed.  
  
"Hello," said Remus, sitting down across the table from John.  
  
"Can't you sleep?"  
  
"No. Can't you?"  
  
John shook his head. There was a pause, then he asked,  
  
"Have some butterbeer?"  
  
Remus nodded. His father waved his wand and a bottle flew across to land on the table. Remus took a large gulp. John watched him closely all the time.  
  
"Why can't you sleep?" he asked.  
  
Remus shrugged. "I don't know. There are too many things going through my head, I suppose. Things that happened last year. So much changed during our last term at Hogwarts, things that I didn't think ever would change. And then there was Professor Darkhardt ."  
  
"You liked him, didn't you?"  
  
"Yes. I know a lot of people thought he was gruff and cold. Some were even a bit frightened of him," he added quietly, thinking for a brief, painful moment of Heather. "But he could be kind and generous. He always was to me."  
  
John fingered his half empty glass for a moment.  
  
"You - knew what he was, I suppose? Or rather, what he used to be?"  
  
Remus nodded. "He told me. But it didn't change anything. He really regretted what he'd done, Dad, and he was a good man, really. That he had to die was unfair and - horrible. But then death always is, I think."  
  
John shook his head thoughtfully.  
  
"No, Remus. Death isn't always unfair or horrible. In some cases, death can be a release. A release from pain, from guilt, from worries, from regrets . from fear. What you find so horrible isn't death, it's the feeling you get when you lose someone you care about. It's grief that's horrible, Remus, not death itself. I know, I've been there. When I lost my father, I found out what grief is. His death was neither horrible, nor unfair. He was ill, suffering. The healers can cure many things, but some diseases are too much to handle, even for them. Death was the best thing that could happen to him, but that didn't make the grief any more bearable for me, even though I'd ." He broke off awkwardly.  
  
"Even though you'd - what?"  
  
"I prayed, Remus. Prayed for him to die. Please don't look so shocked. If you'd seen him suffer the way I did, day after day . I thought his death would be a release, for all of us. And yet, when he feel asleep one night, never to wake up again, the grief was - horrible. And ever since he's been gone, I have continued to pray every night. I pray for one thing only, Remus: that I will never again know a grief like that which I felt when I lost my father. That's what keeps me awake at night. The fear that something will happen to the people I love, and that I will be left to grieve again. Can you understand that?"  
  
"I think so. You're afraid that something will happen to Mum ."  
  
John closed his eyes and nodded slowly. His shoulders were shaking slightly, and Remus was reminded forcibly of that day, nearly half his lifetime ago, when his father had climbed his favourite tree .  
  
"Dad," he said gently, coming round the table and placing his hand on his father's shoulder. "She'll be all right. We'll make sure she is. We won't let anyone hurt her."  
  
John opened his eyes again and patted his son's hand.  
  
"I don't know what I'd do without her . or you," he said huskily.  
  
Remus smiled.  
  
"Come along," he said, "I think it's time we both got back to bed, before she wakes up and finds you missing again."  
  
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3 - Josie  
  
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Severus Snape sleeked back his hair and stepped out of Norman Pettigrew's apothecary into the brilliant sunshine of York, his purchases hidden securely in a paper carrier bag. It amused him greatly that he had just bought further ingredients for his master's potion from the father of one of his arch enemies. With a contented smirk on his face, Severus put one hand in the pocket of his muggle-style trousers and decided to take a walk.  
  
He walked past the Minster, and passed crowds of people out soaking up the sun. Pensioners sitting on benches with their glasses off and their eyes closed, young mothers with prams, children chasing one another up and down the streets with water pistols. He reached the shade of the old city walls and walked along them, so lost in thought that he jumped visibly when a high, girlish voice called,  
  
"Excuse me!"  
  
Severus looked around but saw no one.  
  
"Hello!" the same voice called.  
  
He looked up, taking his hand out of his pocket to shield his eyes against the sunlight, but still he could make out little more than the silhouette of a young girl up on the wall.  
  
"Yes?" he said impatiently, screwing up his eyes.  
  
"Hi," she said. "I was wondering if you'd do me a big favour. Will you take a photo of me with my camera?"  
  
She held it down to him, a large, bulky, old-fashioned looking device. Severus took it reluctantly, but pointed out,  
  
"You won't get much of a picture with that sun behind you."  
  
Though he couldn't see her face, he was sure the girl was grinning.  
  
"Yes I will. Dad did something with it so that it can take pictures like that. Go on, try it, please."  
  
With a sigh, Severus tucked his shopping under his arm and held the camera up to his face. He looked up and was mildly surprised to see the girl had been right. Though the sun was right behind her, as he stepped back the camera showed him every detail of her face and figure, haloed by the bright light. She was very small and skinny with a narrow, pointed face. Her short and wispy hair was strawberry blonde and her eyes looked like they were a little too big for her face. They also had no particular colour, being neither completely blue, brown, green or any other colour that one could pick out.  
  
She wore a loose orange top that looked far too wide for her and a tight tartan mini-skirt that hid little from where Severus was standing. While he got the camera into position, she sprawled against the low wall behind her, flashing a row of very white teeth at him. He took a photo and prepared to hand the camera back, but she ran along the wall, climbed down a couple of steps and then dropped lightly to the ground.  
  
"Thanks," she said, taking the camera from him. She held out a very thin hand.  
  
"I'm Josie, by the way. Josephine Coronis," she added, putting on a posh voice.  
  
"Severus Snape," he replied stiffly, while she shook his hand with vigour.  
  
Josephine sniggered, then covered her mouth with her hand when she realised how impolite she was being.  
  
"That's a rather 'severe' name," she teased. "Or is it 'sever us', as in 'cut us up into little pieces and serve us up for dinner'? Sorry," she giggled, seeing the unamused look on his face, "but it is a bit of a mouthful. Mind if I call you Sev?"  
  
He winced.  
  
"Would Sevvie be better?" she suggested.  
  
"Sev will do - just fine," said Severus, feeling it was about time he were getting on his way, but somehow reluctant to leave this impossibly colourful, vibrant creature.  
  
Josephine, for her part, did not even seem to give the idea of letting him leave a moment's thought. She hung the camera round her neck and seized his arm, wrapping both of hers firmly around it.  
  
"Now," she said, "where do we go?"  
  
"I - don't know. Shouldn't you be at school?"  
  
"It's school holidays, Sev! Tell you what, there's this lovely little ice cream parlour about ten minutes' walk from here. We could go there. I wouldn't say 'no' to a Banana Split, would you?"  
  
Severus thought for a moment. He still had a few sickles in his pocket, but how many pounds did he have? For that matter, how much did ice creams cost in the Muggle world?  
  
"If you're worrying about money," Josephine said quietly, "Don't. They run a Muggle parlour, but they're wizards and take both Muggle and wizard money."  
  
Severus gaped at her for a moment, then he said distractedly, "Nuts."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Not banana," he explained. "But nuts."  
  
"Oh!" Josephine exclaimed happily. "I'm sure they have loads of those. Come along."  
  
The ice cream parlour in question was already packed, but Josephine led the way to a small, round table right at the back. A man with a shiny, bald round head and a midriff bulge that hung low over the far too tight-looking belt that held up his white trousers came bustling over to them presently. He smiled broadly at the girl.  
  
"Ah, Miss Josie. Always a pleasure to see you."  
  
"Hello, Bacchus," she said cheerfully. "How are you?"  
  
"Fine, thank you, Miss Josie. Except ..." the man lowered his voice and half-closed his mouth so that he was now speaking conspiratorially through a gap between his lips in the right-hand corner of his mouth.  
  
"My grandson's been messing with his dad's wand again. He looks set to be a great wizard someday, mind you. The things he can do already! Trouble is, it was a bit awkward explaining to the neighbours how their bulldog happened to grow a long bushy tail."  
  
Josephine gave a ringing laugh that caused Severus to look around anxiously at the other guests, but no one was looking their way. At the next table, a young woman with short dark hair was spooning partially melted vanilla ice cream into the rather sticky-looking mouth of the curly-headed child in the high chair beside her.  
  
"Your usual, Miss Josie?" Bacchus enquired, and when she nodded eagerly he added, "and what'll the young gentleman have?"  
  
"Something with nuts," Josephine answered at once, "and what - vanilla?"  
  
"Yes - please," Severus said.  
  
Bacchus bustled away and returned shortly after with their orders. Severus waited until he had gone again and the girl beside him had begun chopping her banana into minute pieces with her spoon so that the whole thing ended up looking more like Banana Mash than Banana Split before he asked,  
  
"How did you know?"  
  
"Know what?" she said thickly through a mouthful of cold and mushy banana. "Oh, you mean about you being ... That was easy. For a start, even dressed like that, you don't look like a Muggle."  
  
The mention of that word again made Severus look around nervously, but all the other guests were much too engrossed in their own conversations to take any notice of what was being said at the table in the corner.  
  
"And then there was the camera," Josephine continued. "Your face showed so little surprise that the camera could take pictures against that amount of light that you had to be used to things acting differently to the way they do in the Muggle world. Satisfied?"  
  
"Not quite. How did the man who just served us know?"  
  
"Bacchus? Easy - I've never brought a Muggle in here yet, only wizards."  
  
"Oh. So I have the honour of being merely one in a long line of stray wizards you have picked up off the street? Thank you, I feel so flattered now."  
  
Josephine laughed again.  
  
"At least you're the first with a sense of humour," she said.  
  
Severus looked surprised.  
  
"You're the first to tell me I have one."  
  
Josephine merely grinned at him, her cheeks bulging like a hamster's as she sucked happily at her banana and ice cream. Severus looked down and concentrated on his own.  
  
"You don't much approve of me, do you?" the girl asked suddenly.  
  
Severus seemed to consider.  
  
"No, not much," he agreed.  
  
She nodded. "I suppose you normally only take very serious girls out. The kind with glasses on their long, straight noses, their - probably black - hair tied back in nice, neat buns, their faces pale and pasty. Girls who talk intelligently about the policies of the Ministry and St. Mungo's latest advancement with regard to finding a cure for the Stiffneck Syndrome. Boring girls."  
  
Severus's face flushed slightly and Josephine's sharp eyes noticed at once.  
  
"Oh," she said, sounding surprised. "You don't mean to tell me you've never gone out with any girl before?! Wow!" she added with a chuckle when he said nothing. "That's pretty impressive, at your age!"  
  
"And what do you mean by that?" he demanded a trifle indignantly. "I'm only eighteen."  
  
"Oh, is that all?" It was her turn to blush. "Sorry, but I thought you looked ... well, quite a bit older. I'm sixteen, by the way."  
  
"You don't act it," Severus found himself saying. "The way you talk makes you seem older, too."  
  
Josephine looked at him sideways. "You think so? Funny, so does my dad. He says I show too much ... what was it ... espi-something, for a girl of my 'tender age'."  
  
"Espièglerie?"  
  
"Yes, that's it. Too much of that - whatever it is. Anyway, he doesn't approve. Wants me to be more serene and not draw so much attention to myself. Well, he is Greek," she finished, as though that explained it all.  
  
"Really? But you sound local."  
  
"Oh, I am. Mum's English, you see. Dad met her on a kind of wizard youth exchange and moved over here to marry her. 'Course, his family weren't any too happy. The youngest descendant of the ancient Greek sorceress Medea taking his precious blood across the Channel to marry some English witch, however noble her ancestry ... He often jokes that Merlin's niece wouldn't have been good enough."  
  
"His family attaches a lot of importance to ancestry, then?" Severus asked almost innocently.  
  
"Coo, what? You never saw such a crazy bunch of amateur genealogists! Blood is thicker than water, as they say - well, they're certainly thick enough!"  
  
Severus frowned.  
  
"Do you really think so little of your ancestry?"  
  
"No," Josephine said honestly. "Actually, I'm rather proud of it. Not many people can claim to be directly related to ancient Greek sorceresses, after all - even dead ones."  
  
She grinned as she put her spoon down on her empty dish.  
  
"Right, now you know more or less all there is to know about me, and I know next to nothing about you, except your name, that you're eighteen, you like vanilla ice cream and nuts and you carry mysterious paper bags around with you."  
  
"Isn't that enough?"  
  
The girl pretended to think hard, screwing up her face most comically.  
  
"Hmmm . no!" she said decidedly. "Definitely not enough.  
  
In spite of himself, Severus felt the corners of his mouth twitch. Josephine noticed at once and beamed at him.  
  
"There, you see, we'll get rid of that severe image of yours yet. So, where do we go when we've paid? Shall we take a walk along the wall or would you prefer a little sight-seeing? Have you been inside the Minster yet?"  
  
Severus shook his head and signalled to the proprietor that he wanted to pay.  
  
"No," he said while Bacchus went to fetch the bill. "I don't have the time. This paper bag holds some items I had to purchase for my - employer. He's waiting for them."  
  
"Oh, I see."  
  
The girl's face fell, and she said nothing until Severus had paid and they were both standing back outside in the sunlight.  
  
"Well, goodbye then," said Josephine, holding out her hand.  
  
Severus shook it.  
  
"Goodbye," he said, and he turned to go.  
  
But as he walked away from the ice cream parlour he thought he could still feel her eyes on him, and sure enough, when his footsteps slowed and he looked back, she was still standing there. She waved, he waved back, and walked on, this time feeling that she was no longer watching, and somehow that made every step harder to take. He slowed again and, silently cursing himself for doing what he felt he ought not, he turned right around and strode briskly back towards and past the ice cream parlour, following the slender figure that was now winding its way through the crowds, away from him. She walked more quickly and so did he, until at last he was practically jogging along.  
  
"Josephine!" he called out at last. "Josephine, wait!"  
  
She stopped, her back still towards him, and waited for him to catch up. When he did, still she did not turn.  
  
"I - err - I just wondered," he said slightly breathlessly. "I should be free this evening, if you are. Maybe we could meet back at the wall where we did earlier and - go out for dinner?"  
  
There was a short pause, then Josephine turned around and grinned up at him mischievously.  
  
"Took you long enough, didn't it?" she teased. "Okay, see you at six- thirty. Don't be late, Sev."  
  
With that she hurriedly pinched his long nose and skipped off along the road, singing merrily to herself.  
  
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4 - Lily and Petunia  
  
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On the very afternoon when he had passed his apparition test, James materialised on the doorstep of a small, suburban semi-detached house and looked around him. Luckily, the oppressing heat seemed to be keeping the inhabitants of this sunwashed street in the coolness of their houses or lounging in the shade of the apple trees and sun shades in their back gardens. Only a small black cat sunning itself on the roof of a parked car raised its head a fraction and peered at him through slitted eyes before deciding further movement would be a waste of energy, and utterly pointless.  
  
It laid its head back on the red polish and stretched its legs. James ran a hand through his hair, causing it to stick out even more wildly than usual, walked up to the front porch of number ten and rang the bell. A long silence followed, but then he heard the sound of someone approaching, and a moment later Mr. Evans opened the door wide, blinking against the sunlight.  
  
"James!" he exclaimed, genuinely pleased.  
  
"Hello," said James. "Sorry to intrude like this, but ..."  
  
"Come on in," Lily's father said, standing back to let him pass. "Go on through to the garden. My wife's just brought the seed cake out - ah!"  
  
Mrs. Evans looked up as her husband marched James through the hall and out the back door, announcing, "Look who's come for tea, Rose."  
  
"James, how splendid!" cried Lily's mother.  
  
"Mrs. Evans, I don't mean to intrude ..."  
  
"Nonsense, dear. We were just about to have some tea and cake. Lily will be in soon. She's been out swimming with some of her old friends from primary school. Sit down - there," she said, guiding him to a seat. "What will you have? Tea? Coffee? Lemonade?"  
  
James, suddenly finding himself seated in a basket chair without any clear notion of how she had propelled him there so quickly, said breathlessly, "Lemonade would be fine, Mrs. Evans."  
  
"Rose. And my husband is Ted. Have a piece of cake?" she added, passing him a plate.  
  
"Thank you," said James, taking it hurriedly.  
  
A few minutes later, the back door opened again. It was not Lily however, but her bony sister who stood in the doorway.  
  
"Mother," she said in clear, succinct tones, "I was about to call Vernon. Is it all right if he co- What's he doing here?" she demanded with distaste, glaring at James.  
  
"James is having tea with us," said her mother.  
  
"Hello, Petunia," said James, half-rising to shake her hand with a smile. Petunia waited until he had sat down again before she spluttered,  
  
"B-but ... I was going to ask Vernon to come round ..."  
  
"No reason why you can't," her father said, helping himself to a large piece of seed cake and sitting down.  
  
"No reason?!" Petunia cried. "You expect me to invite my fiancee round with - with him here?" She jerked her head at James.  
  
"Petunia!" both her parents exclaimed. James interrupted hastily, deciding to ignore her rudeness to him.  
  
"You're engaged, Petunia? Congratulations."  
  
"Thanks," she replied grudgingly. "Of course, if Vernon finds you sitting here, he may well change his mind."  
  
"Oh for heaven's sake, Petunia!" her mother cried. "The least you can do is be civil to Lily's boyfriend."  
  
James felt the blood rush to his face at being referred to in that manner.  
  
"After all, Lily has always behaved like a saint towards Vernon," Mrs. Evans went on.  
  
Petunia gave a mirthless laugh that sounded more like a cough.  
  
They heard a noise in the hallway and presently Lily appeared through the back door. She was wearing a short blue skirt and a white blouse and her thick red hair hung wet about her face, a few stray strands curtaining her green eyes.  
  
"Mum," she said, "have you seen my - oh." She blushed as she spotted James. "Hello."  
  
James wanted to leap to his feet and grab her hand, but he was highly conscious of her family all around him, and all he managed was a meek "Hi". Petunia stared first at her sister, then at James. It was Lily's mother who broke the silence.  
  
"What was it you wanted, Lily dear?" she asked.  
  
"What? Oh, I was ... it was ... erm, I can't remember," Lily stammered.  
  
"Well, why don't you nip upstairs and dry your hair, maybe it will come to you."  
  
Lily nodded and left them again. James noticed that her parents, who had both stopped talking and were shooting silent glares at their elder daughter, seemed now to be eating their cake rather quickly, and Lily's father drank his tea while it was still so hot that the vapour wetted his cheeks and James was sure he must have burnt his tongue. Petunia stood sulkily by the door, making no sound. Feeling highly uncomfortable, James half-heartedly took a bite of his cake. It was delicious, and he told Mrs. Evans so. She smiled graciously and said "Thank you."  
  
The silence continued while they ate their cakes, and by the time Lily returned with her red hair sleek and shining, her lips slightly pinker and her eyelashes darker than before and glittering silver earrings dangling from her lobes, her parents had almost finished clearing the table, so that the only things remaining were James's glass and seed cake. Lily's mother thrust a plate with a piece of cake into Petunia's hands.  
  
"Come along, Petunia," she said, "you can eat that indoors."  
  
"But I wasn't going indoors," said Petunia testily.  
  
"Yes you are, there's something I want you to help me with. Come along."  
  
Lily's mother winked at her husband, smiled first at Lily, then at James and propelled Petunia back into the house, muttering angrily to her under her breath. Ted Evans rose from his seat.  
  
"Yes, well, must be getting on. Jobs won't do themselves, you know," he murmured.  
  
He patted Lily on the shoulder and followed his wife and elder daughter. There was an awkward silence while both Lily and James tried to think of something to say. In the end, they both spoke at once.  
  
"Did you have a nice holiday?" asked James, while Lily said,  
  
"I'm so glad you came round."  
  
They both stopped talking. Lily smiled sheepishly and James grinned.  
  
"So am I," he said. "Your sister doesn't seem too pleased though."  
  
"Oh, well, Pet doesn't like wizards. I hope she wasn't too rude."  
  
"No, she was all right," James lied. "So, how was your holiday?"  
  
"Nice," Lily said. "But - well, I couldn't really enjoy it. I kept thinking, you know."  
  
"Oh? What about?"  
  
Lily smiled. "Well, actually, you entered into my thoughts from time to time. And Professor Darkhardt. How he died to give us all time to escape. I can't forget that. It was so brave of him, don't you think?"  
  
"He was a brave man," James agreed. "He'll be sorely missed by a lot of people, though Remus will miss him most, I expect."  
  
"Yes." Lily shuddered. "When I think of him facing those Dementors, and you going back to help ... What are the Dementors up to, James? Have they joined You-Know-Who?"  
  
"Dumbledore doesn't seem to think so yet, at least not all of them. Most of the Dementors still seem to be guarding Azkaban prison."  
  
"That must be a terrible place."  
  
"I dare say it is, but it's the only place Voldemort's supporters can be kept safely locked away - at least, as long as the Dementors don't join the fight on the wrong side."  
  
"And if they do join him?"  
  
"Then 'God help us all', as Remus's dad put it."  
  
"So what happens now? What did you decide at the meeting?"  
  
"First of all, that we would all take a little time to settle into our new jobs before taking an active part. Remus's uncle's got a pretty good spy network set up, it seems, and Peter's sister Pippa has established some contacts abroad."  
  
"Abroad? Has You-Know-Who expanded his influence that far?"  
  
"It looks like he might. What with all the spying and such, McGonagall said it's like being back in the Second World War, only far more dangerous, because the things Voldemort can do are so much more terrible than what a Muggle dictator is capable of. She seemed pretty upset."  
  
Lily looked worried. "She's right, of course. There are bound to be more sacrifices, I suppose."  
  
She looked at James, and he saw that her eyes were filled with tears. He got to his feet.  
  
"What's the matter?" he asked gently.  
  
"I don't know. I suppose I'm just frightened. Y-you're always so brave, James, but so was Professor Darkhardt, and now he's dead. I'm afraid that someday you might face similar odds, and make the same decision he did and get yourself killed."  
  
James smiled softly. "Would you be so upset about that?"  
  
"Just thinking about it gives me nightmares."  
  
"Funny. And the only way I can keep myself from having nightmares these days is by thinking of you before I shut my eyes."  
  
"Really?"  
  
James nodded and came closer. Lily gazed up at him expectantly and excitedly. Slowly he bent his head towards her, and she closed her eyes as his lips touched hers. Neither of them heard the back door close, as indeed neither had been aware of it opening several minutes before.  
  
Petunia looked around the empty kitchen, feeling bemused and - she had to admit it - afraid. She had overheard talk of something called Dementors. Though she had no idea what a Dementor looked like, they were obviously dangerous, or Lily and James would not have sounded so worried. And then there was this other person they had spoken of, Voldemort. A wizard dictator of some sort, it seemed, who could cause more devastation than World War II. Petunia shuddered.  
  
The thought of any wizard ruling the country was bad enough, but an evil wizard at that ... For a wild moment she considered running away, leaving the country. But James had said that evil was reaching abroad too. James ... Petunia pushed the curtain aside a fraction so she could look out of the window.  
  
The pair had sat down. She could see the back of James's disgracefully untidy black head above the backrest of the basket couch. Lily's long red mane was trailing down over the back of the seat, her head evidently resting on his shoulder. Petunia remembered how her sister had introduced her to James that day on the platform. He had come up smiling, joking, determined to be at his most charming. And the worst of it was, it had worked, to an extent. Petunia remembered exactly how he had looked that day, how his hazel eyes had sparkled ... she shook herself.  
  
He was a wizard, a scruffy, arrogant freak with a wand in his pocket. Petunia hated wizards. She hated the weird way in which they dressed, hated the way her parents fawned on Lily just because she could wave a silly little stick around and make things move without touching them, she hated the cauldrons, the spellbooks, the magical sweets and the crazy, freak friends Lily brought home from school.  
  
She looked out the window again at the back of Lily's head, wishing with all her heart that her sister were not there, that she would go away and never return, or better still, that she had never been born in the first place. 


	19. Part 19: Off to Work

Prequel, Part 19: Off to Work  
  
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1 - Home Sweet Home  
  
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Augustus Snape strode over to the coat stand and removed a long black cloak from its hook. He was a tall man with a long, hooked nose and black hair that framed a pale, narrow face. His wife, a petite woman with very fair hair and black eyes, hurried over to assist him as he pulled the cloak over his shoulders.  
  
"Must you go out now?" she asked timidly.  
  
"I have been summoned," he snapped back.  
  
"But you haven't had any dinner yet," she reminded him. "You must be hungry. At least have a bite to eat before you leave."  
  
"No. One does not keep the Dark Lord waiting."  
  
His wife shivered. "So that's where you're going?"  
  
"So what? That's my business, isn't it? Why must you keep poking your nose into everything? Do I have to face an inquisition every time I leave the house?"  
  
She flinched at the sharpness of his tone.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"Oh, for heaven's sake, stop apologising for every little thing," he growled.  
  
She opened her mouth to say she was sorry again, but stopped herself just in time. "I'll wait up and make you a little something when you get in," she offered.  
  
"Do what you feel you have to," he said coldly, "but stop bothering me with every little detail!"  
  
She stared at him unhappily. "Oh, Augustus, can't we .?"  
  
"What?" he demanded with an exasperated sigh, stopping by the front door.  
  
"Well, can't we try to get on with one another? We've been married for eighteen years. Surely after all that time, we should have found a way to live peacefully together."  
  
"We have found a way," he replied. "Or we would have, if you would only leave me alone. After eighteen years, I would have thought you would have learnt just to leave me alone!"  
  
"But I'm your wife!" she cried. "I know you never really loved me, but we can't go on forever, living in the same house, each making out the other doesn't exist. Please let us at least try to be friends, if nothing else. As long as we can find a way that will make us less miserable."  
  
"Miserable?" he bellowed. "Of all the ungrateful . You eat, don't you? You have a place to stay and a roof over your head! You should be grateful I ever married you at all. If you're unhappy now, well, I can't help it. You wanted me to marry you in the first place. If it hadn't been for that ruddy child ."  
  
"Please don't blame Severus," his wife begged meekly. "It really wasn't his fault."  
  
Augustus grunted. "At least he has proved more satisfactory as a son than you have as a wife. So far, at any rate. He's kept away from Muggles and mudbloods and has always had the right attitude towards Muggle-loving fools like Albus Dumbledore," he hissed. "While you . You'd be quite happy if the Dark Lord had never risen, wouldn't you? You have absolutely no pride in the purity of your blood - though that is the only thing that made marrying you bearable in the first place."  
  
A tear rolled down Mrs. Snape's face.  
  
"Please, Augustus," she repeated. "I can't go on like this much longer. Please, at least let's try to be civil to one another."  
  
She held out a trembling hand to touch his arm, but he brushed her aside so brusquely that she stumbled back against a cupboard.  
  
"Just - keep - out - of - my - way!" he shouted.  
  
He raised his arm as though to strike, and she cowered away from him.  
  
"No, Augustus, please!"  
  
He made a disgusted sound with his tongue as he glared at her. Turning on his heel, he pulled a black mask down over his face and strode out the front door, slamming it behind him. His wife walked over to the living room door and looked around her at the expensive decor, the heavy velvet curtains and elegant furnishings. She went in and sank down on the sofa. Tears started into her eyes, and she did not bother to try and hold them back, but sobbed uncontrollably.  
  
Upstairs in his bedroom, Severus Snape was examining his reflection in a tall, gilt-edged mirror. He heard his parents quarrelling, but was too used to it to take any real notice. He straightened his tie once more and pursed up his lips. Did he look enough like a Muggle now? Josephine probably would not think so. He wished sincerely that they could have arranged to meet somewhere other than back in that Muggle town. Still, he supposed it was simpler this way, meeting back where he had first made her acquaintance, than arranging complicated meeting places. He tuned his ears back in to what was going on downstairs. He heard the door slam and knew his father had gone out. That meant his mother would at this moment be withdrawing into the living room to cry. He would give her a moment to calm down before he went and said his goodbyes. There was a scuffling noise behind him. Severus turned around and saw Mirmy, the family house elf, standing in the doorway with her bat-like ears drooping and her pear-shaped nose twitching.  
  
"What do you want?" he demanded.  
  
"Mirmy was just coming up the stairs from the kitchen when she saw the mistress go into the living room," replied the house elf in a squeaky voice. "The mistress looked very upset. Mirmy was wondering if the young master would like to comfort her."  
  
"I don't have the time for that," Severus said irritably.  
  
The elf shot him a mildly reproachful look. "The young master is the mistress's son. Surely he does not like to see her cry?"  
  
"Oh, she always cries," said Severus. "If I made a fuss every time . Anyway, it's none of your business, so scoot!"  
  
Mirmy shrugged her skinny shoulders and departed. Severus watched the spot where the house elf had stood and frowned. Why did the blasted creature have to keep pestering him in this way? What was it to her if his mother kept weeping her eyes out? And yet, somewhere deep down, Severus acknowledged that his annoyance at the elf's constant pestering was partly down to the fact that he knew he should offer more support to his mother. After all, hadn't she always stood up for him when he was a child? But nowadays he had very little patience with her. She was so timid, so mousy, so irritatingly submissive . He sighed and went downstairs.  
  
Severus paused outside the living room door. He knocked although the door was open, waited a second or two and went in. His mother tucked her handkerchief up her sleeve and looked up.  
  
"Severus ."  
  
"I just wanted to let you know I'm going out, mother," he said quickly.  
  
His mother looked slightly startled. "I-in your Muggle best, dear?" she stammered anxiously, stroking a strand of hair behind her left ear.  
  
Severus shrugged. "I can't very well go walking round York in robes. Not if I want to remain inconspicuous, anyway."  
  
"Inconspicuous?" she asked suspiciously. "Severus, are you - meeting someone in York?"  
  
He nodded rather awkwardly, which brought a rare smile to his mother's lips.  
  
"Is it a girl?"  
  
"Yes," he admitted grudgingly.  
  
His mother continued smiling and came closer to smooth his hair.  
  
"Well, I hope she's a nice girl," she said. "Why don't you bring her back here?"  
  
Severus cleared his throat irritably. Bring a girl like Josephine back to meet his frightened mother and his commanding, moody father?  
  
"I don't think that would be such a good idea."  
  
"Why not?" She went suddenly pale. "Severus, she's not - not a Muggle, is she? You know your father would ."  
  
"Don't be ridiculous, mother," he replied so harshly that she flinched. A part of him felt revolted at her weakness, but another part actually felt sorry or her, and he lowered his voice slightly.  
  
"Of course she's not a Muggle."  
  
He immediately regretted having softened his tone, for his mother's smile returned. She gave a sigh of relief.  
  
"But then, why won't you bring her?"  
  
"She's - not a very conventional type," he said, and felt at the same time that he could hardly have picked a less adequate way of putting it.  
  
The truth was that Josephine wasn't any kind of 'type'. She was altogether different from all he knew, and he suddenly wondered what had possessed him to agree to meeting her this evening. Perhaps it was because she was so different, he thought. Because the other girls he knew, somehow, where all much of a muchness. Because he was never able to remember what any other girls looked like, even though he may have known them for years, whereas Josephine . He had only met her once, and yet the image of her was burned so brightly into his mind that it was like a photograph, but more, real, more tangible, more three-dimensional than anyone or anything he had ever come across. Clear, bright, forthright, smiling. And perhaps it was because she was the only girl who had ever seemed to take an interest in him. He realised all of a sudden that his mother was watching him curiously, her head a little to one side.  
  
"Well, it's up to you, of course," she said. "But if you change your mind, I'm sure Mirmy would be happy to cook you two some dinner."  
  
Severus nodded, though he was secretly determined to do nothing of the sort. Josephine and his family, he was sure, would not mix. He bent forward mechanically to give his mother a swift kiss on the cheek, then he disapparated with a pop.  
  
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2 - A Night Out  
  
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It was not yet really dark out as Severus walked briskly back to the spot where he had met the girl this afternoon. As he approached, he saw her sitting on the steps leading up to the top of the city wall, looking out in the opposite direction. She was wearing a very short red dress and fishnet tights and had attached a hair piece to the back of her head that didn't quite match her natural colour. For some reason, Severus was surprised to see her there - he had expected her to be late. He coughed when he reached her, and Josephine looked down with a grin.  
  
"Hiya, Sev!" she exclaimed cheerfully, swinging her legs.  
  
"Hello, Josephine," he replied with dignity, rather glad that he was not likely to meet anyone he knew in York. Josephine giggled.  
  
"Help me down," she said, leaning forward to touch his shoulders.  
  
Severus felt rather strange with his hands on her skinny hips, but he lifted her down like a doll and a moment later her eyes were flashing up at him from below the green-shaded lids and long lashes heavily covered in mascara. Her lipstick was bright red, and though Severus shuddered slightly at the sight of it, still he had to admit that it somehow suited her. Josephine was, after all, a very colourful person, and any paler, more subdued colour would have looked out of place on her.  
  
"So, where shall we go?" she was asking, her hand grasping his without much ado.  
  
"Well, I don't really ."  
  
"Never mind, I know a lovely little place, really cosy and romantic, you know." She winked cheekily. "They have a dance floor too, and live music, not just some dusty old jukebox. How about it?"  
  
"Sounds - wonderful," said Severus, rather overwhelmed.  
  
"Oh goodie," Josephine said enthusiastically, dragging him off along the road. "This is going to be such a fun evening, I can tell."  
  
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Severus pushed back his empty plate, leaned back in his seat and took a sip of red wine from his glass. Josephine rested her chin on her hands and looked at him.  
  
"Well," she said. "What did you think of that dinner?"  
  
"Very nice," said Severus, setting his glass down on the table.  
  
Josephine smiled. They sat for a moment in silence, which was unusual for Josephine, who had been chatting to him animatedly all evening. The band struck up a new tune, and Severus turned his head towards them automatically.  
  
"Shall we dance?" Josephine asked at once.  
  
Severus looked slightly horrified at the idea. "Dance? But I don't know how. I've never ."  
  
"Oh, that doesn't matter," said Josephine cheerfully, jumping up and taking him by the hand. "I'll show you."  
  
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It was late. That much Severus knew, but he somehow couldn't bring himself to look at his watch to find out just how late it was. Josephine, two pink spots high on her cheeks, her eyes bright, was twirling merrily around in the middle of the street, her arms spread wide, humming the tune of their last dance together. She stumbled, and Severus rushed forwards, taking her arm with sudden anxiety.  
  
"Come off the road," he begged. "If a car comes along ."  
  
"Oh, Sevvie," she chuckled, "what would a car be doing all the way out here in the middle of the night?"  
  
It was true that the place they were in - a secluded, residential area - seemed utterly deserted and devoid of traffic. Severus let go of Josephine's arm and she went on humming for a bit. They reached the far end of the street and Josephine stopped outside a tall, white building with steps leading up to an arched doorway. She began skipping up them, but stopped halfway and looked back at Severus, who had stopped on the pavement.  
  
"What's up?" she asked. "Growing roots there, are you?"  
  
"No," Severus replied. "I just thought - well, perhaps I'd better be going now. After all, it is getting rather late."  
  
"Actually, it's already got late," Josephine remarked. "But who cares? Come on, get up these stairs now. Don't make me come and get you," she added mischievously, causing Severus to smile ever so slightly.  
  
He followed her up slowly and Josephine strode straight up to the doorbell and rang it loudly before he could stop her.  
  
"Josephine, you'll wake the whole house!" he cried anxiously.  
  
"Nonsense," she said. "Mum's always up late and Dad - well, Dad's an old worry-guts, to tell you the truth. He never sleeps a wink until I get in, no matter what I tell him, so the least he can do is open the door for us and get us a cuppa."  
  
Sure enough, as she spoke a light appeared so promptly that it was obvious no one had been forced to get out of bed in order to switch it on. They heard brisk footsteps in the hall and Severus willed his heart to stop beating so quickly as he waited for the door to open. He didn't know why he felt this way, but somehow the idea of meeting Josephine's parents so suddenly and without preparation made him nervous.  
  
The door was opened presently by a very tall, very thin man with jet-black hair, slightly tanned skin and a very pointed chin. He wore silver-rimmed pince-nez on a very straight nose and spoke quickly and with a slight foreign twang.  
  
"Josie, you are late again!"  
  
"Lovely to see you too, Daddy," she said cheekily, standing on tiptoe to plant a kiss on his cheek.  
  
Severus half expected Mr. Coronis to begin a long-winded lecture, but instead he smiled at his daughter, shaking his head in an exasperated fashion, then turned his attention to Severus.  
  
"Hello," he said, looking genuinely surprised. "Who have we here?"  
  
"Daddy, meet Sev," said Josephine. "Sev, meet Daddy. Shake hands, you two."  
  
She seized her father's hand in her right and Severus's in her left and placed them together. Severus shook hands shortly, very much aware of the older man's dark eyes studying him closely.  
  
"Severus Snape," he said, correcting the introduction.  
  
Josephine's father nodded curtly and stood aside. Severus stepped into the hallway and looked around him. The house was done out elegantly with wood panelling and old-fashioned gas lighting. There was little in this space to suggest that it was inhabited by anything but an ordinary, non-magic family. The effect was rather different, however, when Severus followed Josephine into the living room.  
  
This, too, was wood panelled, but the chest of the amply proportioned old man in the large portrait above the fireplace was heaving as he slept and the black queen on the chessboard in the middle of the glass topped coffee table had just drawn a long sword and sliced off the head of the white king, which rolled along the board and onto the floor.  
  
"Haha!" the woman seated on the small pouffe by the fire laughed shrilly, looking up as they came in. "You lost again," she told Josephine's father.  
  
"Only because you cheated again," he said with a touch of amusement in his voice.  
  
"Me? Darling, you know I would never!"  
  
She got to her feet, grinning all the while she was pretending to be offended, and came over to the door. She pinched her husband's cheek and hugged her daughter while Severus studied her closely. She was almost as tall as he was, skinny like her daughter, but dark-haired. It was obvious at once, however, that it was from her that Josephine had inherited her temperament, as well as her unusually coloured eyes.  
  
"You're in early, Josie," said Mrs. Coronis with a twinkle.  
  
Josephine grinned. "Daddy doesn't seem to think so. And nor does Sevvie. They're both being most disapproving. I think they should get on fine, don't you?"  
  
Mrs. Coronis turned and looked appraisingly at the young man.  
  
"Sevvie?" she said questioningly. "That will be you, I take it?"  
  
"Err, yes," Severus admitted. "Severus Snape. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Coronis," he added stiffly.  
  
"You're right, Josie," said Mrs. Coronis to her daughter with a laugh. "They should get on well."  
  
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3 - Words of Advice  
  
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Bridget Potter sighed heavily as she fastened the buttons of her blouse. It was Sunday, and in a way, the last Sunday of the 'summer holidays' for her. She and the boys had spent the last few weeks staying at the Lupins'. But Peter's parents had picked him up yesterday, and this afternoon she, James and Sirius would be going back to London. And tomorrow, all four boys would be starting the next step of their education. That meant that her son and Sirius, who was almost like a second son to her, would be going to their first Auror training session. Their choice of profession worried Bridget in one way, and yet in another way, it made her feel safer. Surely, Auror training could only help prepare them for the dangers of the present-day wizarding world, so she told herself. And yet, in another sense, it would throw them into the path of even more danger.  
  
Bridget checked her watch. It was early, just seven o'clock in the morning. The boys would still be either fast asleep or whispering to each other in Remus's room. Faith, certainly, would still be sleeping. She went out into the passage and tiptoed to the stairs. She found the kitchen door ajar and was hardly surprised to see that John was already up.  
  
"Good morning," he said, looking up from his paper.  
  
He hadn't shaved yet, and the stubble on his chin, the grey streaks in his hair and the shadows the early morning sun cast on his face made him look older and more careworn than ever. Bridget smiled.  
  
"Good morning."  
  
"You're up early. Couldn't you sleep?"  
  
"Can any of us these days?"  
  
"True." There was a pause. "Have some coffee?" John offered.  
  
"No. Thanks."  
  
Bridget strolled over to the window and looked out at the small back garden. A rook was perched on the birdbath, nipping at the water. A squirrel darted out from behind a bush and ferreted among the flowers. It all looked so peaceful. And yet Bridget felt nervous, jumpy, her stomach uncomfortably knotted.  
  
"Can I ask you something, John?" she said suddenly.  
  
"Of course," he replied, laying aside the Daily Prophet.  
  
Bridget turned slowly to face him. She leaned against the sideboard behind her and paused, unsure of just how to begin.  
  
"This ... this business. Is there really any point to it?" she asked at last.  
  
"Business?" he asked. "What business?"  
  
"All of it," she went on more quickly. "The Order of the Phoenix, the spying and preparing to fight the Death Eaters, hoping to prevent their crimes before they happen . Do you think it will do any good, in the end?"  
  
"In what way?"  
  
"In any way. What I mean is, will we make a difference? Do you we stand a chance - a genuine chance, I mean - of stopping the madness, and winning this 'war', for want of a better expression?"  
  
John's brow creased thoughtfully. "Well," he began slowly, "Dumbledore says we can win it, or at least that one of you - your father or James or even yourself - will, eventually, somehow be able to defeat Voldemort."  
  
"But how?" Bridget demanded impatiently. "Eventually is all very well, but while he's telling us to wait, promising that we will find out in time what is to be done, other people are suffering and dying! We may be able to save some lives, but in the long run, will our victories really exceed the losses? Voldemort's power is increasing daily, and I don't see that we're ever going to get any nearer to stopping him."  
  
"I take it that means you don't believe we can win," John said quietly.  
  
"I wish I knew what to believe," Bridget sighed. "What do you think, John? Do we stand a chance?"  
  
He answered slowly, "I think - you're asking the wrong person, Bridget. I have always been, to some extent, a pessimist. It seems to me that it's hope you want, and I don't know if I can give you that. I want to believe that we will succeed, but I'm not sure. I wish I were. If only I had a little of Malcolm's optimism ." He sighed. "Perhaps I would have a few sleepless nights less."  
  
Bridget studied him thoughtfully. "I think there is something else you could do to rest more easily at night," she said.  
  
"Oh yes?" He looked puzzled.  
  
Bridget nodded and went on unerringly. "Yes. If you told Faith about the Order ."  
  
To her surprise, John smiled. For a fleeting moment, an amused twinkle appeared in his eye. The twinkle that she had so often seen there in earlier days, when the world around them had not been in such a terrible mess.  
  
"What?" Bridget asked.  
  
"You've been talking to Malcolm, haven't you?" he said. "I wondered what you two were whispering about so secretively after dinner on Friday. Did he ask you to have a word with me because I won't listen to him?"  
  
Bridget looked slightly uncomfortable. "Yes," she admitted grudgingly. "He did say something of that nature. But I was going to talk to you about it anyway," she went on quickly. "Because he's right. You do need to tell her."  
  
John shook his head, his face once again serious. "No. She's frightened enough as it is. If she knew that we're involved in actively trying to fight the Death Eaters ."  
  
"She'd worry, I admit," Bridget said quickly, "but I think it would take a huge weight off your mind."  
  
"So, in other words, you want me to unburden myself at the cost of her peace of mind?"  
  
"Peace of mind?!"  
  
Bridget's voice rose to a pitch that caused John to jump up and close the kitchen door, gesturing for her to lower her voice. Bridget did so, but went on intently.  
  
"Do you think Faith won't eventually find out anyway? All this worry is taking its toll on you, and you can't expect your wife not to notice that. I know I made a similar mistake once, when I tried to keep James safely out of the way of the Order, and kept the knowledge from him of who he really is. But I have accepted the fact that it was a mistake. And I don't like seeing you repeat it."  
  
"I'm not repeating it. It will do Faith no good to know about the Order."  
  
"Perhaps not directly. But nor will it do her any good to be kept in the dark, if it means you're going to worry yourself sick, always anxious to hide certain things from her, always worrying what will happen if she finds out."  
  
"I'm not worrying myself sick."  
  
Bridget gave a dry laugh. "Have you looked at yourself in a mirror lately, John? You've aged, do you know that? You really are making yourself ill. And I think it would be better for Faith to worry about you being involved in something that is, admittedly, dangerous, than have you gradually drawing further and further into yourself. Please, John," she went on, approaching the table and sitting down beside him, "tell her the truth." Her eyes, wide and anxious, bored into his. "It would make me sleep better."  
  
John smiled gently at her. "Thank you."  
  
It was Bridget's turn to look puzzled. "For what?"  
  
"For being such a good friend to Faith. For worrying about her."  
  
"She's not the only one I worry about," Bridget said quietly.  
  
John patted her hand kindly. "For worrying about us, then," he corrected himself. "For being such a good friend to both of us."  
  
She smiled back. "You two are the first real friends I have found since I left Vindictus. In a way, you've become my family. I can't bear to see either of you in trouble."  
  
"You must have been very lonely all those years."  
  
"Yes," Bridget admitted in a choking voice. "It was - horrible. I was still very young, only eighteen, when I left him. And I had no one to turn to. If it hadn't been for Mrs. Hammersmith's kindness, I'm sure I wouldn't be here today."  
  
John studied her face. It struck him suddenly that she was, even now, still very young. About twelve years younger than him, he calculated accurately. Aloud he said,  
  
"Did you never think of finding someone else, after your marriage broke up?"  
  
"No." She shook her head determinedly. "I couldn't. You see, I had loved Vindictus - or thought I did. And I did truly believe that he loved me when I married him. It wasn't just that things 'didn't work out' between us. I had trusted him. I had cared for him. And all along, he had never cared about me at all. But he had a way with him that could make people believe he cared. He was handsome, he had charm . and he broke my heart. I could never have trusted another man after that."  
  
"But that was a long time ago," John said. "Surely, now ."  
  
Bridget smiled. It was a queer, half sad little smile. "I don't know, John," she said. "I don't know if, even now, I'm ready to risk any kind of relationship again, or if I ever will be."  
  
There was a pause. Bridget got to her feet. She went to the back door and said,  
  
"I think I'll take a walk in the woods before breakfast." She looked back over her shoulder. "I realise I can't make you tell Faith the truth. But I really do recommend it. Do me a favour and think about it?"  
  
He nodded. Bridget went outside.  
  
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4 - The Ministry of Magic  
  
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Malcolm pushed the twigs aside with his hand and peered down through the branches. He turned around and looked at John, whose blue eyes asked a question. Malcolm nodded. Each gripping a rope firmly with both hands, they crouched on a thick branch, took a deep breath, and pushed off. Malcolm whooped as the leaves whipped his face, and he could hear John laughing just behind him. They reached the opposite tree safely and shook hands.  
  
"That," Malcolm pronounced, " was brilliant."  
  
"Robin Hood and Little John had nothing on us," John agreed.  
  
"You're absolutely right - Little John," Malcolm chuckled.  
  
"Hey, I'm just as tall as you are!" John protested.  
  
Malcolm laughed. "Shall we go again?"  
  
"You bet!"  
  
He gripped the rope again with both hands and swung away. A woman's voice called his name. He ignored her, he was having too much fun.  
  
"Malcolm. Malcolm!" the voice repeated.  
  
A hand touched his shoulder. Malcolm shook himself and looked up blearily at a fair face and a pair of big brown eyes.  
  
"I've brought you some coffee," the young woman said. "Thought you might need it."  
  
She set it down on his desk and walked over to her own in the other corner. Malcolm reached for his mug, took a sip, sat up a little straighter and drank some more.  
  
"Ahh," he sighed. "Thanks. You were right, I needed that. What sort of time is it?"  
  
"Seven twenty-five."  
  
Malcolm ran a hand through his hair. "What time did I get in last night?"  
  
She laughed. "I don't know. I got here half an hour ago and found you fast asleep with your head on your desk. I thought it might be an idea if I woke you up before Mr. Crouch gets here."  
  
Malcolm smiled, emptying his mug. "Very clever of you, my dear."  
  
"I try to be efficient."  
  
"You are, Laura, you are. So, what's on the agenda for today?"  
  
Laura checked a sheet of parchment in front of her. "Our new Aurors-in- training are due to arrive at nine. The raid has been scheduled for ten- thirty ."  
  
"Today? I thought that wasn't till Thursday."  
  
"It wasn't. Mr. Crouch changed the plans Friday evening, as you would know if you'd been here."  
  
"Yes, well . I wasn't."  
  
Laura studied him curiously. "What kept you? Found a new girlfriend?" she asked, grinning.  
  
"Not exactly," Malcolm said dryly.  
  
The young woman waited in vain for him to explain, but he said no more. She shrugged and turned her attention to a small owl that had just fluttered in through the door, carrying a note.  
  
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"You know, you really could have spent at least another half-hour in bed," John Lupin told his son.  
  
"I don't want to be late on my first day," said Remus, spreading butter on a slice of toast.  
  
John smiled.  
  
"There's little risk of that. You're more likely to be three quarters of an hour early."  
  
"Well, at least Mr. Westmore will see what a responsible young man you are," Faith said encouragingly, pouring out three cups of tea and bringing across one each for her husband and her son. She went to fetch her own and sat down next to Remus. "I do hope you'll like your new job."  
  
Remus shrugged his shoulders. "It won't really matter all that much if I don't. After all, it's not as though I was planning on a career at the Ministry. I just need a little money to keep me going."  
  
"You could have tried to get a teaching post somewhere, couldn't you?" Faith suggested.  
  
Remus shook his head. "Not without either years of practical experience or a proper scholarly education. And that means books and courses. Both of those cost money. And the only way I can get that is by taking on this job," he sighed.  
  
Faith patted his arm affectionately. "I'm sure it will all be worthwhile in the end. You'll make a fine teacher some day."  
  
Remus smiled at her over the brim of his teacup. He wished he had his mother's confidence in his abilities.  
  
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Pippa Pettigrew stopped the car in a most uninviting neighbourhood and got out.  
  
"Is this it?" Peter asked, following suit.  
  
Though his parents were magic people through and through - in private if not in public - he had never yet had occasion to visit the Ministry of Magic, and therefore had no idea of how to get there. Pippa locked the car.  
  
"Yes, this is it," she confirmed.  
  
She led the way to a very old red telephone box and held the door open for him. Peter entered, looking puzzled. Pippa closed the door behind them, lifted the receiver and dialled a number. 62442. Peter jumped a few inches off the ground and looked around him rather nervously as a cool, efficient female voice suddenly spoke from all around them.  
  
"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic," it said. "Please state your name and business."  
  
"Philippa Pettigrew, here to deliver Peter Pettigrew for his first day at work in the Apparition Test Centre."  
  
"Thank you," the voice replied. "Please take the badges and attach them to the front of your robes.  
  
As the voice spoke, two badges fell into the small metal compartment where coins are normally dropped. Pippa pinned hers onto her and handed one to Peter. His badge read Peter Pettigrew, First Work Day. The disembodied voice told them that they would be required to submit to a search and permit their wands to be registered at the security desk. Then the telephone box began to move. It took them down, down, down, giving Peter the queer sensation that he had left his stomach behind on the street. Finally, they came to a halt. A beam of light travelled up their bodies, and a moment later the voice spoke for the last time.  
  
"The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day."  
  
The door opened, and Peter followed his sister out into the brightly lit Atrium. He stared around him in amazement, taking in the mysterious ceiling, the glittering fountain and the sheer mass of people appearing and disappearing through the fireplaces.  
  
"That'll be you, as from tomorrow," Pippa said cheerfully. "There won't be any need for you to take the visitor's entrance once they've got you properly registered." She looked around searchingly for a moment, then spotted what she was looking for. "Ah, there's the security desk. Come along."  
  
And putting a hand on his shoulder, Pippa led her brother over to have his wand weighed and registered.  
  
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Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters and Wizengamot Administration Services.  
  
James Potter and Sirius Black stood side by side, each dressed in a plain set of black robes with their black hair recently cut. At first glance, they might have been mistaken for brothers, not least due to the fact that they were both wearing nearly identical smiles on their faces. Through a window they could see a very wintry London, though it was still mid-summer.  
  
"Looks like someone's feeling Christmasy a bit early in the year," James commented.  
  
"Or Maintenance wanted everyone to feel a bit cooler in here, considering it's so warm outside," Sirius suggested.  
  
They walked along the corridor, glancing at the signs on all the doors, and turned a corner. A pair of heavy doors barred their way. A balding old man in purple overalls was busy attaching a sign to the wall. He turned when they approached him.  
  
"Good morning," said Sirius brightly.  
  
"Mornin'," the old man grunted back.  
  
"We're looking for the Auror Headquarters," Sirius went on pleasantly. "They're through here, aren't they?"  
  
"Yup, right through them there doors." The old man indicated the doors in front of them. "I'm jus' puttin' up a new sign," he added, carelessly holding up a brass plate for them to see. "Seems Mr. Crouch wants to 'raise the level' round 'ere by 'aving posh notices put on the walls an' making Aurors keep the place tidy. Fat chance o' that." He laughed. "Aurors is too busy to bother with tidying up these days."  
  
"Too right! Our job's hardly to spend our time polishing doorknobs," Sirius remarked.  
  
The old man looked at them more interestedly.  
  
"You two planning on becoming Aurors, then?"  
  
"Absolutely," James confirmed.  
  
"Well, best o' luck. Wouldn't be my cup o' tea, but you two look like you might 'ave the guts. Takes guts, that job does. Always did, but even more now, what with certain goings-on. What with ." - He lowered his voice confidentially. - "You-Know-Who."  
  
Sirius and James exchanged glances.  
  
"Has there really been as much trouble here at the Ministry as the papers are saying?" James asked.  
  
"Coo, what? You don't know what trouble is 'less you've been working 'ere lately. People disappearin'. Others going all peculiar. Knew one o' the young Aurors what used to turn up for work just about this time o' day, I did. A prettier an' a nicer girl you never saw. Always polite, always 'ad a kind word for everyone. Muggle-born, she was. Anyway, one day, she turns up late for work. Never 'appened before in all the time I knew 'er. Totally changed 'er tune, she 'ad. Not a civil word in her head, and would you believe it, she only went an' attacked one o' the young blokes in there. Chap who'd known her and worked with her for years. Thick friends they'd been. Called 'im a Muggle-lover and other names much worse, an' would have killed him, like as not, if others hadn't stopped her."  
  
"What became of her?" Sirius enquired.  
  
The old man shrugged. "Last I 'eard, they carted her off to St. Mungo's. You'd have thought she'd go to Azkaban for something like attacking an Auror, but no ."  
  
"Maybe she couldn't help it," James suggested. "Maybe she was being controlled, and they thought they could break the spell at St. Mungo's."  
  
"You mean someone used one o' them unforgivable curses on 'er? Could be, for all I know. Seems more likely than that she'd 'ave turned criminal of her own accord."  
  
James looked thoughtful.  
  
"Anyway," said the old man. "I mustn't keep you. Young Moody don't like newcomers turning up late on their firs' day."  
  
His words brought a smile to the boys' lips. To hear Alastor Moody referred to as young . They thanked the old man - who, upon enquiry, gave his name as Bert - for his 'great help' in finding the right door, and went in.  
  
The inside of the Auror Headquarters immediately struck both of them in the same way: As very crowded, very busy and very noisy.  
  
"Crouch has got his work cut out for him, if he really plans to tidy this place up," Sirius whispered to James.  
  
"Well, he's got more time on his hands these days, hasn't he?" James murmured back. "Since he's finally split with Dumbledore."  
  
Sirius nodded. It was barely a week ago that Bartemius Crouch - whose appearances at the Order's meetings had been very rare as it was, and rarer still in recent months - had announced that he wanted nothing more to do with Dumbledore and his 'namby-pamby' methods, his 'irritating overly- cautious approach' and the 'cowardly attitude' of Dumbledore himself and certain other members of the Order. The last remark he had made with a barely concealed glare at John Lupin, who had not reacted in any way, other than by placing a restraining hand on his brother-in-law's arm to stop him jumping to his feet and demanding that Crouch take back this insult.  
  
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Remus stepped out of the telephone box together with his father and looked around him, taking in the golden fountain, the glittering symbols that moved along the ceiling and the buzz caused by hundreds of witches and wizards coming and going from all directions. He had been to the Ministry of Magic before and visited his father in his office - and, of course, there had been that time when his mother had brought him here to register him as a werewolf, though he could barely remember that, he had been so young.  
  
He did know, however, the man he was going to work for was the very same man who had unlocked the large, padded chest and taken out a scarlet book which he had opened at the page for L. He had then waved a long quill over the page and the book had magically leafed through a short way. A new, blank page had grown out of it. The tall, forbidding-looking man had begun to write.  
  
"Lupin, Remus John. Born February 9th, 1960. Only son of John Lupin and Faith Lupin, nee Marley. Received the Bite on the night of October 3rd, 1963. Witnesses: the aforementioned John Lupin and Malcolm Marley ..."  
  
Remus had taken an instant dislike to the man at the time, to his quivering grey moustache and the dispassionate way in which he had noted down the bare facts of the case, sparing no sympathy and offering no kind words of comfort. But the fact remained that his father respected Mr. Westmore, and that he had, after all, agreed to give Remus a small job that would help pay for his studies.  
  
Therefore, Remus put on a brave face, pushed his fringe out of his eyes and tried to look cheerful and as alert as he could, considering there had been a full moon two nights ago and he was still recovering from its effects. He followed John to the security desk, where a young witch weighed and registered his wand, into the lift up to the fourth floor. They stepped out of the elevator and walked down a long hallway, stopping outside a black door that bore the notice "Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Head: Wallace Westmore".  
  
"Well, here we are," John said. "They'll be expecting you, Remus. Don't worry, I'm sure you'll be fine."  
  
"Who says I'm worrying?" Remus said in an almost steady voice. John smiled.  
  
"Your mother, actually."  
  
"Ah."  
  
Remus made no more protest. It was useless, at any rate, to pretend calm when his mother always understood him so completely.  
  
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5 - Enter at your own Risk  
  
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The first person James and Sirius met as they strolled through the bustling Auror Headquarters was the slightly burly Oliver McKinnon, who seemed to precede them in every step of their careers - first as a fellow Gryffindor, then as a member of the Order, and now by beginning his Auror training two years before them, which meant he had only a year to go before he was fully qualified. He waved when he spotted them and beckoned them over to his desk.  
  
"Hello, you two," he said eagerly. "You're early! Still, that's good. Moody hates people turning up late. The only excuse he'll accept is death, and only then if you were murdered. Natural causes don't count."  
  
Sirius grinned. "Well, I feel pretty much alive. Not sure about James here, though. He seems to be living in a different world lately. Might have to give him a bit to come to. He never really wakes up properly until he's seen Lily these days."  
  
"Shut up!" James protested, punching his friend good-humouredly in the ribs. "Anyone else about yet, Oliver? Anyone we know, that is," he added, considering that it was quite obvious there were a lot of people about.  
  
"Gideon's about somewhere," he said, referring to his best friend from his own school days. "Saw his brother turn up earlier too. He often drops by during school holidays, wouldn't be surprised if he wasn't thinking of becoming an Auror himself next year. Only got a year to go at school now, you see. Of course, this year he's got other things on his mind than learning to block hexes. Comes round asking romantic advice from us older, experienced men."  
  
Sirius laughed. "So Fabian's got himself a girl, eh? Tell him not to bother, they're more trouble than they're worth."  
  
Oliver frowned. "Well, I'm sure you're the expert, Sirius. You've had more than most, from all I've heard. But Fab's got it bad, it seems. Got the 'only girl in the world' bug."  
  
Sirius shook his head in commiseration. "They're the worst sort. Who is she, anyway?"  
  
"No idea. Some kid he's met at school."  
  
Sirius pulled a face. "Oh no, not a Hogwarts girl! They're awful," he complained with an obvious lack of seriousness that seemed lost on Oliver, who was looking a touch dreamy all of a sudden.  
  
"Yes, well . some are okay," he said.  
  
"What's this?" asked Sirius, pouncing. "You've not gone and got mixed up with a school girl yourself, have you?"  
  
Oliver's face flushed. "Erm, well ."  
  
"Who?" asked James.  
  
"Marlene Moss, as a matter of fact. Don't suppose you know her."  
  
"Course we know her!" Sirius cried. "She was just a year under us, the same as Fabian, and in Gryffindor too."  
  
He stared at Oliver, who shrugged, embarrassed.  
  
James changed the subject by asking whether Malcolm was there yet.  
  
Oliver laughed.  
  
"Yeah, he's here. Don't know if he's awake yet, though. He usually nods off with his head on his desk these days and doesn't wake up till Laura brings him his morning coffee. Too many late nights, I reckon. You know," he added in a whisper, "The Order ."  
  
He was interrupted at that moment by the arrival of Frank Longbottom and Mary Crimple. Damian Diggle turned up shortly after, then Daniel Moore, who had been in Ravenclaw, Benjy Fenwick, Alice Spriggs and Florence Fortescue. Sirius greeted Florence rather coldly, and hardly said a word after she had arrived. She, in turn, avoided standing anywhere near him, and kept well back as they all followed Oliver to the back of the Auror Headquarters, where a large, slightly battered notice on a heavy oak door read 'Alastor Moody'. Underneath, magically emblazoned on the door in bright orange, where the words 'Enter at your own risk'.  
  
"He gives people fair warning before he devours them, then," Sirius laughed.  
  
"Oh, Moody didn't write that," said a familiar voice behind them. "That was me."  
  
They turned and looked into the speaker's smiling face.  
  
"You, Malcolm?" James exclaimed.  
  
Malcolm nodded. "I think Moody was rather flattered. So he left it there." He lowered his voice. "It's a genuine warning, though. The old man can be pretty dangerous. Still, I expect you're up to it."  
  
He looked around at the faces of the Aurors-to-be.  
  
"Quite a few of you this year, aren't there?" he commented. "Well, that's probably a good thing. In you go then."  
  
Malcolm opened the door and watched them all pass through into a small antechamber.  
  
"Good luck, all of you," he said. "I'll join you at lunch for the bruise counting, if I can fit it in," he added cheerfully.  
  
He closed the door behind them and consulted his watch. Twenty to nine. He hurried back over to his cubicle and poked his head around the corner.  
  
"Laura?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
She looked up from the photographs she had been studying, which had been taken during a recent Death Eater attack in a small village in Wales. There was little hope of uncovering the attackers' identities beneath the masks, but Laura was noting down every detail she could spot, from peculiarities of movement - thank heaven for wizard photography! - to a noticeable eye colour.  
  
"I need to pop out for a little while," Malcolm said. "Won't be long."  
  
"But the raid! We need you there!"  
  
"I'll be there. I just might be a little bit late."  
  
"The last time you said you were going to be 'a little bit late' you missed Crouch's meeting by about two hours. If you don't show up this time ..."  
  
"I will, I will."  
  
"Mind you do. Crouch seems to have got it in for you anyway, for some reason. Don't push your luck."  
  
"I'm not, but this is important. If he asks where I am, tell him I got called away urgently on business. That's near enough to the truth. Please, Laura."  
  
She looked at him and shook her head in mild exasperation.  
  
"I'll tell him you think you're onto one of these people," she said, indicating the picture, "that you're following up a lead."  
  
"Thank you, Laura," he sighed with relief. "You're an angel."  
  
"I'm a fool," she disagreed, sounding slightly amused. "Tell me, has anyone ever been able to refuse you anything?"  
  
"Oh yes. Loads of people have."  
  
"All of them men, I take it."  
  
Malcolm grinned. "Mostly. Anyway, I really must dash. Thanks for keeping Crouch off my back, Laura. I don't know what I'd do without you."  
  
He blew her a kiss and hurried out of the office. Laura looked at the empty doorway, gave a small sigh, and returned to her study of the photographs. 


	20. Part 20: An End and a Beginning

Prequel, Part 20: And End and a Beginning  
  
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1 - Auror Training  
  
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James looked around the room they were in. It wasn't really all that small, but panelled with dark wood, which gave it a cramped, somewhat stifling feel. Torches burned orange on the walls at either end and there was a very old, moth-eaten green settee against the opposite wall. Mary and Florence were whispering nervously behind him.  
  
"I wonder what he's really like," Mary was saying. "Do you reckon he'll be as scary as everyone says? I mean, I know he came to the Defenders that time, and I think he was all right then ..."  
  
Sirius strode over to stand beside James.  
  
"Girls!" he grumbled. "Do they have to keep chattering all the time?"  
  
James smiled. Sirius went to take a closer look at the settee and sat down on it, sprawling with his long legs stretched out.  
  
"At least the furniture's comfortable, even if it does look older than Professor Binns. How much longer is old Moody going to keep us waiting?" he complained.  
  
Just at that moment, a small door to one end of the room opened. Out stepped two men, one tall and strict, the other grizzled and angry: Bartemius Crouch and Alastor Moody. Crouch looked around at the assembled group of young people. His eyes came to rest unpleasantly on Sirius.  
  
"A rather rowdy lot you've got here, Alastor," he commented coldly. "You'll probably waste one whole year teaching them discipline and respect."  
  
Moody said nothing, but it seemed to James that there was a kind of mischievous sparkle in his eyes.  
  
"Well, see you later," said Crouch sharply, and he turned on his heel and walked out.  
  
As soon as the door had closed behind him, Mary and Florence started whispering again.  
  
"Silence!" bellowed Moody, and they shut up immediately.  
  
Alastor Moody studied them closely, one by one. Then he said,  
  
"For those of you who haven't had the - err - pleasure of meeting him before, that was Bartemius Crouch, our head of department. He likes to poke his long nose in here from time to time to see what I'm up to. So, you lot want to be Aurors, do you?"  
  
He was answered by a series of nods.  
  
"I see. Well, I suppose you'll all be expecting me to make some sort of welcoming speech now, all about how noble it is to be an Auror, what great heroes you're going to be - but I make it a point not to lie to my recruits. You see, the truth is that it's a tough job, and a dirty one."  
  
He shot a look at Mary Crimple, with her perfectly groomed curls and pale, soft skin. She hid her freshly manicured nails behind her back rather self- consciously.  
  
"Being an Auror means you have to be alert and ready twenty-four hours a day, always on the go, always looking over your shoulder for someone who might have it in for you. The moment you drop your guard, you're dead. Constant vigilance!" he yelled suddenly.  
  
Sirius gave a shout as he was thrown back in his seat. The settee seemed suddenly to shoot back through the wall behind - except that the wall was no longer there. Although, even that was not quite accurate. There was still a wall, it was just several feet further back than it had been. The room was suddenly much larger, there were far more torches along the walls, casting strange flickering shadows on the floor, and there were crooked wooden shelves and cabinets holding many very strange instruments that none of them had ever seen before.  
  
As soon as his seat stopped moving, Sirius leapt to his feet and stared down at it in bewilderment. It was Moody's loud, rasping laughter that made him turn around and face the others again. He felt anger rising inside him at being made to look a fool in front of the others, but the moment he took a step forwards, Moody had his wand out. All hilarity had left his face, and his eyes looked suddenly cold and cruel. Sirius froze in mid-action.  
  
"Lesson number one," said Moody sharply. "Never trust anything. When you enter a room you've never been in before, regard every item in it as a potential threat."  
  
His eyes remained locked with Sirius's for a moment. Then, very suddenly, he pointed his wand in an altogether different direction. A beam of light shot out of it and something was propelled towards Sirius from behind. Mary stifled a scream, but Sirius was ready this time. His own wand was out in a flash, he ducked the burning torch as it came flying at him, straightened up and pointed his wand straight at it.  
  
"Glacio!"  
  
The flames froze just before the torch hit the wooden door and turned into a large, orange icicle which hovered for a moment in mid-air, then shattered on the floor. Moody lowered his wand.  
  
"Not bad," he said approvingly.  
  
Sirius turned a smug face towards him. Moody frowned.  
  
"That, however," he said, pointing at Sirius's smile with a crooked index finger, "is not good at all. Never be pleased with yourself until you know for certain that the enemy has been utterly immobilised. Never turn your back on your opponent, never underestimate him and never, never, permit yourself the illusion that you are better than him. Remember that."  
  
Sirius stopped smiling and nodded, feeling rather resentful at being admonished like a child after having reacted so brilliantly. Moody spun around on the spot with a movement that caught them all off guard, and blasted Frank off his feet with a Reducto spell.  
  
"Remember what I say!" he cried, while Frank sat rubbing his head, which had collided painfully with a heavy stone gargoyle by the door. "Constant vigilance!"  
  
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"Impedimenta!"  
  
Sirius was stopped in his tracks, his arms waving helplessly. James charged towards him at once.  
  
"Compesco!"  
  
He was pulled back. Frank took a step forward, but Moody's wand was pointed at his chest in a twinkling. He shook his head.  
  
"No, no, no, gentlemen, this will not do at all," he complained, lowering his wand.  
  
It was nearly lunch time, and there was not one person in their group left who was not sporting either a black eye, a bad bruise or a cut - or several. Sirius and James moved normally again when Moody raised the spell.  
  
"Black," said Moody. "You should have had your wand raised as you came at me. Surely you didn't expect me to allow myself to be taken so easily? You should have performed a shield charm before I could strike you with that spell! And you, Potter ."  
  
He turned to James.  
  
"You need to act more coolly. You dashed forwards on impulse, intent on helping your friend Mr. Black, you didn't think. You must learn to fight with your brains, lad. The same goes for you."  
  
He rounded on Frank.  
  
"No rash actions, do you hear? No foolish heroics to try and save your friends. Cold, calculated attacks and blocks will get you further, your indignation at seeing a friend in trouble will not. Remember what I told you - never underestimate your opponent. Never relax your guard unless you can be absolutely certain that your enemy is dead or stunned! Now, let's try again. We will start with Miss Fortescue this time."  
  
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2 - The Better Days Theatre  
  
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Malcolm kept looking at his watch. It was nearly ten already. He would never make it to that raid in time. Hopefully Crouch would not give Laura too much of a hard time when she failed to produce a satisfactory explanation for her colleague's absence. It was a damned nuisance the date of the raid had been changed to this morning, of all times. He had arranged to meet Angus Craigg at his theatre - the very theatre where he had taken John and Faith, Bridget and the boys that time - over a week ago. It had taken a lot of persuading to get Craigg to help in the first place. Malcolm couldn't turn around now and say he wasn't coming, that was a sure way of giving the man such cold feet that he would probably never agree to such a meeting again. And Malcolm needed this meeting. He was so close to what he considered the ultimate weapon in the Order's fight. An inside man was what they needed, and an inside man they would have .  
  
He moved his hand to cover the wand that was tucked securely in the belt of the muggle trousers he had changed into. The street was almost completely deserted at this hour. The only people in sight were a man who was sweeping the pavement on the opposite side of the road, and an old woman wearing a pink hairnet over very large, very bristly curlers, who was polishing a window close by.  
  
*Of course,* Malcolm thought, *there wouldn't be much going on at this hour. No one goes to the theatre at ten o'clock on a Monday morning.*  
  
He paused outside a narrow, grey-brown building. The sign above the black, padded entrance door proudly proclaimed that this was the 'Better Days Theatre'. The best that could be said for the place was that it had certainly seen better days, as evidenced by the now rather threadbare carpet that Malcolm knew lay behind the door, which must have been very expensive at one time, and the faded brass-buttoned red livery that the staff still wore. The plays were good, it was true, and so was the atmosphere of nostalgia that the little place gave one. But it was certainly not much to look at.  
  
Malcolm turned left down the alleyway that separated the Better Days Theatre from the small restaurant next to it. He climbed a narrow flight of stone steps up the side of the building to a door beside which a sign read 'Stage Entrance'. He knocked on the wooden door and waited. Presently, he heard footsteps on the other side of the door. A croaking voice called out,  
  
"Who's there?"  
  
"Hood," Malcolm called back.  
  
Craigg had insisted on using what he called 'code names' that no one else would know about to make sure the right person was outside. To be honest, Malcolm thought this procedure slightly stupid. After all, he reasoned, if someone could figure out that Malcolm Marley had secret business with Angus Craigg, that someone surely would not be hard put to find out their code names just as easily - for these too had to be discussed and communicated. Still, he had 'entered into the spirit of the thing' - as he phrased it to himself - rather well, he thought. For the purpose of his meetings with Craigg, he called himself Robin Hood. He smiled inwardly. Him and John, playing at Merry Men in the forest, forcing little Faith to play Maid Marian and other damsels in distress so they could 'rescue her' .  
  
The door was pulled open just a fraction. A head poked around it. A head with a sallow, creased face that resembled a large macaroon with two small blue beads for eyes, and a mass of curly brown hair that stuck out in all directions. The blue beads blinked twice at Malcolm, then the head was withdrawn. Malcolm waited in vain for the door to open wider, then sighed and squeezed himself through the small opening. Craigg hastily shut, locked and bolted the door behind him.  
  
"It must be simpler to break into the Bank of England," Malcolm remarked jovially.  
  
"Shhhh!" Craigg hissed at him, peering anxiously into all the corners.  
  
"What's the matter? Think the mice might overhear?"  
  
"Ye never know," the other man replied, standing with his shoulders hunched, his ears straining for a sound. "They say there's folk as can turn themselves into mice and creep in anywhere, spying."  
  
Malcolm pretended to investigate the corners himself.  
  
"I see no mice, real or otherwise. But I am a bit pushed for time, so if we could get on ..."  
  
Craigg cast another look into the shadows, then he nodded and signalled Malcolm to follow. They walked along a dark passage lit very dimly by shabby electric lamps on the wall. A door to their left bore an illuminated sign that said 'Stage', but they continued to the backstage area. The space widened, and Malcolm looked around at the rackfulls of glittering costumes they passed. A number of doors appeared on their right. Craigg made straight for the one at the end, which had his name on it, pushed down the door handle and went in. Malcolm followed, and again, Craigg locked the door firmly behind them.  
  
It was not the first time Malcolm stood in Craigg's office. His sharp eyes immediately registered that little had changed. The crookedly built shelves were still full of the same cheap props and ugly china ornaments, the desk still looked like someone had emptied the contents of a wastepaper basket over it, the walls were still plastered in photographs and newspaper reviews that unfortunately failed to cover up the green-flowered wallpaper. Only one thing was different.  
  
On an old purple chaise longue in front of the only window lay a young woman. Though it was hard to tell at this angle, she seemed to be quite tall. Her face was beautiful, more in spite of the generous amounts of makeup she had applied than because of it. Her fair skin seemed to shine with a magical light, her bobbed hair had a silver sheen. She was wearing a sparkling dark green cloak and holding a cigarette in her right hand, which was white and elegant and had long nails painted red.  
  
"Erhem," Craigg began. "May I present Miss Désirée Dulac? Actress, singer and dancer. Star of such much-loved performances as ..."  
  
"Zat will do," she said with a very distinct French accent. She had a surprisingly deep voice that, in contrast to the lazy way in which she was posing, was crisp and curt. "I doubt if a list of my references is really relevant to ze purpose of your friend's visit."  
  
Craigg at once became flustered. "Yes of course, Désirée. You're so right. Mr. Hood's here because ..."  
  
But she interrupted him again, this time turning her sharp eyes on Malcolm. "Monsieur ... 'ood?"  
  
"Actually, no," Malcolm replied. "My name is ..."  
  
As he broke off, obeying the raising of her hand, Malcolm wondered secretly if this woman ever let anyone finish what they were saying.  
  
"I 'ave no wish to know your real name," she said. "All I want to know is what you want."  
  
Malcolm smiled. "I see you believe in coming straight to the point," he said. "All right. That suits me, as it happens." He cast a glance at his watch. "I'm in a bit of a hurry this morning."  
  
Désirée did not interrupt this time. She placed the cigarette between her lips and waited, occasionally puffing out small clouds of smoke that caused Malcolm's eyes to water.  
  
"What I want," he said, "is information. Good, reliable, inside information."  
  
A long moment passed before Désirée removed the cigarette. Studying it with apparent deep interest, twirling it between her fingers, she said,  
  
"When you say 'inside', I assume you mean zat you do not want someone watching ze Death Eaters, but in fact, someone 'oo is a Death Eater. Someone within ze Dark Lord's inner circle 'oose loyalties lie with your side."  
  
"My side? Surely you mean 'ours', don't you?"  
  
The actress shrugged her shoulders elegantly.  
  
"I sell information, Monsieur 'ood. It makes very little difference to me 'oo ze buyer is. Our side, your side, zeir side .... what difference does it make?"  
  
"All the difference in the world, I would have thought!" Malcolm retorted indignantly.  
  
Désirée laughed and looked at him.  
  
"You are incredibly naïve for a man of your profession, Monsieur. Surely you realise zat not everyone acts out of conviction all ze time. Most of us ordinary mortals do what is best for us, not for others."  
  
Malcolm's face flushed. "So you want money," he said.  
  
"A thousand galleons."  
  
Malcolm concealed his surprise at the sum. "Which buys me what, exactly?"  
  
"A name. A new identity. Information on where to find a certain Death Eater and when, so zat you can apprehend 'im and take 'is place. You cannot possibly infiltrate ze Death Eaters as yourself. Ze Dark Lord is 'ardly likely to fall for a muggle-born muggle-hater."  
  
"How do I know I can trust you? That you're not a Death Eater yourself?"  
  
Désirée shrugged her shoulders. "I could 'ave killed you ze moment you came through zat door."  
  
"Or you could have other reasons for wanting me close to Volde-"  
  
"Sshh!"  
  
She leapt to her feet. "Never say zat name," she warned in a sharp whisper. "Never! No Death Eater would dare to mention it."  
  
"I'll remember that," he said calmly.  
  
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3 - Peter Pettigrew's Problem  
  
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Peter Pettigrew leaned miserably against the white wall of the corridor and closed his eyes. Not even a day. Not one brief, easy little day had he lasted. He closed his eyes and shook his head unhappily. What would his father say when he heard? A door opened a few feet away, and Peter hastily stood up straight, opened his eyes and tried to look unconcerned. A girl was coming towards him. A girl with short blonde hair and rather prominent eyes, wearing what looked suspiciously like a dragon's claw on a silver chain around her neck, seeming to think it was decorative.  
  
"Are you okay?" she asked kindly.  
  
"Fine," Peter lied.  
  
"I'm really sorry they - well ..."  
  
"Gave me the boot," Peter finished with uncharacteristic bitterness that had probably rubbed off from Sirius. "Before I even got started. I know I failed miserably on my own Apparition test - three times now - but I'll take it again and pass."  
  
"Of course you will," said the girl. "And I am really, really sorry."  
  
Peter shrugged in what he hoped was a careless fashion. "Oh well. I'm pleased for you, anyway, Gloria."  
  
She smiled broadly. "Thanks. Not that I'm planning to stay in the Test Centre forever, mind. It's not near exciting enough. What I want is a job where I can experiment with potions and loud bangs and such."  
  
She laughed at the horrified expression on his face. "Well, good luck with finding a new job. See you around."  
  
Peter nodded and watched her go back into the office. Then his brow creased once more. Where and how could he get a new job? If only Pippa were here now, she'd come up with something. He thought of asking Sirius or James what to do, but the idea that they might try and persuade him into Auror training put him off. Remus, then. Yes, he would surely come up with some good, sensible advice.  
  
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Remus didn't hear the knock on his door. He was busy chasing a peculiar creature around his office: a hybrid between a bat and a cat, with a lot of energy and very sharp claws, not to mention scarlet eyes out of which little bursts of flame kept shooting at irregular intervals.  
  
"Come here!" he shouted while it zoomed out of reach and began attacking a bookshelf. "Nooo!" he added, as the office door opened and the creature made a beeline for it. His wand was out in an instant.  
  
"Immobilus!"  
  
Peter stared up at the thing that floated inches above his head.  
  
"That's better," said Remus, tucking his wand away and taking the tiny flying cat gently by its wings. He opened a cage on his desk, placed the creature inside, and locked it firmly. Then he took out his wand once more and revived it. The bat-cat immediately began making a terrible racket and trying to escape, scratching and biting at the bards. Remus spoke soothing words to it, which it totally ignored, then looked up.  
  
"Come in, Peter," he said with a hint of amusement in his voice at the pale, startled expression on Peter's face.  
  
He took his friend by the arm and brought him through the door so he could close it.  
  
"What can I do for you? I have to warn you, though, that if some female rat you met in Diagon Alley took a fancy to you when you sneaked into Fortescue's to pinch the cornet crumbs in your guise as Wormtail, there's really very little I can do."  
  
Peter was too distracted to respond to the joke. His eyes were riveted to the desk. Remus followed his stare.  
  
"Pretty, don't you think?"  
  
"Pretty?!" Peter repeated incredulously. "More like 'dangerous'."  
  
"Ye-es," Remus said slowly. "Though the one doesn't necessarily always have to rule out the other, does it?" When Peter still looked doubtful, he went on. "Well, take a closer look. See the shining, golden fur? The perfectly shaped head? The glistening wings? If you move your head slightly, you can see they shimmer in all different colours."  
  
"Hm, I suppose. As long as it stays locked up in its cage."  
  
"She, Peter," Remus corrected.  
  
"She?"  
  
Remus nodded. "Definitely a female."  
  
"What did you want to revive it - her - for?" Peter moaned, covering his ears as the creature let out a shrill screech and Remus dived to rescue a sheet of parchment from its line of fire - literally. "Why don't you just keep her stunned or something?"  
  
"That would be cruel."  
  
Peter stared at him with a total lack of comprehension, but let it rest.  
  
"Where did you get that - thing anyway?"  
  
He was answered by another shrieking noise and burst of flame.  
  
"Hush," Remus murmured. "She's easily offended. That's no ordinary animal, you know."  
  
"Yes, I can see that."  
  
"I don't doubt that the old witch who brought her here will be facing serious charges for breaching the Ban on Experimental Breeding. But she just couldn't control Minx here."  
  
Peter's eyes widened.  
  
"That's what I call her. Well, she is rather a minx, don't you agree?"  
  
Peter opened and shut his mouth. Unable to think of anything to say, he looked around him.  
  
"It took me ages to find you," he said after a while. "I thought you were supposed to be Mr. Westmore's secretary or something."  
  
"That was the idea. But when I got there, he said he had a different job for me. Actually, I don't think he was too keen on the idea of having a werewolf welcoming his important guests to his reception room."  
  
"Oh."  
  
Remus laughed.  
  
"No need to look so horrified, Peter. I'm not upset or anything."  
  
"G-good. And - what are you supposed to do here?"  
  
"Take charge of the pets people bring to me, listen to their stories and send the animals to the appropriate office - Beast, Bird or Spirit Division, ..."  
  
"Sounds important."  
  
"I suppose it does. All it really means is that people dump the pets they can't handle themselves here like 'baggage' and I pass them on to where they belong. But I'm not complaining. It's quite interesting work, really, much better than I thought it would be. I get to see some fascinating creatures - had a tankful of grindylows in first thing this morning - and hybrids no one has ever set eyes on before, like Minx."  
  
There was a lull in the conversation during which Peter looked awkward and Remus studied him closely. After a while, Remus took a kettle out of a cupboard, opened a small door that revealed a washbasin, filled the kettle, got the water to boil with his wand and dropped some tea bags into it. He finished making the tea in silence and handed a mug to Peter, guiding him to a chair.  
  
"Now then," he said, sitting down himself. "You've heard all about my morning. Tell me what went wrong with yours."  
  
Peter stared at him.  
  
"How did you know?"  
  
Remus smiled. "It's too early for lunch break, and you look depressed. So, tell me what happened."  
  
"A-are you sure you've got the time? I mean, I'm not in the way, am I?"  
  
"No, not unless someone turns up unannounced, in which case I might have to ask you to turn into a rat and hide. Other than that, there's time."  
  
Peter took a sip of his tea and began.  
  
"Well, I turned up on time all right. Pippa dropped me off. At first, they just gave me some filing to do. That was all right. Then someone came to take their Apparition test, and I was supposed to go to the Apparition site with the supervisor, only of course I had to tell them I couldn't, because I can't apparate myself yet. So they made me take my test again on the spot."  
  
"And ...?"  
  
"I apparated halfway through the door," Peter confessed miserably. "With the front of my head looking out onto the corridor and the back still inside the room."  
  
Remus flinched at the thought. "I hope it wasn't too painful."  
  
Peter shook his head. "No. But it means I failed again."  
  
"That's not so terrible," Remus said. "Lots of people fail a couple of times before they get it right. Some people don't bother at all, like my mum."  
  
"What - she can't apparate either?"  
  
"No. She does quite a lot of things without magic anyway, as you must have noticed. It comes from her Muggle background. Also, she's not all that good at some kinds of magic. Well, it's unusual enough for two children from one Muggle family to be magic as it is, you can't expect them both to be equally good as well. And of course, Uncle Malcolm is very good."  
  
He looked sympathetically at Peter.  
  
"We can't all be as brilliant as that. Or as Sirius and James."  
  
"You do all right, though."  
  
"All right, yes," Remus agreed. "But I'll never be as good as those two."  
  
"You don't need to be ashamed of yourself though, do you?" Peter murmured.  
  
"Nor do you," Remus said sharply. "You're a decent wizard, Peter, you know you are. You can do all these things, it's only because you make yourself believe you can't and let others intimidate you into thinking you're no good that things go wrong. With a little more self-confidence, you could probably do better than whatever idiot they decide to employ instead of you."  
  
Peter's face flushed. "She's not an idiot," he mumbled.  
  
Remus cocked his head curiously to one side.  
  
"I see," he said with a smile. "She knows her stuff, does she?"  
  
"She's brilliant. Passed her Apparition test first go this morning, and they offered her the job at once. She looked quite shocked, because she realised it was supposed to be my job and all that, but ..."  
  
He said no more. Remus rose thoughtfully and carried the teapot over to the sink.  
  
"I could talk to Uncle Malcolm," he said at last.  
  
Peter started, apparently coming back from miles away.  
  
"What?"  
  
"About getting you a new job."  
  
"I can't be an Auror!" Peter cried, startled.  
  
"Of course not," said Remus. "But he knows a lot of people in all sorts of departments, and outside the Ministry too. I think he's got a friend who's pretty high up in the Official Gobstones Club, then there's his old boss, Mr. Perkins . and I remember him mentioning a girl from the International Magical Office of Law . I'm sure he could find you something, anyway."  
  
"Oh," said Peter, relieved. "Do you think he would?"  
  
"Of course. I'll ask him the next time I see him."  
  
He was rewarded with a beaming smile.  
  
"Thanks, Moony."  
  
Remus smiled. He cleaned out the teapot and returned to the desk, studying Minx thoughtfully.  
  
"Now, what do we do with you?" he wondered out loud. "Small Hybrid Division, I suppose."  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------------  
  
4 - The Raided Raid  
  
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Laura surveyed the scene. A small group of people in black cloaks were being marched off by the Aurors. They weren't Death Eaters, though, she was sure of that. Just small fry, people who liked to cause a bit of trouble in any way they could, who got a kick out of muggle-baiting - and worse. She checked her watch. Eleven o'clock. And still no sign of Malcolm. She put her wand away in her robes and followed the others. A sound at the street corner made her turn her head.  
  
"Laura!" Malcolm called quietly.  
  
Laura hurried over to join him, making sure none of the others were paying any attention to her.  
  
"Malcolm!" she exclaimed quietly as he pulled her round the corner of the building out of sight of the others. "Where have you been?"  
  
"Never mind that," he whispered back. "Where's Crouch?"  
  
This brought a smile to her lips.  
  
"You have the luck of the devil. He didn't come, so he need never know that you ..."  
  
She was interrupted by more cracking sounds, several of them, coming from around the corner of the building, followed immediately by yells and shouts. Both she and Malcolm leapt around the corner, drawing their wands . too late.  
  
It was all over in a flash, or rather several flashes, of green light. They were just in time to see curses shooting out of the wands of the cloaked and masked figures who had surrounded the group of Aurors and their captives, to see their colleagues struck by a beam of blinding green light each, and crumple lifeless to the floor. Laura gasped.  
  
"Damn!" said Malcolm under his breath.  
  
They both took a step towards the Death Eaters at the same time, fully aware that they stood little chance against the overwhelming odds, but one of the Death Eaters had already raised his wand to the sky and chanted,  
  
"Morsmordre."  
  
Malcolm and Laura froze as the gigantic green skull rose into the sky, glittering as though it were made up of hundreds of tiny green stars. The Death Eaters and those they had rescued disapparated in an instant. Malcolm looked from the skull floating above to the bodies lying a few yards away. He felt Laura shiver beside him and put his arm around her shoulder. His own face as white as a sheet, his voice a mere trembling, hoarse whisper, he said,  
  
"You'd better go back to the Ministry and tell them what's happened. I'll wait here."  
  
"Malcolm!" she sobbed, suddenly clutching his collar.  
  
He looked into her eyes that reflected the horror he was feeling.  
  
"I know," he said softly. "I know. Go on, now, there's a good girl."  
  
Laura nodded, took a last pained look at the lifeless forms of their fellow Aurors, and disapparated.  
  
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5 - Crouch and Malcolm  
  
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Lily hummed to herself as the lift came to a halt in the Atrium. Her first morning had gone extremely well. One of the younger Unspeakables in the Department of Mysteries had explained some fascinating spells that were used to protect and conceal people and places. Of course, Lily was fully aware that she had only been told about the most obvious, least secret spells. If she wanted to know about the really good ones, she would have to go much further. Not that she wanted actually to become an Unspeakable herself, but she did want to learn all she could about protection charms. A couple of months in the Department of Mysteries would help to begin with, then extra studying - Professor Flitwick would be sure to advise her which was the best method - and then, very probably, she would try for a job in Law Enforcement for the time being. That was by far the best place to start, she thought.  
  
She stood for a moment, gazing at the sparkling fountain, and read the brand new, highly polished sign beside it:  
  
ALL PROCEEDS FROM THE FOUNTAIN OF MAGICAL BRETHREN WILL BE GIVEN TO ST. MUNGO'S HOSPITAL FOR MAGICAL MALADIES AND INJURIES.  
  
She peered into the water. There were a few coins lying there, but not very many. Maintenance appeared to have cleared the fountain not so long ago. Lily took a handful of knuts out of her pocket and dropped them in the water. Then she decided it was time to head to the Leaky Cauldron, where she had arranged to meet James for lunch.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------  
  
Sirius returned from the bar, a bottle of butterbeer in one hand, the other pressing a chunk of raw meat to his eye. He sat down, took a long draught of his butterbeer and smacked his lips.  
  
"Ah, that's better," he sighed.  
  
James, who had been nursing a cut on his cheek with a clean cloth dipped in ointment, looked across at him and grinned.  
  
"The eyepatch suits you," he remarked. "You look just like a dashing pirate captain, don't you agree, girls?"  
  
Mary, Florence and Alice all blushed. At that moment, Tom the barman and a young waitress approached the table, levitating plates of food in front of them.  
  
"Right then," he said. "Here's your orders. Bangers and mash, twice?"  
  
Damian Diggle's hand shot up along with Benjy Fenwick's. The plates of mashed potatoes and sausages floated across the large table and landed in front of them with a clatter.  
  
"Cod and chips, three times - ah, Mr. Lupin, Mr. Moore and Mr. Longbottom. There you go."  
  
Remus, Daniel and Frank caught their plates from the air.  
  
"Three jacket potatoes - beans, cheese, and one coleslaw. Aha, the ladies!"  
  
Mary, Florence and Alice received their plates, Mary murmuring quietly that this would cause havoc to her figure, but she did so love coleslaw.  
  
"A large chicken salad - Mr. Pettigrew. And the ploughman's would be yours, Mr. Black."  
  
Tom then turned to James. "Sure there's nothing I can get you, sir?"  
  
James shook his head. "No, not yet. I'm waiting for - ah ..."  
  
He broke off as Lily entered through the back door and waved to her. She smiled when she spotted him and came straight over.  
  
"Hello," she said, beaming at them all.  
  
Then she spotted the cut on James's cheek and the bruises most of the others were sporting. Sirius grinned up at her, the raw meat lying discarded on the table beside his very full plate. She recoiled a step at the sight of his extremely swollen black eye.  
  
"What on earth happened to you all?" she asked.  
  
"Alashtor Moody," Sirius said through a mouthful of toast, tomato and butterbeer. "He givesh a tough leshon. Sh'all good fun, though."  
  
Lily turned back to James.  
  
"I thought you were supposed to be learning how to defend yourselves against hexes and curses."  
  
"I thought we were pretty good at defending ourselves already," said James. "What with Darkhardt's training. But it's like Sirius said, Moody's tough. Brilliant, though. Great Auror. They'll never catch him off guard."  
  
"Bit paranoid though, you must admit," said Damian.  
  
"In that profession, you've got to be," said Frank. "Unless you want to get yourself killed."  
  
James felt Lily shudder beside him and took her hand.  
  
"Come, let's go over to the bar and order something to eat," he suggested.  
  
The pair of them followed Tom, who had left them a couple of minutes ago.  
  
"So, how did your day go, Peter?" Frank Longbottom asked. "Peter?" he repeated when he got no answer.  
  
Remus turned his head to see that a kind of dazed expression had come over Peter's face. He followed the direction of his friend's stare and immediately spotted what had caught his attention. Someone had just walked over to the bar. A girl with short black hair and rather long legs. She took her drink from the barman, paid and looked around out of slightly protuberant eyes.  
  
"Whoshat?" Sirius asked, munching.  
  
"Eh?" Peter said absently.  
  
Sirius washed the food down with a long draught of butterbeer. "I said 'Who's that?'"  
  
At that moment, the girl spotted Peter and waved. She came over to their table and smiled around at them all, then turned to Peter, who looked like he wanted to sink into his seat.  
  
"Hello, Peter," the girl said. "How are you doing?"  
  
"Err - f-fine. Thanks."  
  
"Found anything new yet?"  
  
"N-no."  
  
"Look," the girl continued, unperturbed by all the faces watching her, "I still feel really bad about this. If there's anything I can do. My dad's pretty high up in the Ministry, I could ask him ..."  
  
Peter went scarlet. "No, thanks. Remus is going to talk to his uncle for me."  
  
She turned an enquiring face towards Remus.  
  
"Remus Lupin," he introduced himself, shaking her hand.  
  
He proceeded to introduce the rest of them. The girl's eyes rested for a moment on Sirius, who was displaying his most charming smile.  
  
"Care to tell us your name too?" he asked.  
  
"Gloria Boom," she replied.  
  
"Well, Gloria," Sirius went on, "Won't you join us? Any friend of Pete's is a friend of ours, you know."  
  
She smiled. "Sorry, but I really can't. I'm supposed to be meeting someone."  
  
"Oh, come on. I insist. You won't find better company at any other table."  
  
Gloria seemed almost persuaded, but then the door leading to Diagon Alley opened and in walked a boy of about nineteen or twenty. He had dark brown hair and wore large spectacles on his long, narrow nose. Tall, gangling, his features were soft and rather effeminate. He spotted Gloria and she waved to him to join them, but he shook his head. She shrugged at Sirius.  
  
"Sorry, I've got to go."  
  
"Your friend can join us too - if he must," Sirius suggested.  
  
Gloria shook her head. "No. He's a bit shy, to tell you the truth. Well, goodbye everyone. It's been nice meeting you. Peter ..." Peter jumped. "Good luck." And with that, she walked away.  
  
Sirius immediately turned on Peter. "You idiot!" he cried. "Why didn't you ask her to join you?"  
  
"What would she want to sit down with us for?" asked Peter.  
  
Sirius rolled his eyes.  
  
"She came over especially to talk to you, didn't she?"  
  
"Anyone might have done that. We met this morning when she - she got my job. She was just trying to make up for it like anyone else would have done."  
  
"Give me strength!" said Sirius. "How are we ever going to make a man out of you when you insist on ignoring the most obvious signs?"  
  
Peter blushed uncomfortably.  
  
"Are you going to let the only girl you ever looked twice at walk right out of your life again?"  
  
"Sirius," Remus interrupted pacifyingly. "Let it rest."  
  
Sirius frowned at him, but said no more. Remus picked up is butterbeer.  
  
"Where's she from, anyway? I don't remember seeing her at Hogwarts, but she must be about our age."  
  
"She went to Beauxbatons," Peter replied quickly.  
  
"Really?" Remus said with interest. "Then I suppose she's had lessons with Pippa."  
  
"Probably," Peter agreed. He smiled suddenly. "By te way, I haven't told you yet, have I - Pippa's not going to Beauxbatons this year."  
  
"She's not? Why's that?" asked Frank who, apart from Sirius and Remus, was probably the only person at the table who had a clue who Peter was talking about.  
  
"She's accepted a new position here in England," Peter explained eagerly. "You'll never guess ..."  
  
"Hogwarts?!" Remus exclaimed in surprise before Peter could finish. "Sorry," he added, seeing the crestfallen look on Peter's face. "But ... I knew Dumbledore was looking for a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, so ... She's accepted?"  
  
Peter nodded. Remus turned to Sirius.  
  
"What do you make of that, Sirius?" he asked.  
  
But Sirius hadn't been listening. He was craning his neck to watch Gloria and her companion.  
  
"Who is he, anyway?" he murmured. "He looks familiar."  
  
"What, the boy with Gloria Whatshername?" Mary Crimple giggled. "I should think you have seen him before. That's Lance Lovegood. He was a Ravenclaw prefect, and later head boy."  
  
"Ooh, I remember," said Alice suddenly. "Didn't you used to go out with him, Mary?"  
  
"Yes," Mary said dreamily. "He was nice."  
  
"Looks a wimp," Sirius said coldly, turning back to face the table. "Sorry, Remus, what were you saying about Pippa?"  
  
"I just find it strange that she's suddenly decided to stay in England. you tell us once that it was her dream to work at Beauxbatons, Peter?"  
  
"Yes," said Peter, who didn't seem to care what had made Pippa change her mind, as long as she was no longer so far away.  
  
"I expect she had her reasons. What with - you know. Everything," Sirius said.  
  
Remus nodded. "I dare say you're right. Anyway, good luck to her."  
  
"Yep," said Sirius, and drank the rest of his butterbeer.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------  
  
A ring of people stood around the bodies of the fallen Aurors. No one said a word or moved a muscle. A few yards away, Obliviators were modifying the memories of Muggle witnesses.  
  
Malcolm looked round at Laura. Her face was ghostly white and her eyes were bloodshot. He could see that she was trembling, but no one seemed to take any notice of her, they were all staring transfixed at the bodies. Malcolm moved quietly to Laura's side and touched her arm to get her attention. She looked up at him and leaned, shaking, against him while he held her.  
  
Presently, the assembled group dissolved. Stretchers were conjured for the bodies and Bartemius Crouch came towards Malcolm and Laura, closely followed by Moody and another Auror. Crouch glanced briefly at Laura, then glared at Malcolm.  
  
"So, Marley," he said in a voice that was cold as ice. "Perhaps you would care to explain how you happen to have survived the Death Eaters' attack when seven of our best Aurors did not."  
  
Malcolm returned the stare and replied just as icily, "I'm sure you must be very disappointed about that, Crouch. You'd much rather I'd been killed along with the rest of them, wouldn't you?"  
  
Laura straightened up at his words and shook her head at him.  
  
"Malcolm, don't," she hissed. "You'll only make matters worse."  
  
"Oh, I shouldn't worry about warning your colleague, my dear," Crouch went on. "You're wasting your breath. It's clear Marley has no respect for me or the office I hold. But I would like to know what possessed the Death Eaters to keep him alive. Perhaps he has made a little arrangement with them, eh, Marley? Perhaps it was you who told them where to strike in the first place."  
  
"How dare you!" Malcolm roared. "How dare you accuse me of betraying people I worked with! How dare you suggest ..."  
  
"Malcolm, please," Laura murmured soothingly. She turned to Crouch. "Sir, you know he's no traitor. He wasn't even there most of the time. He turned up just as we were leaving, I went over to talk to him, and then ... the Death Eaters came. There was nothing we could do."  
  
"I'm not blaming you, Laura," said Crouch calmly.  
  
"But you are blaming me?" Malcolm said, a dangerous light in his eyes.  
  
"Yes," Crouch replied bluntly. "At worst, I could have you up for treason. At best, you were absent without leave. It was your duty shift, you should have been there, you should ..."  
  
"I should have died with the rest of them! That's what you really mean, isn't it, Crouch? You'd have liked that, wouldn't you?"  
  
"Silence," Crouch commanded. "My aim is, and always will be, to battle the Dark Arts wherever I encounter them by any and all means. To that end I need good, reliable Aurors who come when they are summoned, who do their job and who obey my orders without hesitation. I do NOT," he went on quickly, forestalling Malcolm's interruption, "need people who question my authority on a regular basis, insult me and act as though rules and duty did not exist."  
  
Malcolm balled his fists angrily and took half a step forwards. It was lucky that Moody caught his eye at that moment, for the older man's warning look held him back.  
  
"I am sure we both want nothing more than to see the downfall of the Dark Arts," he said guardedly.  
  
"Maybe so," Crouch replied. "But our methods differ. And therefore I think it would be best if our paths separated too."  
  
Malcolm almost smiled. He had expected something like this. You're firing me?" he asked.  
  
"Got it in one."  
  
Laura stared. "No! Mr. Crouch, you can't! Malcolm is one of the best Aurors we have, we need him."  
  
"Don't, Laura," Malcolm said quietly. "It's all right."  
  
She looked uncomprehendingly at him, then at Moody.  
  
"Mr. Moody, surely you ..."  
  
He silenced her by raising his hand. "I think it's time we returned to headquarters," he said in his lowest growl.  
  
Crouch nodded. "Yes, by all means. Mr. Marley will want to pack his bags."  
  
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6 - The End of a Career  
  
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When James, Sirius and the others returned to the Ministry after lunch, they found the Auror headquarters in rather a different state than they had been this morning. There was no more noisy hustle and bustle, but much anxious whispering, and people seemed to be trying to make as little noise as possible, while wearing dark expressions on their faces.  
  
Puzzled, they made their way to Moody's door. They knocked, and at a call of "Come in," they pushed the door open. To their surprise, they did not find themselves in the room they had entered this morning, but in what was evidently Moody's office: a small, cramped room dominated by a gigantic desk with clawed feet and full of a whirring sound made by several strange instruments of various shapes and sizes. As they entered, Moody turned away from something that resembled a mirror, but showed indistinguishable, shadowy shapes rather than his reflection.  
  
"Sir," James began. "Is anything - has anything happened?"  
  
Moody was just opening his mouth to answer when there was another, hurried knock on the door.  
  
"Come in," he growled.  
  
The door opened and John Lupin squeezed in, clearly surprised at the amount of people already in the room.  
  
"Alastor," he said, "I got your note. What's going on?"  
  
Moody shot one more look at the thing that looked like a mirror, then he began to tell them all what had occurred.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------  
  
Malcolm had almost finished packing. All the belongings that had accumulated on and around his desk were in two cardboard boxes. He stood looking down at a photograph in his hand, showing himself, Moody, Laura, and some of the Aurors who had died, taken last Christmas. Little had the poor fellows guessed that they would never pull a Christmas cracker again. He put the photograph in one of the boxes and picked up the last photograph still standing - rather an old one of John, Faith and Remus. There was a gentle knock on the door frame behind him. He turned to see Laura.  
  
"Hello," she said. "Finished packing?"  
  
"Almost."  
  
She looked at the picture in his hand and smiled.  
  
"I can still remember the day you first brought that photograph with you. Lionel thought it was a picture of you and your parents."  
  
Her voice faltered, and Malcolm knew why. Lionel was dead. He put the photograph in the box with the others and closed the lid. Taking a last look around him, he sighed.  
  
"I'm going to miss this place."  
  
"This place will never be the same without you, either," said Laura, sounding tearful.  
  
Malcolm smiled at her. "There was a time when you used to wish me further."  
  
Laura gave a small laugh through the tears. "I'd only just started work, and you made me so nervous. I was terrified of messing things up in front of you."  
  
"But you didn't mess things up. You did fine. You learnt pretty quickly to get along with me. I'm sure you'll be just as quick at learning to get along with whoever takes my place."  
  
Laura's brief smile faded again. "It won't be the same, though."  
  
"Cheer up, Laura," Malcolm said, trying to sound encouraging. "You'll be all right. And you know if ever you need me, I'll be there."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
Malcolm squeezed her hand. He sealed his boxes with his wand and levitated them out of the cubicle door. He moved quickly from now on, wanting to get away without a fuss. He hated goodbyes. Out the big oak doors, into the lift, out again, across the Atrium ...  
  
"Malcolm!"  
  
For a minute he actually considered stopping when he heard John's voice call him. But then he realised he really didn't want to see anyone just yet. He hastened his steps towards a fireplace and disappeared in a puff of smoke.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------  
  
Malcolm deposited his cardboard boxes at his flat and went straight back out again. He really didn't want to sit at home and brood. But he couldn't help himself. Despite being out of doors, and much as he didn't want to, he was brooding anyway. He wasn't paying much attention to where his footsteps carried him. He just walked and walked, going moodily over what Crouch had said, anger boiling inside him.  
  
He tried not to let himself understand that this anger was directed, not so much at Crouch, but at himself. The truth, if he had chosen to admit it, was that - as John had said - he blamed himself for what had happened at least as much as Crouch did, if not more. He felt guilty for not having been there when he should have been, guilty for not having reacted more quickly, guilty for having survived when several good men and women whom he had known and admired were dead.  
  
It was no use. However much he tried to focus his anger on Crouch, he could not drive away that gnawing, horrible sense of guilt. Still walking, he closed his eyes to stop the burning and ran his hands distractedly through his hair.  
  
"Ouch!" said a voice, and Malcolm too uttered an exclamation of surprised pain.  
  
He opened his eyes and had started to apologise, when words failed him.  
  
"Malcolm!" Bridget exclaimed, recovering first from her surprise.  
  
"Bridget," he replied dazedly. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"This is where I work," she explained, pointing to the small book shop behind her. "And you? You're a long way away from the Ministry."  
  
"Yes."  
  
Bridget almost smiled at this curt reply, but then she caught something in his eyes, and stopped herself.  
  
"Is something wrong?" she asked instead.  
  
"No, nothing."  
  
This time, Bridget really did smile. "I've always thought you must be a good liar. I see I was wrong."  
  
"It's nothing you need to trouble yourself with. A - business matter, I suppose you might say. You don't want to waste your time worrying about it."  
  
"Well, I won't know if it's a waste of time until you've told me more about it, will I?" she insisted. "And for the next hour, my time is my own. So, if you've nothing better to do - how about going for some lunch?"  
  
Malcolm wanted to refuse, but then he changed his mind. "All right. Let's go somewhere quiet, then."  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------  
  
Malcolm's suggestion that they should pick somewhere quiet clearly ruled out the Leaky Cauldron. And in any case, Bridget was still as keen as ever to stay away from the magical community as much as possible. So they found a table in the back corner of a small, nearly empty café, where Bridget ordered two cups of coffee and a tart, since Malcolm said he wasn't hungry.  
  
When a plump, grey-haired woman had brought them their order, Bridget took a small sip of her coffee, winced because it was so hot, and set it down again. She looked up. Malcolm had been watching her, but now he turned the other way, apparently deeply interested in a large, hideous green table lamp that stood across the room.  
  
"You can pretend I'm not here," Bridget said with a touch of amusement in her voice, "but I'm still going to find out what's the matter with you."  
  
"Nothing's the matter with me," he said rather sharply.  
  
"Tell that to your face."  
  
Reluctantly, he looked at her again. At last he sighed.  
  
"All right, if you must know ..."  
  
Bridget listened in silence, occasionally taking a sip of coffee while he unfolded the tale. Her face grew steadily paler as he went on, but still she said nothing.  
  
"And so I left," Malcolm finished. "I decided to take a walk and clear my brain. And then I bumped into you."  
  
This time, far from avoiding her eyes, he looked into them intently, as though searching for some sort of assistance now that he had unburdened himself. Bridget didn't keep him waiting long.  
  
"You mustn't blame yourself for what happened," she began.  
  
"I'm not!"  
  
"Yes, you are, and it's silly. It wasn't your fault. You didn't kill those people."  
  
"I didn't do anything to stop them being killed either. That's just as bad."  
  
"You know that's nonsense," Bridget went on calmly. "There was nothing you could have done if you had been there, except die alongside them."  
  
"I might as well have. I wasn't much use to them alive, was I?"  
  
Bridget shook her head. "You're wrong. As I see it, you didn't bring about anyone's death by not being there when you should have been - but you did save a life by turning up late."  
  
Malcolm stared blankly at her. "What are you talking about?"  
  
"Your friend, Laura. If you hadn't arrived just at that moment, if she hadn't come over to the corner of the house to talk to you, and you hadn't taken her out of sight of the others, she'd have been killed along with the rest of them."  
  
"No," said Malcolm, "you mustn't look at it that way."  
  
"I don't see that there's any other way one can look at it. And I'm sure she'd agree. All right, seven people were killed - but one wasn't. If you had been there when you were supposed to be, all that would have changed is that nine people would now be dead."  
  
"You don't know that. I might have been able to stop ..."  
  
"No!" Bridget interrupted firmly. "Malcolm, those people who died were no fools. They were powerful Aurors, the same as you, and there was nothing they could do to defend themselves. You can't block the Avada Kedavra curse. You know that as well as I do."  
  
"Crouch doesn't see it that way," Malcolm said quietly.  
  
"Perhaps not. But then, you and Crouch have never exactly been friends, have you? Didn't you tell me yourself that Laura said Crouch was looking for a reason to get rid of you? And perhaps he's even done you a favour that way."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"You've been working hard lately. Too hard. Running your spy network for the Order and working twenty-four-hour shifts as an Auror at the same time. You can't go on like that forever," she said simply.  
  
Malcolm thought over what she had been saying. Something inside him still rebelled against her words, and yet, her logic could not fail to comfort him.  
  
"Perhaps you're right," he admitted at long last.  
  
"Of course I'm right."  
  
The merest shadow of a smile flitted across Malcolm's face and twinkled in his eyes, but it was enough to make Bridget look down quickly, pick up her handbag and start concentrating hard on looking for her purse. Malcolm's hand reached out and stopped her.  
  
"Allow me," he said, reaching for his wallet.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------  
  
They walked in silence back to the door of the book shop.  
  
"Well, here we are," said Malcolm.  
  
"Yes."  
  
Bridget turned to face him.  
  
"Thanks for walking me back."  
  
Malcolm gave a small bow.  
  
"My pleasure, Mrs. Potter."  
  
Bridget looked up into his brown eyes. A little of the old sparkle had returned to them, and for a moment she caught a glimpse of something else, something that was gone again so quickly that she thought she must have imagined it. She held out her hand.  
  
"See you soon, I hope."  
  
"I hope so too," said Malcolm, shaking her hand warmly. 


	21. Part 21: Shall We Dance?

Prequel, Part 21: Shall We Dance?  
  
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1 - Malcolm outlines his Plan  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------  
  
Faith turned on the wireless and set about her ironing. She had magicked the feather duster to dance about the shelves of its own accord, but despite having grown up with magic to an extent - having had an older brother who turned out to be a wizard at an early age, not to mention John as a next door neighbour during her childhood - there were some things she preferred to do herself. She never did think that the iron, left to its own devices, did a neat enough job.  
  
"... Ministry officials so far have not been able to offer a satisfactory explanation for the disappearance ..."  
  
Faith was barely listening to the wireless as she worked. She folded Remus's shirt and bent down to pick up another out of the washing basket.  
  
"... raid today on a known meeting place of a group of supporters of the Dark Lord ..."  
  
Faith picked up the iron and ran it along the left sleeve.  
  
"... witches and wizards had been secured by the Aurors when a large group of the people who call themselves Death Eaters arrived ..."  
  
Faith's hand slowed. The word 'Aurors' had caught her attention.  
  
"... it appears that the fight between the Aurors and the Death Eaters was very brief. The outcome was tragic. The Death Eaters greatly outnumbered the Aurors, and used the unforgivable curses. All the Aurors were killed. The WWN is expecting confirmation of these rumours any moment, along with a list of names of those unfortunate Aurors who ..."  
  
Faith caught her breath. The sleeve she had been ironing began to smoke where she had forgotten to take the iron off it. She did so now, and stared unseeingly at the brown patch on it. More deaths, and this time not just helpless passers-by had been killed, which was horrifying enough, but Aurors - wizards and witches trained specifically to fight the Dark Arts had died quickly, unable to put up a proper fight. And what if - she hardly dared think the thought through - her brother had been there?  
  
At that moment, there was such a sudden loud knock on the front door that it made Faith jump. She neglected her iron and went out into the hall, suddenly fearing ... she didn't know what, exactly. Death Eaters here, in the middle of the moors? A Ministry official in black robes with a sad expression, come to tell her the worst? But when she opened the door, she found it was neither.  
  
"Malcolm!"  
  
She flung her arms around him so suddenly that he staggered back a pace.  
  
"Faith," he said quickly, sounding as though he had just had the wind knocked out of him, "what on earth ..."  
  
"I was just listening to the news," she sobbed on his shoulder while he guided her back into the house with difficulty and shut the door. "For a minute I thought ..."  
  
"Perhaps John's right. It is time you got rid of that wireless, if it's going to make you jump to the worst conclusions every time something bad happens. Mind you, I knew you would. That's why I decided right when I heard that broadcast that I'd better apparate on your doorstep before you panic. Seems I was too late."  
  
"They were talking about Aurors being killed ..."  
  
"Faith," Malcolm said firmly, now extricating himself from her grip and pushing her down on a kitchen chair, "there are loads of Aurors at the Ministry. Only seven of them were killed today. How great does that make the chances that one of them was me?"  
  
"Too high," Faith said with a touch of indignation, now that she was beginning to calm down a little. "You can't blame me for worrying about you. In your profession ..."  
  
"It's not my profession any more."  
  
"What?"  
  
"They sacked me."  
  
Faith stared at him blankly. "Sacked you? But - why?"  
  
"Ironically, because your concern was not justified. Because I wasn't killed."  
  
"Malcolm, dear, you're not making any sense."  
  
"No, I don't suppose I am."  
  
"Are you going to explain it to me?"  
  
Malcolm sighed. "I wonder how many more times I'll have to explain it. I can only hope someone's already told John all about it by the time he gets home, or I'll go mad."  
  
"Have so many people asked you to explain already, then?"  
  
"No," Malcolm admitted fairly, "only Bridget."  
  
"Bridget?" Faith exclaimed curiously.  
  
But Malcolm was not inclined to go any further into what had occurred at lunch time. He did, however, sit down and give her the gist of what had really happened. Somehow, though, he did not feel as comforted by Faith's indignation on his part as he might have been. Instead, while she was declaring heatedly that Crouch had had no right to fire him for what was evidently not his fault, he found his mind going back to the café where he had sat that lunch time, to the way Bridget had held her cup when she sipped her coffee, to the feel of her hand when he had shaken it ...  
  
"Malcolm?" Faith prompted, looking worried.  
  
Evidently, she must have said something to him that he had not heard.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"I asked you whether you'd pointed out to him that this isn't the best time to fire staff he needs. You came top in Defence Against the Dark Arts at school, you were the champion of the duelling class, you passed your Auror examination with top marks, you ..."  
  
"He knows all that."  
  
"Then how can he even think of firing you with You-Know-Who getting stronger and people being murdered every day? Surely the Ministry needs every Auror it can get. How can he fire the best he has?"  
  
"Probably because he knows he can afford to."  
  
"But he can't!"  
  
"He knows I'll still be in this fight, with him behind me or without," Malcolm murmured quietly, more to himself than to her.  
  
"What do you mean?" asked Faith suspiciously. "Malcolm, what are you talking about? How can you still be in it, if you're no longer an Auror?"  
  
Malcolm looked at her across the table. Very briefly, he considered doing John's job for him, telling Faith all about the Order of the Phoenix and his latest plans. But he decided against it and merely shrugged.  
  
"I'll find a way, I expect."  
  
"Malcolm, be careful," Faith begged.  
  
He smiled. "Don't worry, I will."  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------  
  
Severus was in what he called his 'laboratory'. This was a room that gave onto the back garden - or would have done, had the windows not been so totally overgrown with ivy that it was hard to see even a solitary patch of grass - and had once been used as a large storage cupboard. He remembered his mother suggesting once that it could be brightened up a little, the windows cleared, the walls redecorated, the carpet ripped up and replaced, so that they could have a kind of games room here - with a snooker table, perhaps, a wizard's chess set on a table in the corner, a small house bar ... But Augustus had disapproved of the plan.  
  
Later, when Severus had gone to Hogwarts and it had become apparent that he was unusually adept at potion-making and liked to experiment with making very complex potions, not to mention developing some of his own, he had gone to his mother and asked her whether he could not have this room to work in while he was at home. He did not know what she had done to persuade his father - he suspected that there had been much pleading and crying involved - but his request had been granted, and this had since become his refuge when the quarrelling became too much and he sought a bit of peace and quiet.  
  
The laboratory was quite separate from the rest of the house. You had to walk right down the end of the hall, go through a door, along a short, windowless passage and through another door, which Severus always locked, to get to it. The laboratory had not been redecorated, but that quite suited him, really. Its walls were of grey stone, its carpet had once been red but was now blackened and threadbare, but what did it matter? The main thing was that he had an excellent selection of ingredients in glass jars on shelves all around the walls, a large, spotlessly clean table to prepare them on, and several cauldrons of various sizes and materials.  
  
He was poring now over one of the many ancient books he possessed, one that had large, thick pages and illustrations of wizards with grotesquely contorted faces, wizards whose bodies had partially decayed though they were still alive ... and wizards who no longer looked like wizards at all, their faces stretched, pale and rubbery, their eyes like slits, their nostrils flat, holding large, steaming goblets in their hands.  
  
"Put a stopper in death," read Severus, perusing the page. "Drain the blood of a half-dozen house elves and mix with freshly extracted snake venom. Add a grain of powdered unicorn horn and two leaves of monkshood ... What?!" he exclaimed in annoyance when he heard a sharp rap on the clouded window.  
  
He looked up. A shadow was perched on the window sill, beating repeatedly against the glass. Severus went over to the garden door, turned the key and - surprised that it actually worked, considering it had not been used for years - stepped out into the slowly failing sunlight. An eagle owl left the window and swooped towards him, dropped a roll of parchment at his feet, beat its wings and circled high into the sky before soaring away. Severus bent down and picked up the note. He unfolded it on his way back in, and subconsciously took a hurried glance around him before permitting himself to smile.  
  
"Dear Sev," the letter went. "I just wanted to say that I thought last night was the perfect dream, didn't you? Well, I know you did, so no need to answer that. What do you reckon, same place Saturday night, or would you rather we went somewhere else? Think about it and let me know - I'm willing to be surprised. See you soon. Ever yours, Josie."  
  
Severus tucked the letter in the pocket of his robes and returned to his book. But he could no longer concentrate properly. Odd, the effect that girl had on him. It was like nothing else mattered any more, like potion- making and studying were a waste of time, like even serving the Dark Lord was unimportant compared to being with her. Beside Josephine, everything else looked pale and incomplete, every other person was just a waxwork, a stiff work of art to study and admire, but not really alive, not really tangible, not really beautiful. There was so much more life in her than in anyone else he had ever met, so much more warmth than he had ever known, that the rest of the world just ceased to exist.  
  
"You will require the life force of an adult witch or wizard," he forced himself to read.  
  
Josephine ... where would he take her on Saturday? The same place as last night? It had been nice there, certainly. But he thought he would like somewhere else for a change, somewhere more magical. Hogsmeade. The Three Broomsticks? No, that didn't have the right kind of atmosphere. He thought of a place he had heard of once, a wizard night club somewhere in London ... The Bouncing Banshee. He had never been there himself, but from what he had heard, it should be just the kind of place Josephine would like.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------  
  
It became clear when John and Remus got home that they had both heard about what had happened that morning. John seemed as surprised as Faith that his brother-in-law was taking it so well. After dinner, Remus helped his mother clear the table while John and Malcolm went outside into the garden. For a while neither of them said anything at all. Then John asked,  
  
"Are you very angry with Crouch?"  
  
Malcolm shook his head. "Not now. I was. I was angry with him and with myself, because I felt responsible."  
  
"But it wasn't your fault. There was nothing you could have done to prevent it."  
  
"That's what Bridget said," Malcolm remembered with a smile.  
  
"Bridget?" John's tone was curious. "You've spoken to her about it?"  
  
"Oh, I bumped into her when I was taking a walk," Malcolm said casually. Then he laughed. "You know, she actually reckons I saved a life - by calling Laura away from the others."  
  
"Laura?"  
  
"Yes. You remember - Laura Lovegood. Her father once brought out some new kind of wizarding magazine. Had all kinds of odd theories in it. It all went wrong, mind you. No one wanted it. He said the wizarding world wasn't ready for it yet, and it would run fine in a few years or so. I think Laura's brother's expected to take over the project some day. He's the intellectual type, as far as I remember. You know: stuffed shirt, top of the class, prefect, head boy and all that."  
  
John smiled. "Like me, you mean?"  
  
A grin flitted across Malcolm's face. "No, not quite like you, I imagine."  
  
"I do remember the girl," John said, musing. "You used to have a bit of a soft spot for her, I think."  
  
"Give over, John, she's just a kid! Must be no more than Pippa Pettigrew's age."  
  
"Pippa Pettigrew's no kid. But then, nor is Bridget."  
  
Malcolm looked up sharply, but John became deeply fascinated by an imaginary speck of dust on his sleeve at that moment. It was a while before he asked,  
  
"What will you do now?"  
  
"What I've been planning all along, really. Craigg at the Better Days has finally found me a contact whose help will enable me to get the Order the inside information we want. She'll get me right where I need to be to supply that information. In with the Death Eaters."  
  
John's face darkened. "You? I thought you wanted to find someone who's already in the enemy's inner circle."  
  
"How would we know we can really trust them? No, this is by far the safer way."  
  
"Safer?! Good God, Malcolm, you can't be serious! You could be found out, the whole plan could be a trap ..."  
  
"Designed just to capture me? I don't think so. I'm not that important. Anyway, the woman seems genuine enough. Hard-boiled, calculating, but not the double-agent type."  
  
"I would have said that about you a couple of minutes ago. And what if she's under the Imperius curse? She may not even know what she's doing."  
  
"I know, but I have a hunch she was telling the truth. If not, she could have killed Craigg and me on the spot, there would be no need for such an elaborate plan."  
  
"Unless that's what she wanted you to think," Remus spoke suddenly from the door. "The Death Eaters could be planning to use you to send us false information, only make you think what you're telling us is true."  
  
"John, did you have to bring your son up to be just as pessimistic as you are?" Malcolm complained.  
  
"Oh, I think I've got quite a bit of you in me too," Remus said with a slow smile.  
  
"But luckily you show more sense than your godfather," John put in.  
  
"There is no sense in this - this war, John! I know the risks I'm taking, but if I can help save some lives ..."  
  
"Every time you do, you'll be one step closer to being discovered. The Death Eaters are bound to get suspicious if their plans start going wrong."  
  
"I know. But it's only my own life I'm risking."  
  
"No, it's not," Remus objected quietly. "If you're found out, they may find a way to get information out of you about us."  
  
Malcolm shook his head with decision. "They won't. I'd die sooner than tell them anything, as you both know. I'd kill myself before I gave away the Order. Like I said, the only life that's at stake here is my own."  
  
"But no life is totally individual," said John. "Everything we do, everything that happens to us, affects other people, people who care about us. You may only be risking your own life, but you're risking other people's happiness."  
  
"We all have our sacrifices to make."  
  
"That may be so. But I don't want to sacrifice you."  
  
"Dad, I think you'd better come inside," Remus suggested. "Mum's put the kettle on, and she'll be wondering what's keeping you."  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------------  
  
2 - At the Bouncing Banshee  
  
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It was Saturday evening. Severus had donned black dress robes and was sleeking back his hair when his mother appeared in the doorway. She stood watching him with a smile as his face creased into a frown while he studied his reflection.  
  
"You look nice again," she said. "Where are you going?"  
  
"The Bouncing Banshee. I'm meeting Josephine off the Knight Bus at seven."  
  
"I see. Well, I hope you have a nice time, dear. And you can tell Josephine we're dying to meet her, and ask whether she'd like to come for dinner one evening."  
  
Severus frowned even more deeply.  
  
"You really don't want us to meet her, do you? Why?"  
  
"Perhaps I just don't want her to meet you," he retorted through his teeth. His mother looked hurt, but she nodded.  
  
"Yes, in a way I could see that. But she'll have to meet us eventually, won't she?"  
  
Severus felt a pleasurable tremor at the word 'eventually' and what it implied. His mother was right, of course, he would have to introduce them to Josephine . one day.  
  
"I suppose so," he said. "I have to go now, mother, or I'll be late."  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------  
  
"Is this it?" James queried, looking up at a run down block of flats with paint peeling off the walls, rows of smudged and broken windows and only half a door number on the wall.  
  
"Yes," Sirius confirmed with the air of someone giving his friends a rare treat.  
  
Only Peter looked excited.  
  
"Oh yes, I've heard about this place from Pippa. She says it's not much on the outside ..."  
  
"You can say that again," said Remus with a grin at James.  
  
"... but it's really good once you're in. Pippa told me about it. She came as soon as she was old enough - they don't let you in until you're fifteen."  
  
"And you never mentioned the place?" Sirius complained, looking devastated. "I've only just heard about it, from Gideon, but it sounded great. If I'd known it existed before, I'd have been here ages ago." He shook his head in exasperation. "Honestly, Wormtail, you have no imagination, do you?"  
  
"So, shall we go in?" James suggested.  
  
Lily, looking a little confused as to why Sirius was calling Peter 'Wormtail', held James's hand more tightly and nodded. "Let's."  
  
They entered a derelict hallway and Sirius marched straight up to a very old lift. The doors opened with an ominous clunk when he pressed the button, and he stood aside to let everyone in. The lift cabin, apart from being grubby and filled with an unpleasant odour, looked quite ordinary. Sirius examined the row of buttons and began pressing them in sequence. Three, two, six, two, three.  
  
"Six?" Remus said. "This building hasn't got six floors, has it?"  
  
Sirius shrugged. The lift gave a jolt and began to move - not upwards, but down into the ground, rather like the visitor's entrance to the Ministry of Magic. Moments later, the lift came to a halt. The doors opened, and suddenly everything had changed. This was no longer the inside of a tumbledown building. They were in a kind of stone courtyard with ivy all around the walls and tall trees that seemed to hold up the ceiling, all flickering with fairy lights. An eerie sound reached their ears, like the whistling of the wind in the leaves, but accompanied by a very faint humming.  
  
Sirius strode ahead of the others across the courtyard to a heavy wooden door and tapped it with his wand. A high-pitched wail rang out that froze their blood, and moments later the door swung back on its hinges.  
  
"Yes?" croaked a voice from below.  
  
Sirius looked down at the ugly, misshapen head of a goblin, short even by the usual standards of his species, who was staring fixedly at the place where the young wizard's knees were.  
  
"Hello," said Sirius lightly. "This the Bouncing Banshee?"  
  
"No, my name is not Bobbin Bramley," the goblin retorted angrily. "It's ..."  
  
"All right, all right. No need to shout," Sirius interrupted. "I don't want to know your name, I'm here to have a good time and party."  
  
"Some lime? Do I look like a greengrocer?" said the goblin.  
  
Sirius was looking puzzled now. "Lime? I didn't say anything about lime ..."  
  
Remus cleared his throat and pushed past Sirius.  
  
"I think he's deaf," he whispered in his friend's ear.  
  
He crouched down in front of the goblin, who stared right through him, though their faces were now level.  
  
"Excuse me," he said loudly. "My name is Remus Lupin. My friends and I are here to visit the Bouncing Banshee."  
  
To everyone's surprise, the goblin stood aside at once and bowed so low that his nose touched the turned-up toes of his velvet slippers.  
  
"Welcome, sir. Have a pleasant evening."  
  
"Thank you," said Remus, smiling.  
  
They all walked through the door, and Sirius hissed,  
  
"I think he's blind as well. How can he tell whether the guests are old enough?"  
  
"Easy," said Lily, pointing. "An age line."  
  
Sure enough, at the other end of the short passage a notice had been put up.  
  
NO PERSONS BELOW THE AGE OF FIFTEEN ALLOWED BEYOND THIS POINT.  
  
A group of younger wizards who had evidently paid no heed to this warning were sitting on the floor, rubbing their heads, but grinning.  
  
"Oh, hello McAlistair, Dibbons," Sirius exclaimed as he passed two of them. "Tried to get across the age line, did you?"  
  
"Yup. It chucked us right back out again."  
  
"That's nothing to what old Dolesham's going to do to you when she finds you out of bed."  
  
"Huh, we're not scared of her," said one of the boys. "She's become quite tame lately. I think she thinks none of our antics can be as bad as yours were when you were our age."  
  
"Watch it, boys, you make it sound like I'm ancient!" Sirius laughed, stepping across the age line. "Though age can be an advantage," he added. "See you!"  
  
They walked on through a curtain of beads, and suddenly the volume level rose exponentially. Sirius laughed as they all covered their ears and walked into a vast cave that was ablaze with coloured lights. Right in the centre was a huge dance floor that was packed with witches, wizards and a good few hags. A band was playing on a stage at the opposite end, using instruments of most bizarre shapes and sizes, all grouped around a moving statue of a banshee that was bouncing up and down in time with the music and emitting loud wails every now and then. There were tables all around the dance floor where people sat laughing and talking, holding multicoloured cocktails, steaming goblets and pipes that gave out coloured smoke.  
  
Sirius led the way to an empty table in a niche which he somehow managed to spot through the crowd. A torch on the wall cast a flickering turquoise light on the high-backed leather seats. Lily, Remus and Peter sat down while Sirius and James offered to go and get drinks from the bar.  
  
They all sat sipping their drinks and watching the dance floor.  
  
Peter cried out suddenly, pointing. "There's Daniel with Florence! And there are Frank and Damian, and Mary!"  
  
"Yes," Sirius called back over the noise. "I asked them to join us. Hi," he added, as the others reached their table and everyone squeezed up a bit to make more room.  
  
"Wow," breathed Mary, sliding onto the seat beside Sirius. "This is amazing."  
  
He grinned. "Want to dance?"  
  
"Oooh, yes."  
  
Sirius and Mary got up and pushed their way through the crowd. Lily leaned forward to whisper in James's ear, and they followed the other two.  
  
"Hello," Frank said, sliding further along the bench to sit next to Remus. "How are things?"  
  
"All right," Remus replied, sipping his butterbeer.  
  
"What about Malcolm? How's he coping?"  
  
"Quite well, actually. Except that he's got some pretty dangerous ideas in his head. He's got Dad really worried."  
  
"What ideas?"  
  
Remus told Frank in as much of a whisper as was possible considering the overall volume what he had overheard his father and uncle discussing. Frank whistled.  
  
"That sounds dodgy. No wonder your dad's worried. Mind you, I'm not saying Malcolm isn't right. It's about time we managed to put a stop to these surprise attacks, and what he's planning might give us just the help we need."  
  
"Unless he gets himself killed," Remus pointed out, looking every bit as worried as his father.  
  
Frank patted him on the shoulder consolingly. "I know. But Malcolm's clever. If he thinks they're getting on to him - and I'm sure he'd notice if they were - he'll get out, won't he?"  
  
"I hope so."  
  
Remus looked around the club to take his mind off his concerns.  
  
"Popular place, this," Frank commented.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Oh look," Frank went on eagerly. "Over there, isn't that ..."  
  
"Where?" Remus asked, trying to follow Frank's eyes.  
  
At last he found the spot that Frank was staring at, and recognised the girl. It was Aurora, standing alone by the doorway and looking around her.  
  
"Isn't anyone with her?" Frank asked.  
  
"Doesn't look like it. I'll go and ask her, shall I?"  
  
Frank nodded.  
  
Remus put down his mug and got up. It was a squeeze to get around the dance floor without being knocked over, but he made it and came up behind Aurora.  
  
"Hello."  
  
She jumped, turned around, and smiled broadly. "Hi."  
  
"Did you come here all on your own?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Does that mean you'd like to be alone or can I persuade you to join us?" Remus asked, indicating their table.  
  
"I was hoping you'd ask that. Actually, I went to see you at home to ask if you'd like to come out for some dinner, and your mother told me you were here. I thought I'd come too and see if you'd offer me a seat at all."  
  
"That was a good idea of yours. Come on."  
  
Remus led her back through the crowds and they sat down. Aurora turned her head to watch the dancers.  
  
"Is that Mary Crimple down there with Sirius?" she asked.  
  
Remus nodded. "I think he arranged to meet her here yesterday."  
  
"He's still up to his old tricks, then."  
  
Remus shot her a sympathetic look, but Aurora shook her head. "It's okay, Remus, really. I don't mind any more." She paused and looked at him sideways, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. "Remus - will you dance with me?"  
  
He looked startled. "Me? But I don't dance. I never have."  
  
"Oh, please, Remus," she begged, fluttering her eyelids at him.  
  
Remus sighed, and reluctantly allowed himself to be dragged onto the dance floor.  
  
Mary Crimple laughed when Sirius kissed her amid the crowd. She put her arms around his neck and kissed him back, then she said,  
  
"Let's get another drink, Sirius."  
  
Hand in hand, they made their way to the bar. A couple brushed past them as they were leaving the dance floor and Sirius, his eyes wide, stared after them.  
  
"Snape?!" he exclaimed. "Well I never."  
  
They got their drinks and hurried back to the table. Lily and James were back, and Peter, Damian and Frank were still there too.  
  
"Guess who we just saw!" Sirius said excitedly. "Severus Snape!"  
  
"Here?" said James.  
  
"Down there, on the dance floor - with a girl!"  
  
"No way!" Damian craned his neck to see.  
  
"Well, it was bound to happen some day," Lily pointed out sensibly. "I mean, just because we don't like him, that doesn't mean there aren't some girls who like that type."  
  
Sirius stared at her in disbelief. "Lily, this is Severus Snape we're talking about! No one likes Severus Snape."  
  
"I bet his mother does," Lily retorted.  
  
"Yes, well, he's not dancing with his mother, is he?"  
  
"Who is he dancing with?" asked James.  
  
Sirius turned around to look again. "No idea who she is. Not from Hogwarts, anyway. I'd know if she was."  
  
"I'm sure you would," said Lily. "You know all the girls at Hogwarts, don't you?"  
  
Mary's face flushed, and Sirius shot a scowl at Lily. "She doesn't look old Severus's type, anyway. I'm going to see what I can find out ..."  
  
He rose. Mary protested weakly, but there was no holding him. He found a way back down to the dance floor, where the girl was now standing on her own.  
  
"Hi," said Sirius with his most charming smile in place.  
  
"Hello," she replied, looking up at him from under her painted eyelids.  
  
"I'm Sirius. Sirius Black."  
  
He shook her hand.  
  
"Josie Coronis."  
  
"A pleasure. So. You're here with Severus Snape, are you?"  
  
"Yes. You know him?"  
  
"We were at school together," said Sirius with the air of someone describing a lifelong friendship.  
  
"Oh, that's nice."  
  
"No, it wasn't actually," Sirius went on confidentially. "We loathed the sight of each other, to tell you the truth. I even tried to kill him once - didn't work though, obviously."  
  
Josie giggled, thinking it was a joke.  
  
"I'm quite sure you tried nothing of the sort."  
  
"He did, actually," said a cold voice beside them. It was Snape, returning with drinks.  
  
"Oh, hello, Sevvie," Josie cried. "Look who's here. You're old school mate, Sirius."  
  
The two boys stared daggers at one another. Then Sirius held out his hand, forcing a smile.  
  
"Hello, Sevvie," he said. "I was just about to ask Josie here to dance with me, if you don't mind."  
  
Snape looked like he would rather rip Sirius to pieces where he stood, but Josie agreed at once, so that he had to force a very pained smile on his face.  
  
"Of course not, Black."  
  
"Great," Sirius grinned and twirled away with Josie.  
  
As soon as that particular dance had stopped, however, Snape was back beside them.  
  
"Not yet, Severus," Sirius complained as the band struck up a slower tune. "This is one of my favourites."  
  
A short distance away, Remus was still dancing with Aurora. She had been talking animatedly all the time, but now she suddenly stopped, looking anxious.  
  
"Oh Remus, look," she murmured, inclining her head.  
  
Remus turned around and saw Sirius, Severus Snape and a girl he had never seen before. Snape's face was livid. He had put down the drinks and balled his hands into fists. Remus and Aurora pushed past the other dancers towards them.  
  
"I really don't see what you've got against my dancing with Jo for a bit," Sirius was saying. "I won't mind if you want to dance with Mary."  
  
"All I want," Snape hissed back, "is for you to go back to the hole you crawled out of and stay there."  
  
"Language, Severus! Don't shock the girl. You've only just persuaded her you're not such a fright as you look, you don't want to go correcting that impression."  
  
"You ..." Snape snarled, raising a fist.  
  
"Stop it, both of you!" Josie cried.  
  
"Don't worry, Jo," Sirius said loudly. "He won't really attack me, he's too much of a cowa..."  
  
"Sirius, that's enough!" Remus interrupted brusquely. "Come on, now, we didn't come here to fight."  
  
"I'm not fighting."  
  
"You're asking for it, though," said Aurora, her eyes ablaze.  
  
Sirius turned to look at her. "I don't know what that's got to do with you."  
  
Aurora's cheeks flushed hotly. Remus stepped between them.  
  
"Sirius, don't be an idiot," he said quietly. "Stop it, now. Come back to the table and calm down. You're totally overreacting."  
  
"Don't patronise me, Remus, I'm not a child."  
  
"You're acting like one."  
  
Sirius took an angry step towards Remus now.  
  
"You had better listen to him," Severus Snape said menacingly through gritted teeth. "Be sensible, Black, and go with your half-breed friend."  
  
Sirius gave a roar of fury and launched himself at Snape. Remus and Aurora both lunged for his arms, and from out of nowhere, James joined them. Together they managed to pull the two young wizards apart, and James spoke firmly to Sirius.  
  
"I don't know what's got into you, Sirius, but I suggest you pack it in now and apologise."  
  
"Apologise? To him?" Sirius spat.  
  
"Forget it, Potter," Snape snarled. "I'm not accepting any apologies from any of you lot."  
  
Sirius stared furiously at him. Then he faced Josie.  
  
"I hope you'll accept my apology. I'm sorry if your evening out has been spoilt by this, but if you'll take my advice, I suggest you find someone better to go out with next time. "  
  
With that, he shook off James and Remus and marched back to their table.  
  
"What on earth has got into you?" James demanded when they were sitting down again. "I know none of us can stand Snape, but did you have to provoke him like that?"  
  
But Sirius was barely listening. His eyes were fixed on Snape and Josie, who were making their way to the exit.  
  
"That girl," he murmured, unaware that Mary Crimple was staring at him resentfully.  
  
"What about her?" James asked. "You only asked her to dance to annoy Snape, you wouldn't have looked twice at her otherwise, would you?"  
  
"Probably not," Sirius confessed. "But there's something about her."  
  
"Oh S-sirius, you're not going to try and pinch S-snape's girlfriend!" Peter cried worriedly.  
  
"No. I just think she needs to be warned what he's like. I don't think she realises, and I don't know why, but somehow I'm sure she's in danger because of it."  
  
James looked across at the girl by the door with added interest.  
  
"Did she tell you anything about herself?"  
  
"No, and somehow I found that odd. She seems the type to talk a lot, but she hardly said a word."  
  
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3 - Surprise Visits  
  
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It was the following Monday. Bridget flicked a duster over a heavy book and replaced it on its shelf. She ticked it off on her list, picked up the next one, and began dusting that, also. In the store room at the back of the shop, she could hear her boss, Mrs. Shaw, humming to herself. What bliss it must be to be able to go about your business like Mrs. Shaw did, oblivious to the threat of Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters, thanks to the Ministry's continued and largely successful efforts in keeping the Muggle population ignorant of what was going on, of the real reason behind the increased number of 'accidents' that had been happening.  
  
She put the dusted book on the shelf and again used her pencil to tick it off the list, then she stuck the pencil back behind her ear and continued. She barely looked up when the little brass bell above the door rang, merely muttered a polite "Good morning" and allowed Mrs. Shaw to take over, as she invariably did when she was in the shop herself. Today was no exception. Squeezing her full body through the narrow store room door and smoothing the folds of her long-outdated tweed skirt, Mrs. Shaw straightened her pince nez with a thick, stubby forefinger and marched merrily up to her potential customer.  
  
"Good afternoon, sir. Is there anything particular I can help you with, or will you just be browsing?"  
  
"No, I did come for something particular."  
  
The voice made Bridget look up at once. She stared in surprise. Malcolm grinned at her.  
  
"And I've already found it," he told Mrs. Shaw, who was now clearly agog with curiosity. "Excuse me."  
  
Mrs. Shaw bustled into the background, while Malcolm came over to the counter.  
  
"Hello, Bridget."  
  
"Malcolm - what are you doing here?"  
  
"Is that your way of saying 'What a lovely surprise'?"  
  
Bridget smiled. "How are you?"  
  
"I'm all right," he assured her. "I called on Laura yesterday and we sort of talked it all over again. She's still pretty rattled, but I think we're both a bit closer to getting over last week."  
  
"I'm glad. You know if there's anything I can do ."  
  
"Actually, that's what I came for, in a way."  
  
Bridget raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"  
  
"It occurred to me that I need to get out and do things, take my mind off it all. I thought you might like to help me."  
  
"Is that your way of asking me out?"  
  
"Absolutely. I'd like to do something different for a change. You know, when you've lived in a place so long, you forget to really look at it. You take it for granted. I think what happened last week has shaken me up a bit. I don't want to take things for granted any more. I want to see them properly. I thought we could take one of those tour buses and see the sights, maybe go on a riverboat. What do you think?"  
  
"It sounds like fun, but I'm afraid I can't. I have to work for another two hours."  
  
"What she means is," Mrs. Shaw butted in, heaving herself over to the counter and whipping the duster from Bridget's hand, "that she'd be delighted to come with you right away. Run along and get your cardigan, dear. I'll brook no refusal."  
  
Bridget thanked Mrs. Shaw in pleasured surprise and did as she was told.  
  
"You be nice to her now, young man," Mrs. Shaw said to Malcolm while they were alone, poking his chest with her finger. "She's had a tough life, that one. Not that she's told me anything about it, but one recognises the signs. She needs to have someone take care of her."  
  
"I promise you I won't let her fall into the Thames," Malcolm whispered confidentially.  
  
Mrs. Shaw gave a hearty laugh. Bridget looked questioningly at them both as she returned with a thin cardigan over her arm, but Mrs. Shaw was thoroughly enjoying their little secret, and Malcolm merely grinned again.  
  
"We won't be needing that," he said, removing the pencil from behind Bridget's ear and placing it on the counter.  
  
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"Albus!" Professor McGonagall exclaimed, bursting into the headmaster's office most unceremoniously while waving a scrap of parchment in her hand. "I just received your note. Is it true what it says? That Malcolm Marley intends to ... that ..." She seemed at a loss for words.  
  
"Good afternoon, professor," Professor Dumbledore replied calmly. "Do join us, won't you?"  
  
He conjured up a second chair opposite his desk. Professor McGonagall stared at it blankly, glanced quickly from Pippa Pettigrew, who was sitting in the other chair, to Hagrid, leaning against a bookshelf, and faced Dumbledore again.  
  
"Is it true?" she repeated.  
  
"Yes, Minerva. It is true."  
  
This time, Professor McGonagall did sit down, but with a heavy, exasperated sigh.  
  
"I knew it. The fool!"  
  
"Right y'are, Professor McGonagall," Hagrid agreed with her at once.  
  
"That he is most decidedly not," Dumbledore corrected them both. "His plan evidences both courage and vision."  
  
"It is a terrible risk, though," Pippa said quietly, apparently continuing a conversation she, Hagrid and the headmaster had been having before McGonagall arrived. "It's not going to be easy to pull the wool over the Death Eaters' eyes, not even by using polyjuice potion to look exactly like one of them. One false comment and it could all be over."  
  
"The danger is great," Dumbledore admitted. "But the stakes are high."  
  
"You're not saying you approve of this plan, surely?"  
  
"If I could see another way, Minerva, I most certainly would not approve. But I confess I don't. If you do, then please tell me and I will do my best to stop this action."  
  
"We can go on like we always 'ave," Hagrid suggested. "We don' really need this information that much, we've done all righ' so far."  
  
"But we haven't," Pippa contradicted him gently. "Much as I hate to admit it, I agree that an inside man is just what we do need to prevent more occurrences like that of last week. Surprise attacks will be that much easier to counteract if we know when they're planned."  
  
"It won't work, he'll get himself killed!" McGonagall exclaimed.  
  
"I hope you're wrong," said Pippa. "I really do."  
  
"So do I," Dumbledore agreed. "But in any case, nothing has been decided yet. I have told Malcolm that I fully agree with the point that he tells me Remus has made, namely that his capture could easily endanger the entire mission. I will therefore not sanction his plan until the Order has voted on it and unless the majority is in favour. I have sent notes to that effect to all the members of the Order - except Bridget, since Malcolm said he would be seeing her today and would tell her himself."  
  
"But professor - ye know what Malcolm's like, once he's set his mind on it, there ain't nothing but a direct order from you can stop 'im doing this. Even if the Order decides against it, I wouldn't put it past him to go anyway."  
  
Professor McGonagall, too, still looked deeply distressed.  
  
"I'm tired of wars, Albus. This one is hardly any different to those that have gone before. The best and the bravest go out to fight - and don't come back."  
  
"Some do, Minerva, some do. We can only hope that this war will be over soon, and that it will not claim too many more sacrifices before it is ended."  
  
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It was past closing time at the Ministry of Magic. Remus sat behind his desk, looking at the animal in the small cage in front of him. It was a rat, though a very unusual specimen. It was tiny, but its ears were abnormally large, its fur black as the night and its eyes seemed to be watching him much more intelligently than an ordinary rat's. Remus had wondered at first if it might be an Animagus, but none of the spells he had tried to force it to reveal itself as such had worked. It was, evidently, simply an animal - just a very unusual one. He tried again to tempt it with some food which he held through the bars, but again it merely attempted to bite off his finger, so that the had to withdraw his hand quickly. At that moment, there was a knock on the door.  
  
"Come in," he called.  
  
It was Aurora. She slipped through the door and closed it behind her, clearly pleased with the effect of her sudden appearance, as Remus looked pleasantly surprised.  
  
"Hello, to what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you in the backmost corner of the Ministry of Magic?"  
  
"To nothing in particular, really," said Aurora. "I just thought I'd pop in and see how you were doing. There was a watchwizard just about to lock up the visitor's entrance, and he was kind enough to let me in when I told him I was on a rescue mission."  
  
"Rescue?"  
  
She nodded. "Rescuing you from working overtime again and not getting a good, square meal."  
  
"I get a good, square meal every evening. My mother sees to that, whether I like it or not."  
  
"Yes, well, I've decided to give her the night off," Aurora announced. "You're having dinner with me today. There's a lovely little restaurant just around the corner from my flat, I thought we could go there. I'm fed up with eating sandwiches on my own every evening."  
  
Remus smiled. "Your mother doesn't make sure you get a good, square meal then," he said.  
  
Then he wished he hadn't. Aurora looked suddenly upset.  
  
"I don't have a mother," she said.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
She waved aside his apology. "It's all right. You weren't to know. I don't generally talk about my parents. Lily knows what . what happened, of course. But other than that, I haven't told anyone."  
  
She fell silent. Remus decided not to press her. If she wanted to tell him, she would. But Aurora did not go on. Instead, after a while she looked down at the cage on his desk.  
  
"What's that?" she asked.  
  
"Some kind of rat," he replied casually, accepting the fact that she was looking for a change of subject. "A wizard dropped it off here this morning. Seems he'd found it in his kitchen. He thought it looked like a pet, but it won't let anyone get near it. It keeps trying to bite off my fingers if I try to feed it."  
  
Aurora approached the desk curiously and bent over so that she could look straight at the rat. Its eyes peered back at her. She stretched out her hand towards the cage.  
  
"Be careful," Remus warned her anxiously.  
  
But she continued to move her hand nearer. The rat's eyes watched her fingers closely as they neared the clasp that locked the cage. Remus's eyes were fixed on the creature's sharp teeth. Aurora opened the cage and passed her hand inside it.  
  
"Aurora, don't," Remus begged.  
  
"It's all right," she said. "He's not going to bite me."  
  
She was right. Her hand closed gently around the rat and she brought it out into the open.  
  
"Give me something for him," Aurora whispered, holding out her hand.  
  
Remus passed her a piece of cheese. She held it towards the rat. It sniffed the cheese, and then began to nibble it peacefully.  
  
"That's amazing," Remus said under his breath.  
  
"Not really. I managed to see what was in his mind. His former owners treated him badly, and he's afraid of humans. I was able to tell him I wanted to help him," she added, stroking the rat while it finished eating its cheese. "Here, stroke him, Remus."  
  
Remus moved his hand slowly towards the rat. Its head whipped round and its sharp teeth missed his fingers by inches. Aurora raised the rat to her face.  
  
"Bad boy," she told it. "You mustn't do that. This is Remus, he's my friend, and he won't hurt you, so you mustn't hurt him, do you hear?"  
  
She held the rat out to Remus again. He felt rather hesitant, but reached out again, and this time the rat didn't try to bite him.  
  
"I think you should be working here, not me," he said to Aurora.  
  
She smiled, stroked the rat again and replaced it in its cage.  
  
"There. Be a good boy, now. Remus will look after you."  
  
The rat gave a squeak and curled up in the corner of the cage.  
  
"Are we going, then?" Aurora said to Remus.  
  
"All right," he said, and went to get his coat.  
  
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Bridget leaned against the railing and stared up at the imposing Tower Bridge, brightly lit against the black night sky. A breeze blew a few curls across her face and cooled her cheeks, still pink from the warmth of the restaurant and the wine.  
  
"Beautiful, isn't it?" she sighed, admiring the bridge's reflection in the water.  
  
"Exquisite," Malcolm agreed.  
  
Bridget felt that he was not looking at the bridge at all. His eyes were watching her. She gave a shiver.  
  
"You're cold," Malcolm said, stepping towards her. "Here, take my jacket." He pulled it off, but paused in mid-action. "Bridget, what's the matter?"  
  
She was staring at the coat in his hands, a queer, frozen look on her face.  
  
"Bridget?" he repeated softly.  
  
She looked up hesitantly into his anxious brown eyes. There it was again, that something she had seen before, that day when they had parted outside the book shop. Something that, despite all her fears, made her want to trust him. Nevertheless, she turned away from him before answering.  
  
"I remember coming here once, long ago, with Vindictus, before we were married. When I still believed he was the man of my dreams. He told me he loved me on this very spot. And I fell for his lies. He desired me, and he desired the power he thought marrying into my family would bring him. He never loved me, but I fell for his charm. I was such a fool."  
  
"You weren't," Malcolm protested. "You were young and inexperienced, that's all. We all make mistakes at that age."  
  
"But most of us don't end up paying for them for the rest of our lives."  
  
"Has your life really turned out that badly?" he asked sadly. "Hasn't some good come of it all, in the end? Would you really want to be without the friends you have now, if it meant you had never made that one mistake?"  
  
"I might still have met them all anyway, through Dumbledore and my father."  
  
"But would it have been the same?"  
  
Bridget pondered this. "No," she confessed slowly, "probably not. I would never have become as close to Faith, for instance, as I am if we had not understood each other so well from the outset. From the beginning, we have sensed each other's isolation and it has brought us closer together. It made me take to her from the start. Her and John." She smiled softly. "The only man since my marriage whom I was at once able to trust and love when I met him."  
  
Malcolm felt a pang of hurt. "Love?" he repeated with an effort.  
  
"Not in the sense you're probably thinking," she said quickly. "But he was so completely generous from the start, so kind to me always . And I knew at once that I was safe with him, because his heart so wholly belongs to Faith that I was never in any danger of his demanding anything from me other than ordinary friendship."  
  
"Is that the only kind of love you can let into your life now?" asked Malcolm quietly.  
  
"Possibly. I don't know that I could never trust any man again enough to give my heart away to him. I mistrust charm and kindness, because I'm always afraid they might be false."  
  
Malcolm felt himself tremble horribly, startled at the sudden force of his own feelings, feelings he had not known he possessed until a week ago. But it was clear that now was not the time to tell Bridget what he was going through. Friendship was clearly all she wanted and needed, the safety of someone to turn to in times of trouble, who would demand nothing from her in return. Well, if that was all it could be, then let it be so. He would give her all his love and devotion, and ask nothing in return.  
  
As though in slow-motion, he lifted the jacket and placed it gently about her shoulders.  
  
"Thank you," said Bridget, facing him with a smile.  
  
"Shall we take a walk?" Malcolm suggested, forcing his voice to stay casual.  
  
"Oh yes. It's been such a lovely day, Malcolm," she said honestly. "I'm glad you came round."  
  
*Glad. But not glad enough,* he thought. Out loud he said, "So am I."  
  
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4 - The Decision is Made  
  
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John looked around the Order's usual meeting room at Gryffindor Hall. There were more people packed into it than usual, as more members had found time to attend the meeting this time. He had seen some of them before, but others were totally unknown to him. There was Dorcas Meadowes, an elderly witch who was nearing retirement from her post at the Ministry. A wizard he had not met before called Caradoc Dearborn, dressed in scarlet robes and wearing a most peculiar hat. Edgar Bones, whom John knew only from sight. A couple of the usuals - Mundungus Fletcher chatting to James and Sirius, Dedalus Diggle, Alastor Moody - and a younger wizard by the name of Podmore. John was pretty sure he had seen him before, too. But one person was very conspicuously absent. John turned to Malcolm, who for once had turned up on time.  
  
"Where's Bridget?" he asked. "Isn't she coming?"  
  
"I would be very much surprised if she did," Malcolm replied.  
  
"She's not missed a meeting since she joined up, why would she miss this one?"  
  
Malcolm looked guilty.  
  
"Because she doesn't know about it."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I was supposed to tell her myself on Monday. I told Dumbledore I would. But I couldn't."  
  
"What do you mean, you couldn't?"  
  
"I - felt something on Monday," Malcolm said in a whisper to stop anyone else from hearing, "something that - well - has turned my world upside down, if you must know. Something I almost wish I'd never experienced. But I wouldn't want to be without it, either."  
  
"You're not making any sense," John complained, shaking his head.  
  
Malcolm looked at him helplessly.  
  
"I thought you knew. It seemed like you did, the other day. I'm in love with her, John," he explained.  
  
John stared at him for a moment. Then he lowered his head and said,  
  
"You're right, I should have known. I did know, really. I've often thought you two would be perfect for one another, you were bound to discover it yourself some day."  
  
"Well, I have. Only I don't know yet whether I even stand a chance with her. And it's come at such a damned awkward time," Malcolm murmured. "I made all these plans for infiltrating the Death Eaters thinking that I had nothing to lose. But now ."  
  
"Now you see that what I said was right. That other people would be affected if anything happened to you."  
  
"Yes. I have no less courage than I always did, I'm still more than ready to go through with this, but if anything should go wrong ."  
  
"We haven't voted on it yet," John interrupted him. "It's likely the vote will decide against your plan anyway."  
  
"It won't. I still intend to fight tooth and nail to get them to agree, and I'm sure they will."  
  
"Malcolm ."  
  
"I just want your word that if anything goes wrong, you'll take care of Bridget."  
  
"But ."  
  
"Your word, John," Malcolm hissed.  
  
John sighed. "You know I will."  
  
Malcolm smiled.  
  
"Thanks. Though I hope, of course, that it won't be necessary."  
  
Dumbledore entered at that moment, followed by Gordon and the rest of the Order who would be attending tonight. The discussion was brief. Malcolm outlined his plan, giving many good reasons for such a venture, insisting that he was more than willing to take the risk and playing down the dangers of the affair. It was agreed, however, that it should be the decision of the Order whether or not the risk was worth the possible gain. It should not be the responsibility of one man alone, because if the plan should fail, the entire Order might be in danger of discovery and elimination. The vote was called, and by a narrow majority, it was decided that Malcolm's plan should be carried out. As soon as his contact supplied the necessary information, it would go ahead. Professor Dumbledore thanked everyone for coming, and the group dissolved quickly. Malcolm avoided John's eye when turning to leave the room, and hurried down the steps. He reached the gravel path down to the gates and slowed his step. Then he heard the great front doors open again, and someone running to catch up with him.  
  
"Malcolm!"  
  
He stopped and looked back to see Philippa Pettigrew hurrying his way.  
  
"What can I do for you?" he asked when she drew level with him.  
  
Pippa was panting slightly. "I just wanted to say that, well, I think you're being very brave."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
Pippa went on, "But I also overheard what you said to John. Now, I know this was your idea, and the vote is over and all that, but . I wanted to ask you to let me do it instead."  
  
Malcolm gaped at her. "What?!"  
  
"It would be so much more sensible," she said quickly. "I heard you say to John that you came up with this plan when you had nothing to lose, but that's changed now, hasn't it? But not for me. I have no one to leave behind."  
  
"You have a mother and father, and a brother who'd be heartbroken if anything happened to you."  
  
"It's not the same thing."  
  
"No," Malcolm said firmly. "No. This was my idea, and I'm going to carry it out. I'm not letting a kid like you endanger herself unnecessarily."  
  
"I'm not a child!" she protested vigorously.  
  
"You are compared to me," he said. "And I'm telling you I won't let you do it. I appreciate the offer, but my decision is final."  
  
Pippa looked up at him sadly.  
  
"You won't change your mind?"  
  
"No."  
  
"All right," she sighed. "Then I suppose all I can do is wish you good luck."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Yes. Well, good luck, Malcolm," she said resignedly. "God bless you."  
  
She stood on tiptoes to kiss his cheek, then she turned around and walked back to the house. 


	22. Part 22: Curious Developments

Prequel, Part 22: Curious Developments  
  
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1 - Owl Post  
  
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Sirius Black took a pin out of his mouth and pushed it hard into the wall. He tried to stand back to see if the poster he was hanging up was straight. But it was hard to stand far enough away and hold the picture at the same time, especially when you were balancing precariously on the edge a bed.  
  
"It needs to go up a little on the right," said Bridget's voice from the door. "And please take those pins out of your mouth before you have an accident."  
  
Sirius obeyed, placing them in her outstretched hand.  
  
"Thanks," he said, adjusting the poster a little as she had indicated. "Is that better?"  
  
"A little bit lower now. Stop. Yes, that's fine."  
  
Sirius pushed the pin in the wall, climbed down from the bed and stood beside Bridget to check the result himself.  
  
"Yep, that's great," he agreed, taking another pin from her and proceeding to fix the lower corners to the wall.  
  
He then climbed off the bed again and admired the picture of a very large, very shiny, very expensive motorbike that now hung over his bed.  
  
"I'm sorry I couldn't afford to buy you the real thing," Bridget said.  
  
"No you're not," Sirius disagreed with a grin. "Actually, you're rather glad of it."  
  
Bridget smiled. "I confess, you've found me out. I would much rather you plastered all the walls in the flat with these vehicles than have you racing around on one."  
  
"I will one day, though. One day I'm going to buy myself one, and I'm going to charm it so that it flies."  
  
"Yes, dear," said Bridget indulgently. "One day. But for now, why don't you come and help me with the washing up, and I'll get out some pumpkin juice after and let you taste the biscuits I've made."  
  
"Okay."  
  
Sirius tore himself away from his new poster reluctantly and followed her out of the room. The washing up was quickly finished, and soon they were both sitting comfortably in the living room. Bridget watched Sirius over the edge of her glass.  
  
"What are you brooding about?" she asked after a while.  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"Yes, you are. Is it because James has decided to spend the day with Lily instead of with you again?"  
  
"No," Sirius said slowly. "It's not that. I don't blame James for wanting to go out with her. I would, if she was my girl."  
  
"Then what is the matter?"  
  
"It's . this girl we met the other night at the Bouncing Banshee."  
  
"Oh, I see."  
  
"No, you don't," he objected. "It's not what you think. I've not fallen for her or anything. I mean, I've only just met her, and . well, she's not pretty, she doesn't dress well, she's got absolutely no style ."  
  
"But there must be something about her, if she's occupying your mind that much," Bridget guessed shrewdly.  
  
"Yes. I don't know what it is, but . she seems a nice kid, and the thing is, she's with Severus Snape."  
  
"Snape? The one who was at Hogwarts with you?"  
  
"The very same."  
  
"And you're jealous?"  
  
"No! I told you I don't care tuppence for this girl," Sirius protested, getting to his feet and going to stand by the window. "But Snape's always been a bit . well, he was always interested in the Dark Arts and such, he hates muggle-borns - he even attacked Lily once at school, and jinxed Aurora. I've often suspected he might be a Death Eater, or at least connected to the Death Eaters in some way. And now he's going out with this girl, and it seems to me that she's as little into the Dark Arts as you or I."  
  
"But that's good. She may be able to change his mind about Voldemort and bring him over to our side."  
  
"Or she might get herself into a whole lot of trouble," Sirius said. "I can't explain it, Bridget, but I've got a feeling about her. A feeling like going out with Snape is going to cause her a lot of bother, maybe even put her in danger, only I can't put my finger on why I feel that."  
  
Bridget looked at him thoughtfully. "You think she might be about to make the same mistake I did?"  
  
Sirius shrugged.  
  
"Perhaps you ought to speak to her about it," Bridget advised. "Warn her, as a friend, what you suspect Severus Snape of. Maybe she will even be able to help our side, if you're right and she really is against the Dark Arts."  
  
"I'm sure she is," he said positively.  
  
Bridget smiled. "There you are then."  
  
Sirius turned away from the window to face her. "Perhaps I'll write to her," he said. "I don't know where she lives, but I know her name, and it's not a common one. I'm sure any owl will be able to find her in no time."  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------------  
  
"So, what do you think?" Lily asked, twirling in front of the mirror in her bedroom, dressed in a silky blue bridesmaid's dress.  
  
"Very pretty," said James.  
  
Lily stopped twirling and examined her reflection. "Do you really think so?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
She tugged discontentedly at the seam around the sleeve.  
  
"It itches."  
  
"Stop scratching," James said, catching her hand as she began to do just that.  
  
"Can't they make these things more comfortable?"  
  
"They're not meant to be comfortable, dear, they're meant to look nice," her mother pointed out, stroking Lily's long red hair back fondly. "And you do look nice. Doesn't she, James?"  
  
"Very," James agreed wholeheartedly.  
  
At that moment, Petunia poked her head around the door.  
  
"Anyone seen my shoes?" she asked.  
  
"Oh, sorry." Lily slipped out of the white shoes she was wearing and handed them to her sister.  
  
"What are you doing with them?" Petunia demanded.  
  
"I was just seeing whether the style would go with this dress or not. I haven't got any shoes to match it yet."  
  
"What does it matter what shoes you wear?" Petunia snapped. "The dress goes right down to the floor anyway, no one's going to see your feet."  
  
And with that, she departed again. Lily sighed.  
  
"I wonder she even chose me as a bridesmaid at all. She only did it for appearance's sake, I dare say. Mustn't let her friends know she's got any reason to dislike her sister, they might ask awkward questions."  
  
"Don't be silly, of course she doesn't dislike you," her mother objected quickly.  
  
"No - she hates me," said Lily sadly.  
  
"No one could hate you, dear. Could they, James?"  
  
"I certainly couldn't," he agreed.  
  
Lily smiled at them both. "Thanks."  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------------  
  
*Dear Josephine,  
  
I was wondering if you happen to be free for dinner one evening this week. There's something I'd like to talk to you about.  
  
Best wishes,  
  
Sirius*  
  
Sirius read the note through. He had tried about a dozen ways of putting his concerns in writing, but they had all sounded too preachy, or too much like he was only saying this because he hated Snape. So in the end, he had decided that he would try and meet Josie, and tell her face to face what he thought of Snape. He sealed the letter, wrote her name on the front and put it in the pocket of his jacket.  
  
"Bridget?" he called.  
  
She appeared from the living room. "Yes?"  
  
"I'm going out to post my letter. Don't know what time I'll be back. I might stop off at the Banshee or something after."  
  
"All right. See you when I see you."  
  
"Yep. Bye."  
  
Bridget watched him shut the door of the flat behind him. She returned to the living room and picked up the book she had been reading. But she was not really able to concentrate on it. James and Sirius were out, she had no plans for the rest of the day but to sit here, quietly reading. It seemed a waste of a Saturday afternoon, really. Laying the book aside, she got up and went out into the hall. She stood beside the phone for a full five minutes before finally picking a number out of her address book, lifting the receiver and starting to dial. She changed her mind at the last minute and put the receiver down again. She had hardly returned to the living room and sat down, however, when the phone rang. She went back into the hall and answered it.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Hello."  
  
"Malcolm? What a coincidence, I had just thought of ringing you."  
  
"You had?" his voice came cheerfully down the line. "Why's that?"  
  
"Oh, I don't know. The boys have both gone out and I'm sort of at a loose end, I suppose."  
  
"I see. So am I, actually. Nothing much to do. I was wondering if you'd like . to get together."  
  
"Why not," Bridget said. "I've been making biscuits. Would you like to come round for some tea?"  
  
"Sounds great. I'll be with you in half an hour, if that's all right."  
  
Bridget agreed, and replaced the receiver feeling a lot more content than she had moments before.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------------  
  
Peter Pettigrew was sitting in his bedroom, flicking through the pages of the Daily Prophet when there was a loud tap on his window and he looked up to see a tawny owl sitting there, a letter clasped firmly in its beak. He jumped up to let it in. His mother would have a fit if the neighbours saw the bird! The owl perched on the end of his bed and dropped the letter onto the duvet, then took off, back through the window. Peter picked it up, intrigued. It was definitely addressed to him. He broke the seal and read:  
  
*Dear Mr. Pettigrew,  
  
It is my understanding that you are currently in search of a position within the Ministry of Magic that would be suited to your particular strengths and interests. It so happens that my secretary was recently offered and accepted a new post, which means that I am in search of someone to take her place. She tells me that an acquaintance of hers, Mr. Malcolm Marley, recommends you as an honest individual who would not shun a heavy workload and long office hours. I would therefore like to offer you a post in the International Magical Office of Law. If you are interested in this position and what it entails, please let me know by return owl at your earliest convenience, so that we can arrange to meet and discuss the details.  
  
Yours sincerely,  
  
Veritus Legis International Magical Office of Law Ministry of Magic*  
  
Peter stared at the letter in his hands. He could scarcely believe it. Him, a secretary to someone who sounded like he was pretty high up in the Ministry! He made a mental note to thank Malcolm the next time he saw him, and immediately got out a sheet of parchment and a quill to write an answer. He checked and double-checked his spelling, then decided he had better get someone to read his reply first, just to make sure. He thought of his parents, but it occurred to him that it might be unwise to get their hopes up too soon, before he had actually been given the job. Instead, he folded the letter and his drafted reply, put them in his trouser pocket and went to fetch a light jacket from the downstairs hall.  
  
"Erm . Mum, I'm going out for a bit," he announced, poking his head round the living room door.  
  
"All right, dear," she answered, looking up briefly from the knitting needles she had been supervising as they worked by themselves. "Don't be too late."  
  
"I won't."  
  
Peter stepped out into the small street and looked left and right. There was nobody in sight. He quickly stuck out his wand arm, and the very next instant a large, purple triple-decker bus screeched to a halt right in front of him. He got on, told the driver where he wanted to go, paid and hastily sat down in a squashy armchair before the bus set off again, roaring along the roads, jumping to the head of unmoving traffic queues, causing garden fences, bus stops and parked cars to leap out of its way. Peter was grateful when the Knight Bus finally stopped by a familiar winding path which he followed uphill. He passed the statues of winged boars and made his way across the grounds of Hogwarts school and up to the magnificent front doors, which stood open to let in the sunshine. Up the great staircase he climbed and made his way along corridor after corridor until he reached the office of the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. He knocked. The murmur of voices on the other side of the door ceased.  
  
"Come in," said the familiar voice of his sister after a brief pause.  
  
Peter pushed the door open and went in. Pippa looked up from her desk, and the person sitting on the chair opposite her turned her curly brown head, and uttered a surprised "Oh!"  
  
"Peter!" Pippa exclaimed.  
  
She jumped up, came over and hugged him.  
  
"Err," said Peter, glancing uncomfortably past her to the girl still seated at the desk. "Hello. I'm sorry to interrupt."  
  
"That's all right, dear," said his sister. "Heather and I were just about finished anyway, I think."  
  
"Yes," said the girl, getting to her feet. "I think so too. Thank you, Miss Pettigrew."  
  
Pippa smiled at her kindly. "That's perfectly all right. As your teacher, it's my job to make sure you learn to deal with difficulties like these, and to help you as much as I can."  
  
Heather managed a weak smile in return. Then she turned, somewhat hesitantly, to Peter.  
  
"It's . been a long time since I saw you around here," she said awkwardly.  
  
"Uhh ." said Peter.  
  
"Well, I hope you're doing well outside Hogwarts," Heather went on. "All of you."  
  
"Y-yes, we're fine," Peter replied, embarrassed at being spoken to.  
  
For a moment, Heather seemed to wait for him to offer more information. But as none was forthcoming, she said "Well, goodbye then" and headed for the door. She paused, however, just as her hand touched the door handle, and looked back at Peter rather shyly.  
  
"You . I suppose . Have you . seen Remus lately?"  
  
"Yes. Lots of times," he answered.  
  
"Is he . How is he?" she asked quickly. "What's he been doing?"  
  
"He's doing great," Peter said, overcoming his shyness with an effort and going on, "He's working at the Ministry at the moment, and studying Defence Against the Dark Arts in his spare time. He's getting really good at it."  
  
"He's . happy then?"  
  
"Yes, I think so," Peter answered, looking puzzled at the question. "He certainly seemed to be enjoying himself the other night," he added with a laugh. "You should have seen it. We all went to this place called the Bouncing Banshee, and Remus actually got up and danced ."  
  
"Oh." Heather's face, which had been watching Peter's eagerly, fell. "Who with?"  
  
"Aurora Borealis. You remember her, I expect."  
  
"Oh," Heather said again. "Yes. I see. Well. If . when you see him again, would you tell him ."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
Heather sighed. "Nothing. Bye."  
  
She turned back towards the door, and this time went out. To Peter's surprise, Pippa sighed too as she went and sat down behind her desk. He turned around to look at her. There was an expression halfway between annoyance and pity on her face.  
  
"What's the matter?" Peter asked, sitting on the chair Heather had left empty.  
  
"You. I don't suppose you could have been much more tactless if you'd tried."  
  
He stared at her. Her tone, though not exactly unkind, was harder than he had ever heard it when she spoke to him.  
  
"W-what d'you mean?"  
  
"I had Heather in here for the first time a couple of days ago," Pippa explained. "I'm afraid she really isn't much good at Defence Against the Dark Arts, but I'd seen from the reports Professor Darkhardt gave her that there was a time when she wasn't quite so bad. I mentioned it to her. She told me Remus used to help her, give her extra lessons on Saturdays. But then he stopped, some time during your last year here at Hogwarts, saying he needed the time to study for his N.E.W.T.s. Now, I don't know what happened back then, but Heather was obviously very upset about it. She was near to tears when we talked about it. And then you come along and tell her, just like that, that Remus has been dancing with another girl."  
  
"Oh," said Peter, comprehension suddenly dawning on him. "You mean she's still upset about it? But why should she be? I mean, it was ages ago now, it doesn't matter, does it?"  
  
"You have a lot to learn, brother dear," Pippa sighed. She shook her head and went on, "Anyway, to what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you? Is everything all right?"  
  
"Yes, fine," he told her, remembering the reason why he had come in the first place. "I just got this letter. Look."  
  
He dug the letter out of his pocket and showed it to her. Pippa read it through.  
  
"This is good news," she said enthusiastically.  
  
"Yes, and it was ever so nice of Malcolm to enquire for me, especially as he's not even at the Ministry any more himself."  
  
Pippa smiled warmly. "He's a nice man."  
  
Peter nodded eagerly and went through his pockets again.  
  
"I've been working on a reply, but I'm not sure if it's okay. Could you take a look?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
Pippa took it from him and read it. As she did so, she found herself wondering how Malcolm's plan was proceeding, and how long it would be before he received the last pieces of information he needed in order to go ahead with it.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------------  
  
2 - Tea and Truth  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------------  
  
"Hello," said Bridget, as she opened the door to let Malcolm in.  
  
"Hello." He hung up his summer jacket on a hook by the door. "Terrible traffic out there today. It looks like everyone's fleeing for a day at the seaside while the weather's still nice."  
  
"Well, I'm glad you braved the trials of London traffic."  
  
"There's not much I wouldn't brave for a cup of tea," he laughed.  
  
Bridget smiled. "I'll put the kettle on then."  
  
They had an enjoyable chat over tea and Bridget's home-made biscuits, and were about to set about washing up the mugs when the telephone rang. Bridget went to answer it, and came back almost at once, looking suddenly pale and anxious.  
  
"Who was it?" Malcolm asked.  
  
"Mrs. Hammersmith. She's ill. Would you mind awfully .?"  
  
Malcolm put down the half-cleaned mug he was holding at once. "I'll come with you," he said quickly.  
  
Bridget unlocked the door to Mrs. Hammersmith's flat with her own key. They found the old lady on her knees by the telephone, clutching at her chest and gasping for breath.  
  
"I'll ring the doctor," said Bridget. "If you could get her into the bedroom .? It's through there." She pointed.  
  
Malcolm nodded, and bent down to help the old lady to her feet and gently guide her to her bed. Bridget joined them as Malcolm was tucking Mrs. Hammersmith in, and she stopped in the doorway, shivering slightly. Malcolm came to stand beside her.  
  
"Has she had seizures like this before?"  
  
Bridget nodded unhappily. "Yes. A couple of times. The thing is, they seem to be getting worse. The first time it was just a short spasm, but now ."  
  
The doctor came quickly. After examining Mrs. Hammersmith, he came to find Bridget in the kitchen.  
  
"I'm afraid the old girl's definitely getting weaker, Mrs. Potter," he said, polishing his glasses.  
  
"Shouldn't she be in hospital, in that case?" Malcolm asked.  
  
"No, no. She'll be quite comfortable here for the present - and happier," the doctor added with a wry smile.  
  
"Yes," Bridget agreed shakily. "She - she's always hated hospitals."  
  
"And despised the doctors who work in them. All the same, she may have to go in one before too long. If I may, Mrs. Potter, I would advise you to ring her family, sooner rather than later."  
  
"Is it really that bad?" Bridget asked.  
  
"I'm afraid it might be. Mrs. Hammersmith's done fine for her age, but I fear she probably won't live to see her ninety-fifth birthday."  
  
Bridget gulped, and Malcolm quickly put an arm around her shoulder. "On the other hand, she might," he said defiantly, though without much conviction. He hadn't realised just how old Mrs. Hammersmith was. "She's lasted this long, hasn't she?"  
  
He smiled down at Bridget, but her return smile was very unsure.  
  
"Somehow I've always thought she'd just go on forever," she said in a voice that caught in her throat. "She's helped me such a lot over the years, and she was always - well, there. I really don't want her to - to go. Not yet."  
  
She sniffed, and turned around to let Malcolm hold her comfortingly. The doctor replaced his polished glasses on his nose.  
  
"Well, I'd better be going. Do please ring me if there's any change, won't you? Goodbye."  
  
Malcolm saw the doctor to the door and returned to find Bridget trying to make more tea in the kitchen and constantly dropping things as she did so. He took the mug she had almost smashed out of her hand.  
  
"Sit down," he said gently. "I'll see to that. If you don't mind me using magic, that is. Faith tells me the tea I make in the 'traditional' fashion is undrinkable."  
  
"Y-you don't have to," Bridget said haltingly, watching as he rummaged in the drawer for a spoon. "I'll be all right, I'm sure you don't want to hang around here."  
  
"You helped me out with my troubles, now it's my turn. Any idea where she hides her sugar?"  
  
Bridget went to a cupboard and produced a sugar bowl.  
  
"There's really no need, though," she assured him. "I know I got a bit upset just now, but that's just because I'm a bit worried. I'm fine, really."  
  
Malcolm turned to face her. "Do you want me to go?" he asked.  
  
"Oh no! I mean . well . I don't want you to feel you have to stay if you don't want to."  
  
Malcolm shook his head, smiling. He put his hands on her shoulders and looked straight at her. "I promise you there is nothing I would rather do right now than slave away making tea while you sit by the old lady's bed."  
  
Bridget gave him a strange look in return, one that he could not quite understand but that made him somehow nervous and caused his stomach to turn over. He released her shoulders and turned away.  
  
"So stop telling me what I don't need to do and go and see how the old dear is," he said.  
  
Bridget hesitated momentarily, then did as he suggested.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------------  
  
Faith sighed heavily and looked up from her sewing. Sitting in his usual armchair by the currently unlit fire, John continued to read his Daily Prophet without so much as a glance in her direction, which struck her as strange. There had been a time, not so long ago even, when the slightest sigh or sign of discontent or worry that came from her would immediately have been followed by a concerned enquiry on his part as to what was troubling her. Faith could not pretend that she had not found this habit of his slightly annoying from time to time, but its sudden absence made her anxious, as it seemed to indicate that he was preoccupied with something. Her suspicions were confirmed by the fact that he did not even look up when she rose from her chair and went to the door. She paused and looked back at him.  
  
"Would you like a slice of fruitcake?" she asked, keeping her voice as light as she could.  
  
John looked up with a start. "Wha- oh, yes dear, thank you," he replied mechanically.  
  
With a slight frown, Faith noticed that he turned his attention back to the paper even before she had left the room.  
  
*Don't be silly,* she told herself as she took a couple of plates out of the kitchen cupboard and removed the foil that she had wrapped around the cake to keep it fresh. *You're just imagining things. Anyway, you can't expect him to be watching you all the time. You'd hate it if he did.*  
  
She cut off a very crooked slice of cake and put it on one of the plates. Furious with herself for letting silly worries distract her, she cut the next slice rather over-generously, though it was at least straight this time.  
  
When she returned to the living room, John was in the same position as she had left him. Passing him the plate with the thick slice she said,  
  
"You'd better have this one. I'm afraid the other turned out more like a hill than a slice."  
  
"Hm," murmured John, taking his plate distractedly with one hand and still not looking up.  
  
Faith sat down and fingered her own cake, then set it aside irritably. She studied her husband's grave face, now framed by as many grey hairs as black, his once so bright blue eyes faded and heavy. Her own eyes began to sting. She loved him, now as much as ever. But it was clear to her, however much she tried to tell herself that she was imagining things, that there was something between them these days. It had begun quite slowly, creeping in, occupying his mind and distracting him now and then. But it had since grown stronger and stronger, like a wall building up between them that she could not get through, a wall that John had made. John who had always promised her that nothing would ever come between them, that nothing, from his position at work and his status in wizard society to his own mother's affection, mattered to him as much as she did. John whom she needed more than anything.  
  
Faith took a deep breath and got up. She took both John's plate and the newspaper from him and placed them on the table, then sat on the arm of his chair, looking down at him seriously. He looked back at her, surprised.  
  
"What's the matter?" he asked.  
  
"You tell me," said Faith quietly.  
  
He gazed at her blankly for a moment, then suddenly looked slightly worried.  
  
"What do you mean?" The question was quieter this time, and there was a guarded tone about his voice.  
  
"Oh John, don't let's beat about the bush. Something's up, isn't it? It's been coming on for ages, you've just been becoming more and more distant with me."  
  
"I haven't!" he exclaimed, but the protest lacked somewhat in certainty. "I'm sorry," he added guiltily. "It's nothing you should worry about. Just ."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
He indicated the newspaper. "That. What it says. All that's going on in the wizarding world, . it's getting me down, I suppose."  
  
Faith shuddered. "Yes. The developments are very worrying. I'm afraid nearly every day when I watch you and Remus go off to work that something dreadful might happen. They say the Ministry's practically under the control of - of You-Know-Who. It's a terrifying thought. But that's only part of it with you, isn't it? Don't lie to me, John," she said, stalling his protest. "You never used to. Don't start now, please. You're keeping something secret from me, something other than just being worried about the news. It's made you more and more withdrawn and weary, and I can't bear to see you like that any more. Whatever it is, it's got to come out."  
  
John looked sadly into her eyes. "I wish I could tell you, Faith. I really do. But I can't, for your sake."  
  
"For my sake? John, don't you understand? Nothing you can have to tell me could be worse than sensing that there's something you're keeping from me. I can't imagine anything you could say that would hurt me more than seeing you torment yourself like this."  
  
"Funny. Bridget said something like that," John murmured thoughtfully, more to himself than to her.  
  
"Bridget ." Faith's voice faltered briefly. "Yes, I've seen you talking to her. You talk to her a lot, don't you?" She continued more quietly, "Is that the reason? Have you become so distant with me lately because of . her?"  
  
John stared at her in disbelief.  
  
"What?" he fairly exploded. "Have you been thinking . have you been getting ideas in your head that I . I don't believe it!"  
  
And suddenly, so loudly that Faith jumped with fright, he started laughing.  
  
"You silly girl," John said fondly when he was able to speak again. He kissed her, then sat back to look at her, shaking his head and smiling, though his eyes were still heavy. "Don't you see?" he said softly. "Everything I've ever done or not done, that I've said or kept to myself . was for you."  
  
"No, I don't see. It doesn't make sense."  
  
John sighed and took her hands between his. He looked away, debating as he did so how to begin. Finally he said quietly,  
  
"I should have listened to the others. They told me you needed to know, that not telling you would only make it worse. Bridget said you'd suffer more by not sharing my worries than you would if you knew ."  
  
"If I knew what?" Faith asked almost timidly.  
  
John swallowed and at last looked up again. His eyes were filled with sorrow. "My love," he began, "I think it's time I told you about . the Order of the Phoenix."  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------------  
  
Remus placed the last sheet of parchment in a large folder and set it on a high shelf. He turned back to his desk, where the odd little black rat was snoozing peacefully in its cage, and frowned.  
  
"And what, might I ask, are you doing in your office on a bright and sunny Saturday afternoon?" demanded a voice from the doorway.  
  
Remus spun round and stared. "Aurora! How on earth did you get in so quietly?"  
  
She grinned. "I sneaked up on tiptoe. You were so engrossed in those old scraps of parchment. They must be really fascinating."  
  
"How did you know I'd be here?"  
  
She shrugged. "Intuition, I suppose. You usually are here. It's not good for you, by the way, working non-stop. You know that, don't you?"  
  
"I wasn't working. Just looking up something ."  
  
"So you were studying, not working, eh? Big difference," she said sarcastically, coming into the room and fingering the rat's cage on the desk. "What's he still doing here then?" she asked. "I thought you'd have found a home for him by now, or passed him on to another department."  
  
"I was going to ." Remus began hesitantly.  
  
He passed her, looked out into the hall and shut the door - not that there was anyone about who might overhear them.  
  
"I actually haven't told anyone about him yet. Except you, of course. I've been hiding him, to tell you the truth. And it hasn't always been easy. But I can't risk anyone finding him."  
  
"Why not? I thought it was your job to 'assess' these creatures and pass them on to the right division."  
  
"It is," Remus agreed. "Only they don't always handle things as you and I would expect. You remember my telling you about Minx?"  
  
"The cross between a cat and a bat that Peter was so frightened of? Yes. What about her?"  
  
Remus frowned unhappily. "I heard what became of her. They decided she was a dangerous hybrid and - and sent her to be disposed of."  
  
Aurora stared at him, horrified. "Disposed of? You mean to say they - they ."  
  
"Killed her. Yes," he confirmed grimly. "That's why I've been hiding this little fellow here ever since the day when you first saw him. He's not been biting me any more since you 'talked' to him, but I don't think he'd feel so friendly towards other people who he thinks might wish him harm. You can't blame him, he'd be quite right to think so."  
  
"But you can't keep him hidden forever."  
  
"No. I need to find some place for him."  
  
"Can't you take him home?"  
  
Remus shook his head. "Mum would have a fit. She's not keen on rats, especially ones that bite. But," he added, struck by an idea, "you could take him."  
  
"Me?"  
  
Remus nodded eagerly. "He trusts you. You understand him, and you can teach him to stop biting everyone in sight. I'm sure he'd make a loyal pet for you. What do you say?"  
  
"We-ell," said Aurora. She looked down at the rat, whose ears twitched as it stirred in its sleep, then back at Remus, who was watching her with a hopeful expression on her face. "All right," she said at last. "I'll take him."  
  
"Great." Remus sounded relieved. "Thanks."  
  
"Of course, that means you owe me a favour now."  
  
"Anything you want."  
  
Aurora grinned. "Be careful what you promise." When Remus looked slightly worried, she laughed. "Don't worry. I'll be good. How about . you could take me to the theatre next Saturday. That's nice and harmless."  
  
Remus shook his head. "I'd love to, but I can't. Not next Saturday. There'll be a full moon."  
  
"Oh." Aurora looked crestfallen for a moment, but then an idea seemed to come to her and she brightened up. "Tell you what," she said excitedly. "We could go to the afternoon performance, and you can come back to my place afterwards, before it gets dark. I could set you up for the night."  
  
"Aurora, you know that's imposs-"  
  
"No, listen, it'll be okay. I have a cellar that's never used, and if I make sure to lock you up before the moon comes out ." - she smiled apologetically as he raised his eyebrows - ". and get Lily to put some anti- muggle charms on the door for us, then you'll be quite safe."  
  
"Oh yes? And what if one of your neighbours hears noises down there and unlocks the door to investigate?"  
  
"Actually, I don't think any of them would be brave enough to investigate the kind of noises you'd make. But I'm sure we can arrange some sort of noise-absorbing charm, too. Lily's excellent at that sort of thing."  
  
Remus frowned, but Aurora was looking at him so hopefully and pleadingly, that he finally gave in with a sigh.  
  
"Well, all right then. Just this once."  
  
Aurora beamed. "I knew you'd say 'yes'. Oh, it'll be so exciting, won't it?"  
  
"If you say so," he replied doubtfully.  
  
Aurora nodded firmly. "I do say so. And now let's drop this little fellow off at my place and go out somewhere, shall we? We can't have you shut away in your office all day, you'll end up all pale and weedy."  
  
Remus smiled and suddenly hugged her. "You are a dear, you know," he said, going slightly red as he let go of her and became very preoccupied with packing his bag. "What would I do without you?"  
  
Aurora watched the back of his head, her own smile fading. It seemed to her that the mood had changed all of a sudden, from friendly banter to . she wasn't sure what. There was a long silence before she said, in a tone totally different from the one she had used so far,  
  
"No. It's you who are a dear, Remus. And I'm the one who doesn't know - what to do without you."  
  
Her words, spoken so uncertainly and yet with utmost sincerity, caused him to look at her again. And suddenly Aurora moved closer to him, placing a hand on his chest, and kissed his lips slowly. For a moment, Remus kissed her back, his arms around her. Then he drew back hastily, and stared at her with something very near horror on his face.  
  
Aurora watched him, and gave him a sad smile. "I'm sorry," she said softly.  
  
But Remus was shaking his head in great distress. "No, I - I'm the one who should be sorry. Aurora . I shouldn't have . I can't . I . don't ."  
  
"You don't love me," she said matter-of-factly. "I know. I've always known that. It just felt like it was time for - for both of us to know what it could be like . if you did. But don't worry. I neither expect nor want anything from you. Until just now, I thought I did, and that I'd be miserable when this moment came, as I knew it would. But I'm not. I do love you, Remus, but I think - not in the way I thought I did. And that's good, isn't it?"  
  
"Good?" repeated Remus, looking as though he could see nothing at all that was good in the current situation.  
  
"Yes, because it means I'm not going to cry my heart out and mope like I did over Sirius. We can just be what we always have been." She grinned. "Just good friends."  
  
"Can we?" he asked uncertainly.  
  
"Absolutely," Aurora affirmed. "We know where we stand now, don't we? And I can do this ." - she took his hand and held it - ". without your thinking you have to show more than you feel for me."  
  
Remus looked down at their joined hands and mumbled, "I feel . such a cad."  
  
"Don't be silly," Aurora reproached him firmly, dropping his hand at once and picking up the rat's cage. "You've never pretended anything to me, you haven't led me on, and you haven't even disappointed me. And it was I who kissed you, not the other way around, so the blame, if there is any, is mine entirely."  
  
"I don't blame you," he said quietly. "In fact, I think I should be thanking you. I don't suppose, if you hadn't kissed me, that I ever would have got to know . what it's like."  
  
"If that's so, then the girls of this world must need their heads tested." Aurora's smile broadened. "You see. So there are no hard feelings, and it's high time we went for some tea or something. Come along."  
  
She led the way briskly out of the office and Remus followed more slowly.  
  
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3 - Back at the Banshee  
  
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The afternoon was fading into evening by the time Josie Coronis, standing in front of the mirror in her bedroom and peering past the many photographs she had plastered it with at her reflection, heard the tapping of an owl's beak at her window. She laid aside her powder compact and went to let the bird in. It held out its leg to her immediately, and Josie untied the letter it was carrying. She unfolded it and, as was her custom, read first the bottom line to see who it was from. It was with some surprise that she saw the name at the bottom of the rather short message. Intrigued, she began to read. Then she reread the letter.  
  
So Sirius Black wanted to meet her, did he? Josie frowned. What could he want? Well, it didn't matter, she thought, turning the letter sideways and preparing to tear it in half. There was nothing he could have to say that would interest her. After all, Sevvie didn't like Sirius, so it was better if she didn't meet him.  
  
On the other hand she, Josie, had liked Sirius in the short time she had had to get to know him. And she had been wondering ever since that incident what there was between him and Sev that made them hate each other so much. She couldn't for one moment imagine that anything so melodramatic as attempted murder could really be behind it all. Her curiosity had been aroused. But ever since that night, Severus had been different. He had reverted, for a while, to being as he was when they had first met, to barely speaking at all. He had only yesterday become more relaxed again, just as she had made up her mind to ask him what it was really all about. She had decided against putting her question to him after all, fearing that he might close up again if she did.  
  
She stared down at Sirius's note in her hand. Here was her chance to ask someone else, someone who could give her answers to all her questions. But also someone she knew Severus hated. If he got to hear that she was meeting Sirius, he would be furious. Well, she decided, he mustn't hear of it then. She would have to be careful, plan the meeting for an evening when he wouldn't find it strange that they couldn't meet.  
  
Taking a sheet of parchment - dyed turquoise and with her initials watermarked in the bottom right-hand corner - and a peacock-feather quill, she paused briefly, then scribbled a hasty reply.  
  
*Meet muggle side of Leaky Cauldron Wednesday 7 p.m.  
  
J.*  
  
Feeling rather guilty, she sealed the letter and wrote the name 'Sirius Black' on the outside. Then she handed it back to the owl.  
  
"Here, take that to Sirius's place," she said.  
  
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Sirius was sitting in a booth at the back of the Bouncing Banshee, leaning into the shadows and watching young wizards and witches mill about like oversized ants, talking in loud voices, laughing, dancing, spilling drinks, apologising - or not, as the case may be - and shuffling off again into the crowd.  
  
The band was playing a tune that was more loud than melodious, and every now and then the statue of the banshee let out a high-pitched wail. Sirius took a sip of his Harpy Highball and wondered, not for the first time since doing it, whether it had been right to post that letter to Josie. Snape, he knew, would not appreciate it in the least if he found out Sirius was trying to meet secretly with his girlfriend. Girlfriend. For some reason, the very thought of Snape having a girlfriend, whether it was Josie or some other girl, revolted Sirius.  
  
*But why should it?* he wondered. Lily was right, there must be some people who liked Snape, for whatever reason. No person could go through life totally unwanted, could they? But how could anyone like Snape? A frown creased Sirius's brow.  
  
"Hello," said a cheerful voice all of a sudden, speaking from the mouth of a silhouette that had just blocked a fair quantity of the lights from view. "All on your own, Sirius? That's not like you."  
  
Annoyed at having his broodings about Snape interrupted, Sirius looked up, though he already knew from the voice it was Frank Longbottom.  
  
"Hello, Frank," he said with a distinct lack of his usual levity.  
  
"Mind if I join you?"  
  
Sirius gave a murmur, and Frank interpreted it correctly as meaning that Sirius did not mind.  
  
"So," said Frank, "where have you left the others?"  
  
"James is at Lily's," Sirius answered. "I've no idea where Pete is. And Remus said he had some studying to do."  
  
"At the weekend?"  
  
Sirius shrugged. "You know Remus."  
  
"Hm."  
  
Realising that Sirius was not in a particularly chatty mood, Frank looked down at the dance floor, lapsing into silence. Presently he noticed a group of girls a short distance away who seemed to be trying to look inconspicuous in as obvious a manner as possible. They kept turning around, covering their mouths with their hands and whispering, then breaking out in fits of giggling and looking away again.  
  
"You seem to have a fan club," Frank commented.  
  
"Fan club?" Sirius looked across at the girls when Frank indicated them. They all blushed furiously and turned away so quickly that two of them collided with each other and spilt their drinks all down them.  
  
Frank laughed, and Sirius's mood seemed to brighten a little.  
  
"What can I say?" he said lightly. "Irresistible, that's me."  
  
His words, however, died in his throat as he saw two people pushing their way towards them through the crowds. It was Remus and Aurora.  
  
"Hey!" Frank cried happily, waving at them in welcome.  
  
"Hello." Aurora beamed at both him and Sirius, who looked up at her rather uncomfortably.  
  
His expression, in fact, was not all that different from Remus's. Remus was looking awkward. He muttered a barely audible greeting and kept looking anxiously around him.  
  
"Why don't you sit down?" Sirius heard Aurora say to Remus in a voice that was perhaps a little too cheerful. "I'll go and get us some drinks. What would you like? Gillywater?"  
  
Remus nodded. "Are you sure you can manage to carry the drinks on your own?"  
  
"I'll help," Frank put in eagerly, getting to his feet. "I haven't got anything myself yet, and my mouth is a bit dry. Want anything, Sirius?"  
  
Sirius shook his head. Remus sat down next to him, still looking slightly anxious. Eventually, Sirius got tired of the way his friend kept peering nervously around and demanded impatiently,  
  
"What's the matter with you today?"  
  
"Nothing," lied Remus.  
  
Sirius raised both eyebrows at him.  
  
"Oh, all right," Remus sighed. "To tell you the truth, I didn't want to come here. I tried to persuade Aurora to go somewhere else. I think I almost succeeded. But then I made the mistake of telling the reason her why I didn't want to come."  
  
"Which is .?"  
  
"Oh, you know," Remus said evasively. "What happened last time."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Just the . incident with Snape. The things he said."  
  
"I've told you, Remus, you shouldn't take any notice of what he says," Aurora insisted, returning to the table with a drink in her hand, while Frank followed behind her, carrying his own and Remus's. She sat down. "Just because he insulted you ."  
  
". in front of hundreds of witnesses who might put two and two together and work out what he was getting at," Remus pointed out.  
  
"Oh, so that's it, is it?" Sirius remarked. "The same old story. Planning to run and hide, were you?"  
  
"Well, no, not exactly," Remus said quietly.  
  
"Listen, no one here's going to let Snape drive you out, or anyone else for that matter. We won't give him the satisfaction."  
  
"Sirius is right," Aurora agreed fervently. "It would be giving Snape exactly what he wants."  
  
"Yes, I know," Remus said quietly. "Still . if anyone figured out what he was saying, then ."  
  
"Then so what?" Sirius demanded irritably. "Even if any of the idiots around us that night should prove to have the brains required to guess it . If they decide they're not going to like you just because you're a werewolf ."  
  
"Shh, keep your voice down, please," Remus hissed.  
  
Sirius shook his head and looked away, only to find the group of girls goggling in his direction again, whispering to one another. He frowned and turned back to Remus, who was looking worried and slightly hurt.  
  
"Look, I'm sorry," Sirius said more calmly. "I do understand your not wanting anyone to know, and if it hadn't been for me, Snape would never have hinted in public."  
  
"Forget it," Remus said with a faint smile.  
  
"All friends again?" Aurora asked brightly. "Good. Because I want to dance. Come on, Remus."  
  
Remus's smile faded. "No, really. I'd rather not."  
  
"I thought we'd agreed you weren't going to hide."  
  
"Yes, but still, I don't want to, not right now."  
  
"I will," said Sirius quickly.  
  
Frank, who had opened his mouth to speak at the same time, closed it again without making a sound. Remus, meanwhile, was studying Aurora's reaction. She looked uncertain at first, but then the corners of her mouth twitched upwards, and she said,  
  
"Excellent. Come on then."  
  
Sirius got up, and the pair of them made their way to the dance floor. Frank stared after them.  
  
"Where have you left Damian this evening?" Remus asked him.  
  
"Eh?" Frank replied distractedly. "Who?"  
  
"Damian," Remus repeated.  
  
"Damian? Oh, he's got a date with Alice Spriggs at the Leaky Cauldron tonight."  
  
"I see."  
  
Remus returned his attention to his gillywater, absent-mindedly watching the reflection of the many-coloured lights in the liquid. A sigh from Frank made him look up.  
  
"What's up?" he asked.  
  
Frank shook his head. There was a pause, then he asked hesitantly,  
  
"Do you think they'll ever make it up? Sirius and Aurora, I mean?"  
  
"Oh, I think they're well on the track to becoming friends again," said Remus. He studied Frank's profile, and suddenly something dawned on him. "Don't worry, I think Aurora's case is one of 'once bitten, twice shy' where Sirius is concerned."  
  
"Oh, I didn't mean ." Frank protested hastily, but broke off, seeing the grin creep across Remus's face.  
  
"No? It's all right, you know. I won't tell her. Unless you want me to."  
  
Frank hesitated. Then he admitted,  
  
"I . well, I've liked her for ages, you see. But I don't expect a girl like her could ever see anything in someone like me."  
  
"Why not?" Remus asked seriously. "There's nothing wrong with you, Frank. You're honest, decent, on the right side ." He paused, thinking back to that memorable conversation he had once had with Aurora, by the lake at Hogwarts. "And you're sincere," he added slowly. "That counts for a lot with a girl like her."  
  
Frank stared at him. "You really think she might - I might stand a chance?"  
  
"I don't see why not. It's worth a try, isn't it?"  
  
Frank gazed half unhappily, half hopefully into Remus's eyes, then down to where the other two were dancing.  
  
"God, this is scary, Remus," he whispered. "Even the thought of talking to her, of maybe even asking her out. Is that - normal, do you reckon?"  
  
"I suppose so," Remus said thoughtfully.  
  
He could not help but remember what a pair of blue eyes sparkling in a pretty face whose cheeks were flushed from excitement and the bite of the chill Christmas air. A cold seemed to come over him. He lifted his glass to his lips and took several small sips, so that Frank would not notice how quiet he had become.  
  
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4 - An Unexpected Invitation  
  
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Faith was crying. Her hand trembled as she covered her face with it. John reached up and pulled her off the arm of the chair and onto his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck.  
  
"Oh, John, I'm so frightened," she sobbed.  
  
"I know," he said softly, stroking her hair. "I know. That's why I never wanted to tell you, even though everyone was insisting I should. I wanted to spare you the anxiety. I wanted to keep you safe. I wish I'd been more successful in hiding my fears, that you'd never had to find out. That I hadn't told you ."  
  
"No," Faith said firmly, pulling herself together and leaning back to look at him. "No, John. They were right. You had to tell me. I couldn't bear the thought of you carrying this burden around with you and not sharing it with me. Yes, I'm scared, but I would rather have it that way than watch the worry consuming you."  
  
She stroked his cheek tenderly.  
  
"I don't want you to protect me at your own expense."  
  
He smiled fondly at her.  
  
"My love," he whispered, "You're so sweet. I honestly don't know how I would exist without you."  
  
Faith kissed him and put her arms around him once more. As he held her, John felt a great load leave him. He had told her. Yes, there was danger, his work for the Order could lead him to an early death at almost any moment. But at least he no longer carried the weight of knowing that he was keeping something so important from his wife. Or at least, that he was keeping so much that was important from her. Because there was one thing he had not told her. He had not been able to bring himself to tell her what her brother was planning. If she knew that Malcolm would, very soon, be venturing into the heart of the lion's den . Without meaning to, John held her more tightly to him. He daren't imagine what would happen if his brother-in-law was found out. And he certainly could not bear to tell Faith this, on top of everything else.  
  
When Remus got home that night, he was surprised to find a light shining under the living room door, though the hour was late. He pushed the door open, and his father looked up as he walked into the room. John placed a finger to his lips. Faith was lying curled up in his lap, fast asleep with her head on his shoulder. Remus watched as his father lifted his mother up and carried her upstairs. He followed slowly, reaching the landing just as John was quietly closing the bedroom door.  
  
"Is everything all right?" Remus asked in a whisper.  
  
John smiled. "Yes, my boy," he said, placing his hand on Remus's shoulder and leading him back downstairs. "I've told her," he explained when they reached the kitchen.  
  
"You have?" Remus exclaimed, surprised. "What - everything?"  
  
"Nearly everything."  
  
Without bothering to ask what his father had left out, Remus glanced up at the ceiling, as though trying to see through it to where his mother lay.  
  
"How did she take it?"  
  
"She's upset and worried," said John. "But I think she'll be all right."  
  
Remus studied his father's face. The load that had been lifted from his mind was already showing in his features. His eyes seemed less heavy, his brow less creased, his mouth stretched much more freely into an affectionate smile.  
  
"Good," Remus said. "I'm sure it's for the best."  
  
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At about the same time, Malcolm was hanging his jacket up on a hook in his flat. He took a bottle of butterbeer out of the fridge, opened it and took a long draught. He went into the small living room and sat at the table, allowing thoughts and memories to float around his mind, staring unseeingly at the lines in the wood. Feeling tired, but too unsettled to sleep, he got up off his chair again and went to the front room cupboard. He pulled open drawers at random, looking for something - anything - to do. His gaze fell on a pile of photographs. He took them out and began looking at them. His hand slowed as he came to some pictures taken at John and Faith's about a year ago. It showed Bridget sitting on the fence beside a tall rose bush in the front garden, smiling.  
  
A sudden rapping sound on the window brusquely interrupted his study of the picture. An owl was beating its beak against the window. Dropping all but the topmost photograph, Malcolm went to let it in and took the note it proffered before taking flight almost hastily. The message was brief.  
  
*When the seventh morning dawns, look to better days that will make a new man of you.*  
  
Malcolm balled the hand that held the note into a fist, screwing it up in the process. He looked once more at the photograph.  
  
*Saturday morning,* he thought. *Well, that gives me plenty of time. Even if they have a new identity for me, it will take a month to make the potion. Plenty of time,* he repeated to himself.  
  
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James, too, got home late that night. He pulled on his pyjamas and decided to have a bite to eat before he went to bed. He went into the kitchen and headed for the fruit bowl on the table. There was something propped up against it. A letter. The address was written on it in scarlet ink, in a strange, slanting scrawl he didn't recognise. His name was on the front. Puzzled, he sat down and opened it, unfolding the parchment with care. The letter was short, written in the same handwriting and with the same ink as the address on the front.  
  
*Dear James,  
  
I was wondering whether you would not like to come and visit me tomorrow for lunch. I realise you are probably somewhat surprised by this invitation, but I must ask you to put it down to the eccentricity of an old man who is finally coming to realise that family ties mean more to him than he always thought. I hope you will accept my invitation.  
  
Since I have taken great pains to conceal the whereabouts of my house, I would appreciate it if you could wear your Invisibility Cloak to avoid detection. Also, I would ask you to use the secret entrance, which you will find as follows .*  
  
There followed a lengthy description of the location of a hidden gate, along with the incantation required to open it, and instructions on how to proceed afterwards. At the bottom of the page was the signature of Gordon Gryffindor.  
  
James stared at the letter, his mouth hanging slightly open. His grandfather? His grandfather was inviting him to lunch? Just like this, out of the blue? Without his mother? At the same time as he puzzled over these strange circumstances, he noticed something else. A casual remark slipped in as though by accident, but highly significant to him. *I would appreciate it if you could wear your Invisibility Cloak* . 


	23. Part 23: Into the Lair of the Serpent

Prequel, Part 23: Into the Lair of the Serpent  
  
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1 - An Old Lady's Wisdom  
  
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James hardly slept a wink all night. His grandfather's short note had kept him wondering. He rose early, but soon discovered that he was not the only one to have had a short night. There was a light on in the kitchen, and when he pushed the door open, he found his mother sitting fully dressed at the table with both hands around a steaming mug of coffee. She looked like she had had even less sleep than he had.  
  
"Mum?" he said tentatively. "Is everything all right?"  
  
She gave him a weak smile. "Mrs. Hammersmith had another one of her seizures last night," she explained.  
  
"Oh. Was it bad?"  
  
Bridget nodded tightly. It was not long before tears started to her eyes. She rubbed them with one hand, while James came to stand beside her and put his arms around her.  
  
"How bad?" he asked, his voice quavering slightly.  
  
"The doctor advised me to ring her family. He doesn't seem to think she'll be with us for much longer," Bridget replied, leaning against him.  
  
James's jaw clenched. He had known the old girl all his life. For as long as he could remember, it had been himself, his mother and Mrs. Hammersmith, celebrating birthdays and Christmases, sharing Sunday outings. He had never mentioned it, but she was more or less like a grandmother to him. He felt a sudden surge of resentment towards he didn't know who or what, but a definite anger over the shortness of the ordinary muggle life span. So what if ninety-odd was a "fine old age" for a muggle! What was it to a wizard? Barely anything. For the first time that he was aware of, he wished that Mrs. Hammersmith were a witch.  
  
"Hello," said a drowsy voice from the doorway, and Sirius appeared, rubbing his eyes. "Bridget? What's up?"  
  
"Mrs. Hammersmith's getting worse, it seems," James told him quietly.  
  
"Oh."  
  
Sirius looked uncomfortable for a minute, standing there in his pyjamas with his eyes only half open because he was still tired, not sure of what to say. Then Bridget said,  
  
"I'd better do as the doctor said and ring her family, just in case."  
  
She made to get up, but James stopped her. "No, Mum, I'll do it. You're too upset as it is."  
  
Sirius watched James squeeze his mother's shoulder and head past him to the telephone. He came over to the table and sat down slowly.  
  
"Not much of a way to be woken up early on a Sunday morning, is it?" he commented. "With news like that."  
  
Bridget gave a subdued sob.  
  
"Hey, chin up, Bridget," Sirius said, reaching out to hold her hand. "You never know, she may pick up yet. She's had lots of bad spells before and come out of them none the worse for it."  
  
But that, he reflected, was not really true. Silence fell. They heard James talking in a low voice out in the hall. A few minutes later, he returned, looking slightly puzzled.  
  
"Well?" Sirius asked.  
  
James shrugged his shoulders. "I spoke to her nephew. He didn't sound overly concerned, to be honest. Just said thanks for letting him know, that he'd see about telling the rest of the family and one of them would come down to London as soon as they could make it."  
  
"What's that mean? This afternoon? Tomorrow?"  
  
"Sounded more like he meant when it's too late," James said a trifle crossly.  
  
"They never bothered about her much before, James, why should anything change now?" Bridget pointed out. She released Sirius's hand, drank her coffee and stood up. "I think I'll just pop down and see how she is."  
  
"Okay, give me a minute to get dressed and I'll come with you," James said. "I haven't got long to hang about as it is. I've got an invitation to go to lunch."  
  
"Is Lily going to leave you any room to breathe at all any more?" Sirius asked.  
  
"Oh, it's not from Lily," said James. "It's from my grandfather."  
  
Bridget shot him a surprised look. James looked at her rather apologetically.  
  
"I got a note from him last night. Goodness knows what he wants."  
  
"But you can't go and see him today," Sirius objected. "We're both due at Hogwarts at twelve. Don't you remember? Pippa and McGonagall's plan ..."  
  
"Oh, that," James murmured. "Reuniting Darkhardt's Defenders or whatever it was they called it. I'd love to come, but I can't ignore this invitation. He might not ask me again."  
  
"I would have thought practising defence was more important. I know we get loads of pratice at Auror training, but every little helps, doesn't it? And you know Moony would say we owe it to old Scarface's memory ..."  
  
James gave a crooked smile.  
  
"I'm quite sure Remus would never use the expression 'Scarface'. Look, tell him I'm sorry. Tell McGonagall I'm sorry. Whoever. Just explain to them that I can't miss this chance, all right?"  
  
"All right," Sirius grumbled. "Suit yourself."  
  
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"I'll get it!" Remus called, hurrying down the stairs at the sound of a knock on the door. He opened it and exclaimed, pleasantly surprised, "Uncle Malcolm! Come in."  
  
"Don't your parents take any sort of precautions?" Malcolm queried, coming into the hall and waiting while Remus closed the door again.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Well, the world around us is falling apart, Death Eaters are attacking muggle-borns at every corner, torturing and killing purely for fun, and there's absolutely nothing to stop one of them apparating right on your front door step and marching straight into the house. Was the door even locked?"  
  
"It was, until earlier this morning, when Mum went out to pick some mushrooms," Remus said. "But you're right, of course. I'll tell Dad we need to put in some anti-apparition charms."  
  
"You can't be too careful these days," Malcolm pointed out.  
  
Remus smiled in amusement. "Constant vigilance?"  
  
Malcolm cocked his head to one side and studied his godson.  
  
"You're in an unusually bright mood this morning, young man," he said curiously. "Any particular reason?" He grinned. "Is it a girl?"  
  
"Not exactly," Remus replied thoughtfully. "I just had quite a good day yesterday. I suppose that's it."  
  
"You must tell me all," said Malcolm, placing a hand on Remus's shoulder and guiding him into the kitchen with a conspiratorial air. "Well?"  
  
"Well, it's not really all that exciting," Remus told him. "I mean, I finally found a home for the rat I've been hiding for ages, Aurora's not in love with me, no one at the Banshee seemed to have noticed Severus Snape's comment the other night and Dad's told Mum about the Order at last."  
  
Malcolm raised an eyebrow. "Sorry, but I'm afraid you're going to have to enlighten me. The fact that Aurora - I take it we are talking about the Order's own lovely legilimens, the girl any man in his right mind would want to marry if he was your age - is not in love with you is a cause to be cheerful?"  
  
Remus nodded.  
  
"And something this Severus Snape said went unremarked? Well, from what I've heard of him, I don't suppose anyone ever takes much notice of what he's got to say anyway, so at least that part makes sense. And your father's finally come to his senses and told your mother the truth?"  
  
"Yes. And he seems a lot better for it already."  
  
"Who seems a lot better for what?" John asked brightly, appearing in the kitchen doorway right on cue.  
  
"I see what you mean," Malcolm said to Remus, noticing at once that John was walking much more upright than he had been lately, how his hair was tidier and his eyes, having regained some of the old sparkle, were less heavy and downcast. "Well, I must say I'm glad you've finally taken everyone's advice and told my little sister everything. It makes me sorry," he added in a more serious tone, "that I have to put a damper on the high spirits that seem to be prevailing in this house this morning. I ... erm ... got this last night. I thought you'd want to know ..."  
  
He removed the note he had received from his pocket and handed it to John, whose face darkened almost at once.  
  
"Is this about what I think it's about?" he asked, glancing at the note and passing it on to Remus.  
  
"Yes," Malcolm confirmed. "I have to go to the Better Days Theatre on the seventh morning after receiving it. That's Saturday morning. Then they'll give me the information I need so I can take on my new identity."  
  
John frowned and shut the door cautiously.  
  
"What's that for? I thought you'd told her everything anyway," Malcolm said, sounding puzzled.  
  
"Not this," John answered.  
  
Remus looked up from the note. His expression, too, had turned earnest.  
  
"Why not? She has to know eventually," Malcolm pointed out.  
  
"Not if you change your mind before it's too late."  
  
Malcolm gave a dry, exasperated laugh and strolled to the window. He watched a bird pecking for worms out in the garden and ran his fingers through his hair before turning back to face the other two.  
  
"We've been through all this already, John. It is too late. And even if it wasn't, there is no other way. Once I'm in, I can keep my eyes and ears open for someone to take my place, someone who really is a Death Eater but has seen the error of his ways or whatever. But for now, this is our only option. Unless we want the Death Eaters to continue launching surprise attacks and being totally unprepared to defend ourselves or the lives of the innocent people they're killing."  
  
"I know, I know," said John impatiently. "I just wish you'd reconsider, or at least give it a bit more time, see if we can't find someone within the Death Eaters' ranks already ..."  
  
"It's too risky. Without any notion of who to contact, we could easily come up against the wrong one, and then they'd be warned against what we're planning, and they might expect us to try a plan like this, in which case it would stand no chance of success. Look, I'm not exactly over-keen on drinking polyjuice potion every hour and hanging around Voldemort's chamber of horrors, but it's the right thing to do. And quite frankly, John," Malcolm added, his voice rising and taking on a note of impatience, "I could do with a little support and faith in my intelligence and abilities."  
  
It was Remus who answered him, speaking very softly and slowly.  
  
"You will never be lacking in support or faith, Uncle Malcolm. But you must understand that we are worried about you. Our concern is for your safety, as we've told you before. We won't try to stop you any more. There's no point." He shot a glance at his father, who nodded slowly. "All we can do now is pray that your plan works out as you hope."  
  
Malcolm took a deep breath. "Thanks," he said. He pointed to the note in Remus's hand. "You'll be at Hogwarts later, won't you? Will you tell them about this for me?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------  
  
Mrs. Hammersmith was lying tucked up in bed as Bridget had left her the night before when she and James entered. There was, however, a spark of colour in her cheeks that had been missing last night, though her eyes looked tired and faded.  
  
"Bridget, my dear," she croaked, holding out a shaky hand which Bridget grasped hurriedly. "And Jamie."  
  
James smiled and came into the room. He kissed the old lady's cheek and she managed a smile.  
  
"How are you feeling?" James asked.  
  
"All the ... better for seeing you two," came the shaky reply.  
  
"You know, Hilda, I really think it might be an idea if you went into hospital," Bridget suggested gently. "I'm sure you'd be much more comfortable there, and they'd get you better much more quickly."  
  
"Poppycock," snapped Mrs. Hammersmith with a brief return to her old self. "Doctors and nurses fussing over me all day is the last thing I need. Machines all around me, never-ending tests, tubes stuck to my arms, all those smelly old men wearing nothing but night shirts and nothing but a sickly green curtain to keep their germs from me? A hospital ward would just about finish me off. Not that I need it," she added, her voice breaking again. "I'm about ready to go as it is."  
  
"No, no, you mustn't," James said quickly.  
  
Mrs. Hammersmith smiled again. "I'm sorry, lad. Afraid I won't be able to hang around until you marry that pretty little girl of yours. You're taking too long."  
  
James felt his cheeks flush and looked away. The old lady turned her head to Bridget.  
  
"And you, my dear. As they get older, men can sometimes get restless and go looking elsewhere, you know. You don't want to risk that."  
  
Bridget stared at her. James looked around at his mother, feeling rather bewildered.  
  
"I don't know what you mean, Hilda," Bridget said.  
  
Mrs. Hammersmith gave a loud tut. She took a deep breath and her eyes closed for a moment. It was obvious that the strength she had briefly regained was failing her once more. She opened her eyes again and said softly,  
  
"I'm old, Bridget. I've gone a bit deaf. But it'd take me a lot more time in this world before I go blind."  
  
Bridget kept her face impassive. "I really think you must be mistaken ..."  
  
The old lady shook her head. "No. I saw the way he looked at you last night, when you both thought I was asleep."  
  
James continued to stare at his mother, startled to see the colour creep into her cheeks. He started to open his mouth, but at that moment Mrs. Hammersmith breathed in sharply and clutched at her chest.  
  
"It's nothing," she told them breathlessly, as both turned anxious faces towards her. "Just a spasm. Been over-reaching myself again. All this talk, you know. I'll just have a little nap, I think. I'll let you know if I need anything. Run along now, Bridget ... Jamie ..."  
  
She closed her eyes, and fell asleep almost at once. James and Bridget left the room and closed the door softly behind them. Bridget walked away towards the kitchen, but James stood for a moment, thinking, before he looked up and said,  
  
"Mum, what did she mean? I mean, who was she talking about? Who was here last night?"  
  
"She's not well, James," said his mother. "She's rambling. Imagining things."  
  
She left it at that. But James was far from convinced.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------  
  
2 - The Mirror and the Globe  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------  
  
"Tarantallegra!"  
  
"Argh!"  
  
"No, no, no!" cried Professor McGonagall, charging forward. "Finite Incantatem," she added in an exasperated tone, waving her wand at Peter Pettigrew to stop his legs from wobbling like bits of jelly. Sirius, who was standing a few paces away, lowered his wand.  
  
"Sorry, Pete," he said cheerfully.  
  
"I don't see what you have to apologise for," retorted McGonagall sharply. "You performed the jinx faultlessly, as usual. Mr. Pettigrew, on the other hand ..."  
  
Grinning broadly, Sirius strode past her and reached down to help his friend to his feet. They were at Hogwarts, in the very same chamber where Professor Darkhardt had once given them extra lessons to prepare for the fight against Voldemort. McGonagall and Pippa Pettigrew had taken it upon themselves to continue what the late Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher had started. It had been McGonagall who had suggested that it might be wise to invite certain of the younger members of the Order of the Phoenix along too, feeling that some of them - here she had shot a very noticeable glance at Peter - could well do with learning a bit more about duelling and defending themselves rather than embarking unprepared on dangerous missions.  
  
"You are aware," the Transfiguration teacher was now saying to a most unhappy looking Peter Pettigrew, "of the incantation required to protect yourself against these kinds of jinxes?"  
  
He murmured something incomprehensible in reply.  
  
"I beg your pardon?"  
  
"Protego," he repeated more loudly.  
  
"Quite," snapped McGonagall. "Now, I have seen you perform a shield charm flawlessly against thin air before now, Mr. Pettigrew. Why is it that you cannot do so when you actually need to use it?"  
  
Peter gulped. "I don't know," he said miserably.  
  
McGonagall gave a deep sigh. "How do you hope," she said under her breath, so that those present who were not in the Order would not overhear, "to hold your own against a Death Eater bent on murder, let alone You-Know-Who himself, if you are not able to throw off the simplest jinxes and hexes your best friends throw at you without really meaning to do you harm?"  
  
Peter was by now looking perfectly miserable, mumbling words no one could understand and looking near to tears. Professor McGonagall shook her head and walked away, to where Oliver McKinnon had just failed to hex Marlene Moss for the fifth time in a row.  
  
"Mr. McKinnon, I have seen you perform much better than this before now," she said succinctly. "Might I suggest that you swap places with Mr. Prewett, as you seem to be incapable of employing spells against Miss Moss?"  
  
Oliver nodded rather sheepishly. Marlene blushed and turned around at once to face Fabian. Peter, meanwhile, looked away from where his sister was standing, becoming distracted from supervising the two students she was supposed to be helping out of concern for her brother. He tried to wipe a tear from his eye without anyone noticing. A hand descended on his shoulder.  
  
"All right, Peter?" Remus enquired kindly.  
  
Peter shook his head. "I c-can't do it, Moony. I just c-can't."  
  
"Nonsense," said Sirius gruffly. "It's only because the old dragon's putting you off. You'd do fine if she wasn't so rough with you. What's got into her today, anyway?"  
  
"She wasn't happy James couldn't be bothered to turn up for our first meeting. And nor am I," Remus told him.  
  
"Yes, well, that makes three of us," Sirius grunted.  
  
"And, of course, she's worried," Remus pointed out quietly.  
  
Sirius gave a loud snort. "She's got a funny way of showing it."  
  
"We all have different ways of showing it, Sirius. She's trying to do her best to help prepare us all, and I think she just finds it frustrating that it's ... not going too well for some. I'm sure she doesn't mean to be unkind." He went on, as Sirius continued to look doubtful, "Think of that woman at your orphanage. Miss Dolesham, wasn't it? Didn't you always say McGonagall reminded you of her?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And can you see your Miss Dolesham being all over someone who's having problems and telling them everything will be all right and to just take a rest, have a good cry and not worry about it?"  
  
"No," Sirius admitted with a faint grin. "She'd tell them to pull their socks up and not sit around feeling sorry for themselves."  
  
"And would you say she was unkind?"  
  
Sirius shook his head. "It was just her way. Okay, Remus, you win. I'll take McGonagall off my blacklist. But we need to teach old Wormtail to do that shield charm a bit sharpish or she might bite his head off - purely out of concern for his safety - before the morning's over."  
  
Remus laughed. "All right, let's get started then."  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------  
  
James crept up to a particularly large clump of ivy that grew on the high wall along the east side of the estate. He looked around him secretly, well aware that he could not be seen under his Invisibility Cloak, but keen not to attract undue attention by making a noise. He was, however, quite alone. Looking back towards the wall, he said quietly, "Honoritas, Amor, Veritas".  
  
The ivy trembled. The leaves moved aside to form an archway around a wooden door set with rusty bolts. On it was a crest the size of James's hand, depicting a golden lion and the very words he had just spoken. James took out his wand and tapped the ancient lock three times. The door swung inward, creaking as though it had been neither oiled nor used for many years. James tucked his wand away and went through. He closed the door behind him, and instantly a large thorny rose bush moved to hide it from view. James removed his Invisibility Cloak and folded it neatly over his arm. Then he made his way across the lawns towards the mansion.  
  
He did what his grandfather had told him in the letter, going round to the back of the house rather than approaching the front door. He came across quite a large kitchen garden, marched up to the door of the house and pushed it open. At once there was a scurrying all about him, a bobbing up and down of bald, wrinkly heads and an excited murmur of squeaky voices. House elves. About twenty of them were gathered round him, all wearing what looked like scarlet tea towels emblazoned with a golden lion.  
  
"Err, good afternoon," James began, preparing to explain his presence. "I'm ..."  
  
"You is James Potter, sir, is you not?" asked what looked to be the oldest house elf, for he had the most wrinkled skin and there were great tufts of white hair curling out of his ears.  
  
"Yes," James agreed. "You knew I was coming?"  
  
The aged elf shook his head. "The master was not sure if you would come, James Potter, sir. But he is hoping you is coming, sir. Yes, he is hoping. We house elves knows, because often he is forgetting to put out the torches in the mistress's chamber."  
  
"The mistress?" James queried.  
  
"Yes, yes. The good lady Greta. She is being the master's wife and he is loving her very much." His odd little face was screwed up and he sounded sad. "But the mistress is dying, James Potter, sir. She is dying many, many years ago, and now the master, he is going more and more often into her chamber to look at the mirror."  
  
"Mirror?"  
  
It occurred to James that he must be sounding like some stupid parrot, repeating every word the house elf said. But he was too curious not to ask. The elf nodded eagerly while his fellows all looked on, their big round eyes fixed on James as though he were some fascinating museum piece.  
  
"The mirror in the mistress's chamber is magical, James Potter, sir. The master is telling Cronky about it. He is saying it is showing him the mistress, and she is smiling at him."  
  
Correctly assuming that when he said 'Cronky', the elf was referring to himself, James did not question the term, but went on, "Then - she isn't really dead? She's alive somehow, in this mirror?"  
  
This time the elf shook his head. "Alas no, James Potter, sir. The mistress is dead. The mirror shows her to the master, because the master is wanting her to come back. But she is not able to come back. The master is sitting more and more often in front of this mirror. The master is very lonely. I is thinking it is good for him that you is coming to see him," Cronky concluded decidedly.  
  
"Will you show me the way to my - to the mistress's chamber?" James requested.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------  
  
Gordon Gryffindor was sitting in a soft-cushioned chair in a high-ceilinged room that was flooded with sunlight from the tall doors that gave onto a small balcony. An ivory hair brush and various perfume bottles still sat on the disused dressing table and the four poster bed was freshly made, its embroidered pillowcase and covers of finest cream satin.  
  
Following the house elf into this room, James felt like he had taken a step into a different world, away from the gloom of the hallway with its dark wood and heavy tapestries into a place of light. He waited until the door closed behind the elf before turning to look at the back of his grandfather, who sat staring at a tall, fine mirror that bore strange words along the top. He took a step closer, and another, until he was right behind Gordon.  
  
"Grandfather?"  
  
The old wizard turned quickly in his seat.  
  
"James! I didn't know you were there."  
  
"But - you must have seen my reflection beside yours."  
  
Gordon gave a pained smile. "I have seen your reflection beside me too often to believe in the reality of it any more." He looked back at the mirror. "But I can see that it has gone now."  
  
"Gone?"  
  
"Oh yes. The Mirror of Erised only shows what we want, never what we have. Unless, that is, what we want is no more than we already have. Now that you are here, my desire to see you has been fulfilled. All I see now is myself, your grandmother, and of course your mother."  
  
"I can't see anything at all, except us and the room."  
  
"That is because you are not focused on the mirror. Or rather, the mirror is not focused on you. Here." He rose and moved the chair out of the way, guiding James forward. "Look now, if you're ready, and you will see the deepest desire of your heart."  
  
James looked. His face flushed suddenly red, and he glanced sideways at the old man, who said,  
  
"Do not worry. I can't see what you are seeing any more than you could see what I saw."  
  
Reassured, James looked back into the mirror. He could see himself, dressed exactly as he was now, the Invisibility Cloak still over one arm. And he could see Lily, standing just behind him, putting her arms around him and resting her chin on his shoulder. He put his hand where he could see the refection of hers, and though he could not feel her, she could obviously feel him, because she smiled, closed her fingers around his and kissed his cheek.  
  
"Like what you see?" his grandfather asked, breaking through the harmony with his husky voice.  
  
"It's - not bad," James admitted. He drew away from the mirror reluctantly. "But it's only a vision, isn't it? It's not real."  
  
"Sometimes it can be both. You are young, James. Your desires can still come true. You can make them true. And as they come true the Mirror may show you other things, new wants that crop up as time passes by. A house for you both to live in, perhaps. Or your child."  
  
James eyed him suspiciously. "You do know what I see."  
  
Gordon shook his head. "No. But you cannot deny an old man the privilege of a bit of mysterious guesswork, and logical deduction."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"You blushed. At your age, in most cases that indicates that what you see has something to do with a girl. And having seen you both at the meetings of the Order, my guess would be Miss Evans. Am I right?"  
  
James grinned, suddenly finding something extremely likeable in the iron glint of his grandfather's eye. "Spot on, sir."  
  
Gordon seemed pleased.  
  
"A good choice - if one can ever speak of a choice in these matters. Now, why don't you go and hang up that cloak of yours, and let's have some lunch."  
  
James's grin faded. He looked down at the material over his arm.  
  
"The cloak," he murmured, then looked up again. "Sir ... before we do anything else, I must ask you: How did you know I owned a thing like this? I mean, they're pretty rare, aren't they? And it was sent to me years ago, one Christmas at school. Mum said at the time that she knew of only two people who had had one, but neither could have sent it."  
  
The old wizard nodded. "One of those people was myself, naturally. The other ... your father."  
  
"And since you knew about it, you must have been the one who sent it!" James deducted. "But ... Mum was so sure you didn't even know where we were."  
  
"Clearly, your mother overestimated her own skill at hiding, or else she underestimated my skills at protecting her."  
  
"Protecting her?" James repeated, puzzled.  
  
"Yes. Long before the division between us, James, I developed a device. A rather useful little instrument. I will show it to you, if you like."  
  
James nodded eagerly. His grandfather indicated the door.  
  
"This way," he said. "I keep it locked away in a safe place, you see."  
  
James made for the door, but looked back just before reaching it, to find that his grandfather was casting one last look at the Mirror of Erised.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------  
  
When the Defence Against the Dark Arts practice was over, and Peter had actually managed to block the jelly legs jinx three out of ten times, Remus hung back behind the others, waiting for everyone to file out. Pippa and McGonagall, who were both busy tidying up by waving their wands at the various cushions and books scattered about the floor, did not notice until they had practically finished, and looked up to find him hovering. Sirius and Peter were waiting in the open doorway, and Sirius kept looking out into the passage to make sure no one would overhear who shouldn't.  
  
"Yes, Lupin?" said Professor McGonagall, looking at him enquiringly.  
  
"Professor, I was asked to give you a message for Professor Dumbledore," he informed her in a low voice. "From my uncle."  
  
"What does he say?" asked Pippa.  
  
"He's got to go to the theatre to pick up the information Saturday morning."  
  
"I see." McGonagall bent to pick up the last book by hand and lay it on the table along with the rest. "I take it your father has not been able to dissuade him from his plan then?"  
  
Remus shook his head, then realising there was little point in this, since the professor's back was to him, said, "No."  
  
"Very well," said McGonagall. She turned to Pippa. "Philippa, would you go and tell Professor Dumbledore for me?"  
  
Pippa nodded and left the room. Remus turned to go too, but McGonagall called him back.  
  
"Lupin!"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
She looked as though there was something particular she wanted to say, but seemed to change her mind at the last minute. Instead she said simply,  
  
"Tell your uncle I wish him good luck."  
  
"Yes, Professor. Thank you."  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------  
  
James accompanied his grandfather back to the library where they had first met. Even in broad daylight, it was dark in here. The grate was empty, and somehow the room felt deserted, even though James was sure his grandfather must spend a lot of his time here.  
  
"Wait here a moment," said Gordon. "Sit down if you like."  
  
James remained standing, however, and watched the old wizard disappear out of sight through a small door between two bookshelves at the far end of the room. He looked around him at the rows and rows of thick, leather-bound books, many of which had strange letters on their backs in some old writing he could not make out. The whole place smelt, there was no other way of describing it, of books. It wasn't the smell of the print, just the books themselves, that old, slightly dusty smell that only a large collection of very old books could produce. James imagined with a smile how his friend Remus's eyes would light up at the sight of them. At the same time he could just picture the look of boredom they would bring to Sirius's face. Presently Gordon Gryffindor returned, carrying what looked like a gilded jewellery box in both hands.  
  
"Get us that table over there, would you, James?"  
  
James turned his head in the direction the old man indicated and fetched the small round table that stood a little way away.  
  
"Put it down here."  
  
James obeyed, placing the table in front of the high-backed armchair before the empty fireplace. Gordon sat down, and James followed suit. His grandfather now placed the box on the table, reached inside the collar of his robes and pulled out a long golden chain, on the end of which hung a tiny silver key. This he removed and placed it gently in the lock. He did not turn the key, and yet it made strange sounds of its own accord the moment it was fitted. They were not so much clicking sounds, as a gentle tinkling. They stopped after a minute or so, and Gordon reached out both his old, wrinkled hands to raise the lid. He turned the box around so that James could see its contents.  
  
On the inside, the box was padded with dark red velvet, and in the middle rested what looked like a crystal ball the size of James's palm, filled with a kind of pale and misty smoke. Yet as James watched, the orb rose from the box into the air and began to rotate, first slowly, then spinning ever faster and faster, while the lid of the box it had emerged from closed itself. The smoke inside the orb, now swirling like a tiny forest of tornadoes, turned violet, then blue.  
  
"What's happening?" James asked in an awed voice.  
  
"Watch," said his grandfather.  
  
Slowly, the swirling subsided. What James had taken to be blue smoke began to smooth out, took on a glistening rather than a misty hue, spread out and rippled, filling the inside of the orb like dark blue water. And then something else happened. Here and there amid the blue, small specks of green and brown started to appear, tiny islands in a minuscule ocean, some staying minute, others growing to the size of a fingernail. As he watched them, James suddenly realised what he was looking at.  
  
"It's a globe," he exclaimed. "A miniature globe."  
  
"Yes. It is a globe. And here ..." - Gordon took out his wand and waved it at the still revolving orb, so that it began to slow and finally rested motionless and floated in mid-air - "... is your mother."  
  
James leaned in closer. Sure enough, as he moved his face nearer to the globe, he could make out a tiny red dot pulsating on the small patch of land that he knew was England. What was more, the more he concentrated on that spot, the larger that particular area of land seemed to become. At first he thought it was merely his imagination, but then he realised that he no longer needed to lean in so close to be able to see it. The area of land was stretching, pushing all others aside until it filled the entire orb.  
  
"If you look harder," said Gordon softly, "you will be able to see more."  
  
James concentrated. There was no longer any blue sea visible in the orb. It was entirely filled with land now and as he watched, forests and roads and cities melted out of his way on the edges of his vision, and he could make out quite clearly the white dome of St. Paul's. It was as though he were flying over a minuscule model of London, seeing it in ever more detail, until at last he recognised the street where he lived, the house, the front door, Mrs. Hammersmith's flat and - he drew in an amazed breath - Mrs. Hammersmith herself, lying in her bed, and his mother beside her. He stared at the figures for a moment, then slowly turned his head to find his grandfather sitting quietly, watching the globe with a look of longing in his iron-grey eyes.  
  
"So you've been watching us," whispered James softly. "All these years. You've known all the time where we were, what we were doing ..."  
  
Gordon tore himself away from his daughter's face, which had grown larger and larger as he stared at her, and was now filling the globe completely.  
  
"Yes," he confirmed. "I have been watching you ... since the moment you were born."  
  
"All the time?" James demanded with a sudden note of alarm.  
  
"No, not all the time. For one thing, I made this globe so that I would always be able to check that your mother was safe, not so that I might spy on you both and invade your privacy. For another - I could never watch you, James, unless you were with your mother."  
  
James looked a question.  
  
"The globe shows only those it has been magicked to show. And the spell that teaches it to show a certain person requires that person to touch it."  
  
"Oh," James sighed with some relief. Then a thought occurred to him. "But ... if you needed Mum to touch the globe so you could use it to watch her, doesn't that mean she knew you would be watching her all along?"  
  
"No," said Gordon. "She doesn't know. She was only an infant when I performed the spell, and has no recollection of it. Even now she is totally unaware of its existence - or rather, of its function. She did see it once, as a child, when I was using it to communicate with your grandmother, who was abroad visiting a friend."  
  
"Communicate? You mean you can use this globe to talk to people when they're far away?"  
  
"Yes - and no."  
  
"What does that mean?"  
  
"It means that you could talk to your mother through this globe right now, James - you would only need to take it between both hands and speak - but I would not advise it."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"For one thing, she is unaware of this device and would probably receive quite a fright to suddenly hear your voice speaking to her from out of nowhere. For another, your words would not only be heard by her. Anyone who is with her would hear them too, and since it is in the nature of the globe to focus entirely on the one person we want to see, blotting out all else, it is often very hard to tell if that person is really alone."  
  
"So anything I say, Mrs. Hammersmith would be able to hear too? A sort of disembodied voice echoing round the room, as it were?"  
  
Gordon nodded.  
  
"I see. But if I knew Mum was alone, I would be able to talk to her? As if I was using a telephone or," he added, seeing the uncomprehending look on his grandfather's face, "as if I was talking to her through the floo network?"  
  
"Not quite," the old wizard explained. "You would be able to talk to her, but she would not be able to answer. You may have noticed that while you can see your mother very clearly, you cannot hear a single sound from the room. The globe sends us imagines, but no sound. She would have to gesture, or hold up a note. Unless you can lip-read."  
  
James laughed. "Not that I know of. I never knew I ought to have learnt it until now."  
  
Gordon watched his grandson's hazel eyes sparkle, and a queer smile crept across his withered face.  
  
"What is it?" asked James.  
  
The old man shook his head slowly. "It just occurred to me how foolish we humans can be sometimes."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"It's not so much what I mean, as who. I was speaking of myself. My own conduct. For years and years I have sat before devices like the Mirror of Erised and this globe, watching my child - watching you. Because though I was too stubborn to shelve my pride and approach her, I could not bear to be without my daughter. I did not realise that there are more important things than pride, even though I wallowed in just those things every day of my life."  
  
James still looked puzzled. "I don't understand."  
  
"I am speaking of love, James. All your life and before, I have thought that being right, being firm, holding to the knowledge that I was correct and she was wrong, was more important than my love for my own flesh and blood. That was a stupid misjudgement, as I should have known, because all the time I wanted nothing more than to have her - and you - with me. It seems I needed old age to catch up with me before I could finally understand what is really important. Old age, the threat of losing that which I love most, and you."  
  
"Me?"  
  
"Yes, you, James. It has been a long time since laughter was heard in this house. And yet it used to be such a happy place, once upon a time. When your grandmother was alive and your mother was just a child, laughter was the most frequent sound to be heard here. Now ..." - his face clouded over once more - "... if any sound at all is heard it is that of the wind blowing mournfully down the fireplaces and whistling through the draughty halls."  
  
He fell silent, his head drooping slightly, and James watched his weary face. He felt a surge of affection for the old man, though he barely knew him, and a deep sense of pity at his loneliness.  
  
"We can make this place like it used to be again," he said decisively. "Mum and I could ... well, I'm not saying we could move in here. I don't think she'd want that. But - well, we could come and visit. Catch up on the years we've missed. Sirius could come too, and Remus and Peter. We could all be here together."  
  
Gordon looked up at his eager face in surprise, but then shook his head doubtfully.  
  
"I do not think your mother would want to come back here, even to visit, unless she has to for the Order."  
  
James grinned. "Sorry, grandfather, but you don't know her like I do. You're not the only one who's missed out on a lot of happiness, and who'd be grateful to get some of it back."  
  
The old wizard stared at him. "Wh-what did you call me?" his husky voice stammered.  
  
"Grandfather," James repeated, holding out his hand, his face softening. "We are a family. You, Mum, me ... and all our friends. We all need each other, don't we? We ought to acknowledge that and make the most of the time we have together. Because in times like these, no one can say how long that will be. Right?"  
  
His grandfather peered into his steady eyes, and finally grasped the hand he held out and shook it.  
  
"You're right, my boy," he said. "Absolutely right."  
  
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3 - Sirius Speaks Sincerely  
  
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James came back from his visit to his grandfather's house in the late afternoon, and immediately set about telling his mother and Sirius about his plans of bringing life back to Gryffindor Hall. He was upset, though not surprised, to find neither of them showing much enthusiasm. It wasn't so much, as Gordon had feared, that Bridget had no inclination to visit what had once been her home, as that she was too preoccupied with worry over old Mrs. Hammersmith to be particularly bothered. Sirius, meanwhile, though sounding pleased at the prospect of being invited more often to a magnificent old manor that, as he pointed out, must be full of secret passages and mysterious artefacts - James had, as yet, not mentioned the Mirror of Erised or the globe - had been lost in thought for most of the time since that morning's defence practice.  
  
"Would you mind telling me what exactly is the matter with you today?" James finally demanded impatiently after supper, when Bridget had gone back downstairs to check on Mrs. Hammersmith.  
  
Sirius shrugged his shoulders. He looked moody and glum. "Oh, I don't know. It's just ... all this Order business. I mean, it's all very well preparing ourselves so we're ready to fight the Death Eaters when the adults finally let us out, but ... It's just like I feel it's about time they did, if you see what I mean. Then there's the matter of Malcolm. Moony told us this morning that he's had a letter from that woman who said she could get him in with the Death Eaters. Part of me says that's great, because the sooner he goes to spy on Voldemort, the sooner we can get out there and start fighting back properly at last. But everyone seems so negative about it. Wormtail started walking around like someone had just died when he heard Moony tell Pippa and McGonagall and, well, frankly, she's no better. You'd think Malcolm was signing his own death warrant the way everyone reacts to the whole idea, wouldn't you?"  
  
"Well," James said thoughtfully, "you can't really blame them. I mean, it is a pretty big risk. But he's right, and you're right, that it's time we were doing something. We need some sort of advantage over the Death Eaters, and I think it's very brave of him to be doing this. And I like to believe he will pull it through. I was talking to Gideon the other day, and he says Malcolm's about the best Auror he's ever met, aside from Moody."  
  
Sirius nodded. "I like to believe that too."  
  
He fell silent again, and James studied him for a moment before asking,  
  
"What else?"  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"What else is up? Is it that letter you got?"  
  
"Letter?"  
  
James smiled. "Yes, letter. The one that you tried to hide away so I wouldn't see it. The one written on turquoise parchment. Who was it from?"  
  
"Oh that. That was from Jo," Sirius grunted.  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Josie Coronis. We're going to meet on Wednesday."  
  
James looked for a moment as though he hadn't a clue who Sirius was talking about. Then it seemed to dawn on him, and he stared incredulously at his friend.  
  
"Not the girl you met at the Banshee? The one who was with Snape?"  
  
"That's the one. And before you jump to the same wrong conclusions as your mother did," Sirius added hotly, "I'm not trying to pinch Snape's girlfriend or anything. I just want to warn her."  
  
"Yeah, right!" said James with a laugh. "Who are you trying to kid? This is me, Sirius. I know you've never arranged to meet a girl for any reason but one ..."  
  
"Well, there's got to be a first time for everything, hasn't there?" said Sirius irritably, getting to his feet.  
  
James was still laughing. "Not for this kind of thing, not with you."  
  
"Oh yes? I suppose you think only people like Moony meet girls because they genuinely want to help them, and not out of self-interest! Though even he's not above pinching my girl moments after she chucked me over."  
  
At these words, James's laughter subsided immediately.  
  
"That's not fair, Sirius," he said firmly. "For one thing, I don't believe Remus ever had any other intentions when it came to Aurora than getting you and her back together again. And I don't believe he's the only one who'd help someone without expecting something back. I thought a bit of teasing among friends as close as we are wouldn't do any harm. It never has done before, but it seems you're just not in the right mood for it at the moment."  
  
"No, I'm not," said Sirius, quieting down.  
  
"All right then," James said gently. "No teasing. You say you only want to help the girl. I believe you."  
  
Sirius looked at him oddly for a moment, then gave a dry laugh and sat back down again. "Point is, I suppose, I have to find out if I believe myself."  
  
James smiled again. "So she wrote you a letter," he prompted.  
  
"Yes. Well, actually, I wrote her one first."  
  
Sirius explained how he had discussed the matter with Bridget, how he had written to Josephine and how she had replied immediately.  
  
"And you're meeting her on Wednesday?"  
  
"At the Leaky Cauldron. Yes."  
  
"I see. Have you thought about what you're going to say to her?"  
  
"Not really. I keep trying to work out where I should begin, but ... I couldn't do it in the letter, and I'm starting to think it won't sound any better if I say it out loud. I've even considered just not turning up at all on Wednesday. I mean, it's really none of my business to be telling her I think she's getting herself into something dangerous. It's no secret I hate Snape, she's bound to have realised that. She'll probably just think the same as everyone else seems to, that my only interest in her is because she's Snape's girl and I'd love to get one over on him."  
  
There was a pause. Then James said thoughtfully, "I don't think you should just forget the idea, you know."  
  
"Why not? I've not said anything yet I can't take back ..."  
  
"No. But there's a simple reason why you must go through with it now."  
  
"Oh yes? What's that?"  
  
"If you don't and it later turns out you were right, you'd never forgive yourself for not having at least tried to warn her."  
  
Sirius's face cleared. "You're right, Prongs," he said. "Even if she doesn't believe me, I've got to know I tried."  
  
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And so, after work on Wednesday, Sirius left the others standing in the Atrium and took the telephone box up to the muggle street. Despite James's encouragement and the knowledge that he was doing the right thing, a part of him wished he had never written that letter, that he had simply left well alone. Or better still, that he had never even met the girl. He made his way through the busy streets of London, greyed by a thin veil of late- summery rain that was splattering down today, and finally reached the row of shops where the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron was hidden. Josie was already there, wearing a short tartan skirt and a bright red top. Her strawberry blonde hair was limp with rainwater, and she was holding a plastic shopping bag over her head, though it was doing very little good.  
  
"Hello!" she called, letting go of the shopping bag with one hand to wave to Sirius.  
  
"Erm ... hello," he answered as he drew level with her.  
  
They stood in silence for a moment before Josie said,  
  
"D'you mind if we go inside? I'm getting drenched here."  
  
"Oh, yes, sure," said Sirius, and he pushed the door of the pub open for her.  
  
Josie hurried in, showering the occupants of the table right beside the door with raindrops as she lowered the waterlogged shopping bag.  
  
"Oh - sorry," she murmured.  
  
Sirius took out his wand quickly and waved it at the two people now scowling up at them, drying them before they had time to complain.  
  
"Sorry," he repeated, and quickly guided Josie further into the pub.  
  
"Yeuch, what a miserable old day!" Josie exclaimed, flopping onto the wooden bench at an empty table towards the back and setting the shopping bag down on the floor beside her. "Have you ever seen such a lot of water all at once?"  
  
"Not since Peter Pettigrew accidentally conjured up a gigantic flood when he was supposed to be trying out a reductor curse on Professor Darkhardt, " said Sirius with a grin. "You should have seen him. He was absolutely drenched and couldn't see a thing because his hair was all sticking and flopping in his eyes."  
  
"Oh dear," said Josie. "Did Peter get into much trouble?"  
  
"Actually, no," said Sirius. "Old Scarface just said that while he had got the incantations totally muddled, he had at least managed to disable his opponent, which was supposed to be the object of the exercise. It took us quite a while to get all the water mopped up after. It was like the whole dungeon had been turned into a swimming pool."  
  
Josie giggled. Sirius felt relieved. He had been worried that it would be hard to even start talking to her, but really she was not difficult to talk to at all.  
  
"Fancy a drink?" he asked.  
  
"Yes, please," she said eagerly.  
  
"What would you like?"  
  
She said she would like some pumpkin juice. Sirius went to buy two glasses and brought them back to the table.  
  
"Cheers," said Josie, reaching for her glass. Then she had to put it down quickly to sneeze three times in a row.  
  
She laughed, and Sirius laughed back. "Sorry, I'm forgetting my manners here," he apologised, and taking out his wand he performed the same spell as he had on the people Josie had soaked when they game in.  
  
"Thanks," said the now-dry Josie. "Cheers!"  
  
They each took a sip from their glasses and sat on for a moment in silence, which grew steadily more awkward.  
  
"Well," Sirius began at last, "I dare say you'll be wanting to know exactly why I asked you to meet me."  
  
"Yes," Josie agreed. "But first I'd like to know something else. You said that night at the Bouncing Banshee that you tried to kill Sev once. He told me that was true, but he wouldn't go into details. He said he couldn't, Professor Dumbledore had made him promise never to tell. Are you bound by that promise too?"  
  
Sirius frowned. "In a way. Professor Dumbledore made all those who knew swear they'd never mention it. Let's just say it was all my fault," he admitted fairly. "I acted like an idiot. That's what it boils down to. I suppose I didn't really want to kill him, just shake him up a bit. He deserved it. He was a nasty, greasy, mean kid and we loathed the sight of each other. He'd hurt someone I liked, too. A girl." He chuckled as he thought of Aurora, and what she would say if she could hear him now. "Put a nasty hex on her. So I told him to go to a certain place at a certain time, knowing full well that it would be dangerous. But James, my best friend, found out and saved Severus. That's about it, really."  
  
"Is it? And what was this dangerous place?"  
  
"That's the part I can't tell you."  
  
"But it was dangerous - very dangerous?"  
  
"Yes," Sirius confessed. "Very. He could easily have been killed or ... well."  
  
Rather than appearing cross, Josie looked sad.  
  
"Pity," she said. "I was sort of hoping it was all just a joke, but obviously I was wrong. That's a shame, because I like you. I liked you the moment I saw you, but if you really did try to hurt Sev ..."  
  
"Look," Sirius interrupted, catching hold of her hand as she made to get up and leave. "I admit what I did was wrong, very wrong. But you've got to realise Severus Snape is not exactly a saint either. He'd have wrung my neck several times over at school, given half a chance. Probably still would today, if he could. I don't know what he's like with you, but he had a reputation at school."  
  
"Reputation?"  
  
Sirius nodded. "For practising Dark spells, for being nasty to muggle-borns and half-bloods in more ways than calling them names, being in with the Darkest Slytherins of them all, and for picking on students weaker than he was. I told you he once hexed a friend of mine. That was because she tried to defend a muggle-born girl he attacked when she hadn't even got her wand out."  
  
Josie frowned. "Well ... that was a long time ago, I expect," she replied truculently. "Everyone does silly things when they're kids. He wouldn't do that sort of thing now."  
  
"Oh, I see. So it's okay for Severus to have done bad things when he was at school, but not me, is that it?"  
  
Josie said nothing.  
  
"Jo," Sirius said earnestly, "I'm not trying to blacken his name. He's perfectly capable of doing that himself, through his actions, without my help. I'm only trying to warn you of the kind of person he is. Getting mixed up with him could get you in with a dodgy crowd. People who practise the Dark Arts and support Lord Voldemort."  
  
"Shhhh!" Josie hissed in alarm, sitting down again at last and peering at him urgently across the table. "Don't say that name aloud, please!"  
  
But Sirius was looking mildly triumphant.  
  
"So I was right. You are on our side."  
  
"What side?"  
  
"The side that's against Vol- oh, all right: You-Know-Who. You're scared of him, aren't you? Well, we all have reason to be, one way or another. What's your reason?"  
  
"Nothing particular," she snapped.  
  
"Yes, it is. And I'm going to find out eventually. Are you muggle-born?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Half-blood?"  
  
"No, and I don't see what business it is of yours anyway."  
  
"I'm trying to help you, Jo. I'm trying to stop you from becoming too involved with someone who is on the side of the very person you fear."  
  
"Sev would never support a murderer like You-Know-Who!"  
  
"I'm sorry, but I have to disagree. I'm sure he's connected to the Death Eaters in some way, he may even be one himself."  
  
"No!" Josie jumped to her feet again, anger now flashing in her unusually coloured eyes. "I won't sit here and listen to you telling such wicked lies!"  
  
"They're not lies, Jo," said Sirius urgently, uncomfortably aware that several people were looking their way. "You should take what I've said seriously. I know someone who ignored similar advice years ago. She's still regretting it, and still living in mortal fear of the man she married in spite of the warnings everyone gave her."  
  
Josie stared down at him, her mouth hanging open. He could not fathom her expression, but when she spoke again her voice was different, low and awed.  
  
"You know the heiress of Gryffindor?"  
  
It was Sirius's turn to gape. "How did you know I meant ...?"  
  
Josie sat down again and went on, quietly and hurriedly,  
  
"Professor Dumbledore came to our house a few weeks back. I overheard him talking to my father. Dad has a lot of contacts in Greece, and I think Professor Dumbledore wants them to keep a lookout for Dark activities over there."  
  
"So ... your father's in with Dumbledore?"  
  
Josie nodded. Sirius recovered quickly from his surprise.  
  
"Well, so am I. And yes, I do know Gryffindor's heiress, and I know how afraid she is. I don't want you to experience the same."  
  
"You're very kind, Sirius," said Josie in a voice that was most unlike her. "But I don't know that I can leave Sev. You see, I think I - I love him. I really do."  
  
Sirius gulped. He was relieved to discover that the news didn't upset him, personally. But it did worry him.  
  
"All the same, Jo," he said. "I do think you should be careful. And if you find you need help ... well, you know your owl will always reach me."  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------  
  
Lily returned to the living room, carrying two glasses of orange squash, to find James staring out into the rain as it splattered her parents' front garden.  
  
"Here you are," she said, setting the glasses down on the coffee table. "I'm afraid my parents don't keep pumpkin juice or butterbeer."  
  
James turned around slowly.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
She looked back at him curiously. "What's the matter, James?" she asked gently, sitting down on the sofa. He came to sit beside her.  
  
"Oh, just ... Sirius," he said, and he told her where his friend was and what he was doing.  
  
"You two are pretty close, aren't you?" she said when he had finished. "Whatever one of you is doing, it always affects the mood of the other."  
  
"Well, that's what it's like among friends, isn't it?" he remarked.  
  
"Yes. But it's more than that with you two. Sometimes it's like even when Sirius isn't around, he's still sort of here."  
  
"He's a part of me, I suppose," said James. "As is everyone else I care about. My friends, my mother ... and you. You're always with me, wherever I go. And I wouldn't have it any other way."  
  
Lily looked into his earnest hazel eyes and smiled. "You care such a lot about people, don't you?"  
  
"I care a lot about you," he replied, smiling back mischievously. He reached out and held her hand, the smile softening. "I care a hell of a lot about you, Lily. You know that, don't you?"  
  
Lily nodded. "And I about you, James. So much."  
  
She sighed and moved closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. James put his arms around her and kissed her forehead. They sat like that in silence for a long moment. Then Lily sighed.  
  
"Don't you sometimes think how everything could be so perfect if it wasn't for the Death Eaters and Voldemort?"  
  
"Are you afraid?" James asked her.  
  
"Yes. Terribly afraid."  
  
"You needn't be," he said gently. "I'll look after you."  
  
He looked down into her anxious green eyes, then bent lower and kissed her lips. The door opened brusquely and they drew apart hastily.  
  
"Oh, here you are, Lily ..." Petunia began, but broke off when she realised what she had interrupted and stared instead at her sister.  
  
"Yes?" Lily queried mildly. "Was there something you wanted, Pet?"  
  
Petunia recovered her brisk, haughty composure. "I've told you before, Lily, I don't like you calling me that."  
  
"Sorry."  
  
Petunia snorted. "I just wanted to tell you Vernon will be arriving for dinner in a couple of minutes, and I would really appreciate it if you two could avoid any - abnormality in his presence."  
  
Her eyes bored into James, who said pleasantly,  
  
"Don't worry, Petunia, we'll refrain from levitating the potatoes to your fiancée, and I promise you I haven't a single drop of tickling solution on my person."  
  
Lily chuckled, but her sister looked positively horrified at the mere idea of a bowl full of potatoes flying towards Vernon Dursley. James went on,  
  
"And I promise not to mention Hogwarts, spells or magic in any way, all right?"  
  
"Yes," snapped Petunia. "Quite. Well ... that's all."  
  
And she turned on her heel and went out. Sure enough, the doorbell rang barely five minutes later, and soon they could hear Vernon's gruff, slightly pompous voice out in the hallway.  
  
"I suppose we'd better go and say hello," Lily sighed.  
  
They did so, and soon they, Petunia, Vernon and Mr. and Mrs. Evans were all sitting around the dining table. Conversation was curt and painfully polite. Vernon talked about Grunnings, the company he worked for, and approximately every five minutes put forward what he seemed to consider absolutely fascinating suggestions for improving the company's drill production. The rest of the time he spent telling Lily and Petunia's father what wonderful career options were open to him, and how it would surely be only a matter of a year or two before he was offered a position in the lower management, and from then to running the company single-handedly was - the way he described it - but a small step for a man such as he.  
  
Throughout this talk, James and Lily took it in turns to swap highly ironic glances and to avoid each other's eyes for fear of bursting into hearty laughter. Though to look at Lily's father, James thought perhaps it would be kinder not to bother avoiding it. He looked bored to tears with the talk of drills, and like he would welcome a good laugh.  
  
After dinner, when it became evident that Vernon expected to be offered a private chat in the living room with his future in-laws and wife, James decided it was time he made his excuses and leave.  
  
"Well," he said to Mrs. Evans, getting to his feet. "That was the most delicious bit of chicken I've had for ages. And now I'm fit to burst, so before I do I think I'd best be going."  
  
"Oh, not so soon, dear," said Mrs. Evans. "Stay for some tea."  
  
James smiled, and allowing his eyes to dart briefly to Petunia's dark scowl, said,  
  
"No, I don't think I'd better, really. Thanks, Rose."  
  
He shook hands with Lily's parents, Vernon and a very grudging Petunia. Lily got up to see him to the door.  
  
"How about going dancing again next Saturday?" James asked her as they left the room together, oblivious to the fact that Petunia's eyes were still boring into the back of his head.  
  
"Same place as last time?" said Lily.  
  
"Yes."  
  
Through the open dining room door, Petunia watched James pause to kiss Lily good night, and walk out into the street.  
  
"Why don't you join me when I go round to the Browns' next weekend, Petunia?" Vernon was saying. "I thought perhaps we could play a round or two of cards."  
  
Petunia hitched a smile onto her face, and out of the corner of her eye saw her sister close the door.  
  
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4 - When the Seventh Morning Dawns  
  
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It was Saturday morning, so early that the streets were still deserted and the sun had not yet fully risen. Malcolm entered the Better Days Theatre by the side entrance as usual, and was led by Craigg into the latter's office.  
  
Désirée was waiting for him. Her cloak today was a deep maroon. She had sleeked back her hair with some sort of gel and was taking her long cigarette holder out of a black patent leather handbag. She lit a cigarette and flounced on the chaise in her usual artistic manner. Malcolm was once again reminded of a 1920s fashion doll. Craigg left them alone in his office this time and Malcolm pulled up an old wooden chair that creaked when he sat on it. He forced himself not to rub his eyes, to look alert. Despite his efforts, the actress, giving out a gentle puff of smoke, said,  
  
"You look tired, Monsieur 'ood. Zere are 'eavy bags under your eyes. Your profession 'as been keeping you busy?"  
  
He gave a dry laugh. "Hardly. I got sacked the day we met."  
  
Désirée's plucked eyebrows rose. "Sacked? Ah, but zat is good news."  
  
Malcolm's jaw dropped. He stared at her blankly. "How is that good news? I'm out of a job and have no income."  
  
"But you are also 'out of' obligations. You will not need to find excuses for not being at work. Zere is no one 'oo will miss you."  
  
Malcolm's face clouded over, a fact that her sharp eyes could not fail to notice.  
  
"Will you not tell me what is troubling you?" she asked persuasively.  
  
"Sleepless nights," he answered curtly. "Worry."  
  
"A woman?" she guessed.  
  
"Yes."  
  
She studied him thoughtfully through the haze of smoke.  
  
"You 'ave chosen a bad time to fall in love, Monsieur," she remarked. "Per'aps it would be better to forget zis woman."  
  
"Forget her?" he exclaimed, outraged. "I couldn't if I tried."  
  
"In zat case maybe you should consider abandoning zis plan, or leaving it to someone else."  
  
Malcolm gave a slow smile. "That's what my brother-in-law says. But no, I'm not backing out. You have the information?"  
  
"You 'ave ze money?"  
  
He drew a bag full of galleons out of his pocket, a contribution from Gordon Gryffindor, and handed it to her. Désirée Dulac opened a large handbag and put the moneybag in it. She took out a single sheet of sealed parchment and passed it to Malcolm, who took it, looking slightly puzzled.  
  
"Aren't you going to count the money?"  
  
"No," said the woman, snapping her handbag shut and rising from the chaise. "You are an 'onest man, Monsieur 'ood, and an idealist. Such people do not take risks by not 'paying up', as I believe ze saying goes. But I think you ought to check zat zat parchment 'olds everything you need."  
  
Malcolm felt himself redden. "Oh, I'm sure it's fine."  
  
The look on the actress's face was quizzical. "You know nothing about me, Monsieur. I could tell you zat my name is not Désirée at all, zat it is actually Félice, and that I am not an actress, but a painter, and tomorrow I will be marrying ze love of my life. Would you believe zat?"  
  
"Not if you said it in that tone of voice, no."  
  
"I can promise you zat I would be perfectly capable of saying it in a tone of voice you could not 'elp but believe. You are a fool if you let someone's tone of voice make you believe or not believe what you are told. I 'ave not thought you a fool so far. Must I revise my opinion ... Monsieur Marley?"  
  
He looked up sharply. Désirée smiled.  
  
"You see, I do not trust anyone without being very thorough in my investigation of them. But do not fear. No one shall 'ear anything from me. Incidentally, ze Félice Dulac I spoke of 'appens to be my sister, 'oo, beyond being a very gifted painter, is also very good with memory charms. I am travelling to 'er wedding today, and tonight I will ask 'er to remove everything zat has passed between us in this room from my mind."  
  
Malcolm smiled. "You think of everything, Miss Dulac."  
  
He broke the seal and unfolded the parchment. It was all there. The name of a Death Eater - a man called Travers - basic information on how long he had been one, a picture of the man in question and information on when he would be expected to meet one of his fellows at a certain place. It was rather a small amount of information to start on, but it would have to do. Except ...  
  
"Wait a minute," Malcolm exclaimed. "This can't be right. It says here that the ideal moment to capture him would be today! But we can't have him disappear now, when it will take a month for the polyjuice potion to be ready. He'd miss his appointment on ..." - he consulted the parchment - "... Monday. He'd be missed, and some very odd questions would be asked if he turned up out of nowhere a month after having vanished!"  
  
The actress short him a queer look.  
  
"Monsieur, ze polyjuice potion 'as been ready for several days. Did you expect Monsieur Craigg and myself to be idle while zis information was being obtained for us? We prepared it in advance, naturally, so zat it would be ready at a moment's notice. All zat remains now is for you and your friends to capture Monsieur Travers, pluck out a few of 'is 'airs, and make sure you find out as much about 'im as possible, so zat you will be ready to take 'is place on Monday morning when, as our sources tell us, 'e is expected to meet with a group of other Death Eaters and be taken for ze first time to the place where 'e-'o-must-not-be-named is 'iding."  
  
Malcolm looked down at the parchment again. "He's only recently joined their ranks?"  
  
"Yes. And zat could easily be to your advantage, for 'e is not yet so well known by all the ozzers zat certain mannerisms will appear strange to zem."  
  
"They'll know him well enough, though, or he wouldn't be in the inner circle at all."  
  
"Quite. It is never possible to be too cautious."  
  
Malcolm cast one more glance down at the sheet, refolded it and got to his feet.  
  
"Thank you," he said, holding out his hand.  
  
Désirée looked down at it for a moment, laid her cigarette in the ashtray and shook it briefly. "Au revoir, Monsieur. Bonne chance."  
  
She turned and walked out the door, her cloak sweeping the floor behind her. The cigarette burned forgotten in its holder.  
  
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Malcolm approached the small bookshop very slowly, his legs feeling heavier with every step. He peered in through the window, looking past the display of books and posters. He could see Bridget behind the counter. Her dark hair was tied back in a ponytail. There was a pencil behind her ear again and she was fanning herself with a coloured leaflet, her back half-turned towards the door. Malcolm felt a pang. He couldn't do it, he couldn't tell her. But he had to. If he didn't tell her today, he might never again have the chance. Bracing himself, he went to the door and walked in.  
  
Bridget was already smiling when she turned around to face him, as though she had expected to see him there, recognised his footsteps. But her face fell when she saw his.  
  
"What's wrong?" she asked without preface. "Has anything happened? Faith ...?"  
  
"She's fine."  
  
"Thank god. I heard on the news this morning that the Death Eaters had been torturing muggle-borns again. They didn't say any names, and I was worried. But something's happened, hasn't it?"  
  
Malcolm nodded. "We need to talk - in private."  
  
"I can't, not right now. There's no one else here to serve customers."  
  
"Damn," Malcolm muttered under his breath. "And I can't hang about, I need to see Dumbledore, quickly."  
  
"Why?"  
  
Malcolm shook his head impatiently. "When do you finish?"  
  
"We close at twelve today."  
  
He checked his watch. "All right, that'll give me ample time to get there and back," he agreed. "Could you come round to my place? I'll wait there."  
  
Bridget agreed.  
  
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Malcolm paced up and down his own flat like a caged tiger, almost leaving a track in the carpet. He had been to see Dumbledore at Hogwarts, left everything in his hands and hurried back home. Now he was wishing he'd stayed away longer, so that the wait wouldn't have been so long. He checked his watch every ten minutes until twelve o'clock, then began checking it every two minutes. It seemed as though he was having to wait forever, and yet he was startled when the doorbell suddenly rang. He ran his fingers through his hair, pressed the buzzer and waited impatiently, knowing it would not be long now.  
  
Sure enough, her dark head appeared moments later. Malcolm hitched a smile onto his face, but it was clear immediately from the look he received that Bridget was not for a moment fooled that it meant anything other than that he was trying to put her mind at rest. He helped her off with her cardigan and attempted a feeble,  
  
"So, how was the morning's work?"  
  
"Never mind that," said Bridget. "What's up?"  
  
"Come in here," Malcolm said, and led her through into the living room.  
  
Bridget looked interestedly around her. Malcolm closed the door behind him and smiled at the slightly puzzled look on her face.  
  
"I know, it's not much," he admitted ruefully. "Bachelor's flat, of course. Just the bare necessities for me."  
  
"I see."  
  
Bridget sat down on the sofa and looked up at him expectantly.  
  
"Well?"  
  
"Erm ... right ... can I get you anything? Cup of tea, glass of water ...?"  
  
She raised her eyebrows, and he signed resignedly, sitting down next to her. "Very well. The fact is this ... I mean ... I'm sorry, I don't really know where to begin."  
  
"How about the beginning?"  
  
"That's just the problem," he said slowly. "I don't really know where the beginning is. I don't know when I started to ... oh, I can't do this."  
  
He got up and paced for a moment, ran a hand over his face, shook himself and sat down again.  
  
"All right, let's start at the other end ... There's something I've got to do, Bridget. For the Order. Something that's pretty dangerous, actually ..."  
  
"Yes?" she prompted quietly.  
  
"Well, you know I've been running this sort of spy network for the Order? Well, after I got sacked, it occurred to me that maybe the time had come to go further than that. That maybe it was time we got a real advantage by not just spying on the outskirts, as it were, but getting someone we could trust, someone from within the Order, into Voldemort's inner circle."  
  
He broke off. Bridget watched him for a moment, then suddenly the colour drained from her face. At last she spoke again, though her voice was barely audible.  
  
"You?"  
  
Malcolm nodded. Bridget looked away, gulped and got to her feet. She walked to the window and looked out, down into the backyard.  
  
"It seemed by far the most logical solution. Anyway, what I wanted to say is that there's something I've got to tell you before ..."  
  
"No."  
  
"What?" He stared at her, utterly flummoxed, as she turned around and looked him determinedly in the eye.  
  
"You heard me. I said no."  
  
"But ..."  
  
"You can't do this. You mustn't. I - I can't believe you're suggesting this. Now of all times, when I've finally come to realise ... when at last I can ..."  
  
Her voice quavered, and she quickly covered her mouth with her hand and turned her back to him again. Malcolm was flabbergasted. Whatever he had expected, it wasn't this. He jumped to his feet and went to stand behind her, his hand hovering close to her shoulder, unsure whether he should touch her or not.  
  
"Bridget," he said quietly. "Please - please don't cry."  
  
Quite contrary to his murmured request, she burst into a sudden fit of sobbing. He touched her arms delicately, and to his surprise she turned right around and buried her face against his chest, her hands clutching his shirt. He held her tightly. It was quite a while before she managed to speak coherently again.  
  
"I'm sorry, it's just ... You remember I told you I could never trust a man again enough to - to care ..."  
  
"Yes, I remember."  
  
"Well, I - I've just begun to see that I was wrong. Only last week, when - when you came round for tea and - and we went down to Mrs. Hammersmith's, I realised ..."  
  
"Yes?" he said again, but there was a note of hope in his voice now.  
  
Bridget turned her tearstained face upwards. "I - I love you."  
  
Malcolm closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again he was painfully aware that they were burning fiercely.  
  
"Bridget," he whispered, "darling." His hand stroked her damp cheek tenderly.  
  
"Don't go," Bridget begged. "I need you."  
  
"I'm sorry," Malcolm replied hoarsely. "It's too late, I couldn't back out now, even if I wanted to."  
  
Bridget gave a small sob. "Please."  
  
Malcolm looked at her sadly. This was painful, far more painful than he had imagined, but then he had never really allowed himself to hope that she might return his feelings. To know that he must leave her so soon after all, when he had thought he would have at least another month, and that she actually cared for him, was almost more than he could bear.  
  
"We have a little time left before I have to leave," he said softly.  
  
"When is that?"  
  
"Monday morning."  
  
"So soon?"  
  
He nodded. "I wish we could have longer," he told her.  
  
Bridget gave a mournful smile. "So do I."  
  
Malcolm touched her chin with his hand, and bent down to kiss her. Bridget felt his arms around her, and she leaned against him, in that moment feeling completely whole for the first time in years. For a long time, Malcolm just stood holding her, her head against his chest, her heart beating wildly.  
  
"Promise me you won't be gone long," Bridget begged him. "That you'll be back soon."  
  
Malcolm smiled sadly. "I would promise you anything you want - if I knew I could keep it. But how can I promise something I have little or no influence over? It's possible my plan will work well and I'll be gone a long time. Or I could be found out soon and have to escape back here."  
  
"Or they might kill you before you get the chance to report anything at all," Bridget pointed out shakily.  
  
"That's the version some have been putting forward," Malcolm said wryly. "But I've always detested pessimism."  
  
Looking down to see the worried look on Bridget's face, he added softly, "Look, I can't promise that all will be well and I'll be home safe and sound in a couple of weeks. But I do promise that I will be careful - if you promise that you'll still be here, waiting for me, when I get back."  
  
"I promise," said Bridget. "But please don't keep me waiting too long."  
  
"I'll try," said Malcolm with a quick grin, and he kissed her again.  
  
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5 - The Order's Own Lovely Legilimens  
  
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Saturday afternoon swiftly gave way to evening. Aurora unlocked the door to the building where she lived and Remus followed her indoors hurriedly. While she was still full of discussion about the play they had seen together, he had grown steadily more quiet, and was now hardly speaking at all.  
  
"Remus, dear, there's ages to go yet. It's not even really dark ..." Aurora reminded him.  
  
"It doesn't matter if it's dark. As soon as the moon is fully out, I'll transform. It's almost full now."  
  
"Surely not, it's not that late ..."  
  
"I can feel it, Aurora," Remus interrupted. "I always know when it's nearly time."  
  
Aurora studied him sympathetically. "All right then. I'll show you to your 'room' for the night, shall I?"  
  
Remus nodded. Aurora led him down into the cellar, to a small room right at the back. He went straight in, but she hesitated by the door.  
  
"It seems so wicked, shutting you up in here with nothing for comfort. Can't I get you something? A blanket, at least?"  
  
He gave an amused smile. "That would hardly be worth it, I'd only rip it to shreds. Don't worry about me, Aurora. I'll be fine. You just make sure that door is firmly locked and all those spells work. Didn't you say Lily was going to help?"  
  
Aurora looked guilty. "Well, yes and no. I asked her to teach me some useful charms, but it was a bit difficult without telling her what I wanted them for. You see, when I suggested it, it didn't occur to me that she doesn't know about you. I didn't remember that until I was on the brink of telling her. But don't worry," she added hastily, catching the slightly alarmed look on his face, "I know what I've got to do, it will be quite safe."  
  
"All right then," he said doubtfully. "You'd better lock me up."  
  
Aurora hesitated once more, but only briefly. Then she closed the door and locked it from the outside. Remus listened to her performing various precautionary charms. When she uttered the incantation for the last, the sound of her voice was cut off curtly. Evidently she had used a spell to absorb noise. Consequently, he now found himself totally alone. He could hear not a sound, nor could he see a thing, for the room had no window. He felt his way to the cold metal door and applied his shoulder to it to test his strength. Satisfied that it would hold, he managed to find his way back to the far corner and lowered himself to the ground, waiting.  
  
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Aurora opened the window wide on Sunday morning to let in the bright sunshine. The sky was blue and almost cloudless. It was still quite early, but already she could see no sign of the moon anywhere. She laid the breakfast table for two and turned when she heard a scurrying sound behind her to see the little rat she and Remus had rescued appear in the doorway.  
  
"Good morning," she said to it. "Come for your breakfast? Here."  
  
She went to the fridge, got out a lump of cheese, set it down on the floor and the rat hurried over and began nibbling it at once.  
  
"I'm just popping downstairs," Aurora went on. "I won't be a minute."  
  
She slipped her wand up her sleeve so no one would see it and made her way out of the flat and downstairs to the cellar.  
  
She found the door as firmly sealed as she had left it. Taking out her wand, she removed the noise absorbing charm first and listened intently to make sure it was safe. Hearing nothing, she proceeded to lift all the other protection spells, and finally she unlocked the door. Light poured past her into the small room. She saw a movement by the opposite wall. Remus was lying curled up on the ground with his back towards her. He stirred slightly, and Aurora put her wand away and went to crouch beside him.  
  
"Good morning," she said softly.  
  
She was answered with a muffled grunt, and more stirring. With an obvious effort, Remus rolled over onto his back. Though her insights into his mind had given her a pretty clear notion of how he suffered during his transformations, nothing could have prepared Aurora for the pallor and gauntness of his face. The last night seemed to have added years to his age and he had the generally lined and sunken look of a young man suffering from a prolonged disease. Aurora resisted the urge to gasp, but felt a pang of pity for her friend.  
  
"Oh my," she said. "Is it always this bad?"  
  
Remus coughed. "Pretty much," he said hoarsely. "Perhaps you'd like ... to come back later ... in a couple of hours ... should be better by then."  
  
"No way, we need to get you upstairs now," she insisted. "I've got a few powders and potions in the cupboard that might help. Can you walk?"  
  
Remus tried to speak again, but couldn't. He cleared his throat with a cough and said painfully, "If you could ... support me ... I'll try."  
  
Aurora helped him get shakily to his feet and guided him to the door of the lift. He entered and leaned against the wall, breathing heavily all the way up to the flat, and once there immediately collapsed on the newly made bed. Aurora went to the bathroom and returned with a selection of glass bottles that she set down on the bedside table. She sat on the edge of the bed and summoned a table spoon from the kitchen, then she pulled the cork out of a big black bottle, poured some most unsavoury-looking dark green potion onto the spoon and turned to Remus.  
  
"Here," she said, propping his head up with her left hand and placing the spoon to his lips. "Three spoons full should give you some of your strength back."  
  
Remus obediently swallowed the potion, then lay back on the pillow while Aurora went to fill another spoon. But at that moment, there was a shrill ring in the hall. Remus looked up worriedly.  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"Only the doorbell," Aurora said, but her expression was puzzled.  
  
"Now? Are you expecting anyone?" Remus asked croakily as the bell rang again. Aurora shook her head.  
  
"I'd better go and see who it is."  
  
"I'll ... come with you," Remus said, making to get up. Aurora pushed him back down.  
  
"Don't be silly, you're in no fit state. Besides, it might be one of my muggle neighbours wanting to borrow some milk, and quite honestly, you do present rather a frightening sight at this moment. I'd rather not have a screaming Muggle on my hands right now."  
  
Remus reluctantly agreed and watched her leave the room, closing the door behind her. Out in the hall, Aurora slipped her wand up her sleeve once more, just in case. Then she opened the door at last. The person who stood outside was the last person she had expected to see.  
  
"Frank," she exclaimed warmly. "What brings you to my door? Come in."  
  
She brought him in rather hurriedly and closed the door, as he was wearing very un-muggle robes. They went into the kitchen, where they were greeted by a sudden loud squeal. The rat that had been peacefully eating its cheese charged at Frank and sank its sharp teeth into his shoes. Frank stared at the creature.  
  
"What the ...?" he asked.  
  
Aurora apologised quickly. "I'm so sorry. This is Cheesy - I called him that because he refuses to eat anything else. I haven't had him long. He's a bit shy of people, you know," she explained, picking the rodent up. "Naughty boy," she told it. "You mustn't go attacking every visitor I get, it's very impolite."  
  
Frank laughed.  
  
"What's so funny?" demanded Aurora.  
  
"Sorry, it's just ... the way you talk to that rat, you'd think it was a child. Or human, anyway."  
  
Aurora frowned. "Just because animals aren't human, doesn't mean to say they haven't got feelings, you know."  
  
"If you say so," Frank said rather doubtfully.  
  
He shifted his gaze from Aurora, who was now stroking the rat fondly, to the ready-laid breakfast table, and saw the two cups, two plates, two knives ...  
  
"Have a cup of tea with me?" Aurora suggested.  
  
"No, err ... thanks. I see you're already expecting a visitor, so I'd better get straight to the point."  
  
"I'm expecting no one," said Aurora, just as there was a bump and a clatter from the bedroom.  
  
"Oh," Frank murmured. "I - I see."  
  
"See what?"  
  
She was interrupted at that moment by the sound of dragging footsteps. They both turned towards the door just as Remus appeared there. His hair was still in a bit of a tangle, but he had pulled on a clean shirt.  
  
"Good morning," he said, his voice still sounding hoarse, but a little stronger than before. "I thought I heard your voice, Frank. Has something happened?"  
  
"I thought I told you to stay where you were," said Aurora before Frank could answer.  
  
Remus waved her aside, making his way to a chair and sitting down. "So tell us, Frank - what's up?"  
  
Aurora, still frowning at Remus, sat down beside him. Frank remained standing and began,  
  
"Well, it's like this ... Malcolm went to see Dumbledore yesterday morning with information on a Death Eater. The one whose place he's going to take. Chap called Travers. Moody and a couple of others rounded the bloke up - discretely, of course. And now we've got him in custody in a cell at the Ministry."  
  
"The Ministry?" Aurora said. "Not Azkaban?"  
  
"No. Dumbledore wants him kept closer at hand. You know, because of the polyjuice potion being made in London and all. Anyway, we questioned him all through yesterday, but we couldn't find much out. Dumbledore doesn't think much of the amount of information Malcolm's got. It should be enough for a start, but it is a bit thin. Dumbledore doesn't want Malcolm going into this without full background knowledge of this man, so ..." He turned to Aurora. "We wondered if you'd help."  
  
"Me?" she exclaimed.  
  
He nodded. "We need you to find out as much as you can about this man. Make sure he really is who Malcolm's contacts say he is, that he's really a Death Eater and all that, that it's not just some trap. Most of all, we have to know he's not acting under the Imperius curse, because that could be dangerous to Malcolm, and we've got to find out all about his habits and such."  
  
"In fact you want me to make some kind of mental record of his character?"  
  
"In a word - yes."  
  
Aurora's brow creased. "I'm not sure if I can do this, Frank. I'm not an Auror. I never wanted to be. And I'm not trained for this kind of thing. I decided a long time ago that I wanted to use my ability to help people, not invade their minds."  
  
"I can understand that," Frank said. "Really I can. But this isn't a simple matter of invading the man's privacy or not. It's about making this whole business safer for Malcolm."  
  
Aurora sighed rather unhappily. She looked from Frank to Remus, who had been quiet, but was looking very seriously down at his hands, resting on the table before him.  
  
"Yes," she said softly. "Of course. We have to do all we can to help Malcolm."  
  
Remus looked up, catching the note of sympathy in her voice at once.  
  
"I wouldn't ask you to do this on my account," he said. "The choice is yours."  
  
"I know," said Aurora, and smiled. "But I did mean what I said."  
  
Frank cleared his throat. He pointed out, "It's not going to be easy, I'm afraid. We've had every legilimens we've got among the Aurors try to get in, but none were powerful enough. It seems this Death Eater is either a powerful occlumens or he's had some sort of mental guard put in his brain by someone else. Anyway, he's keeping everyone out. There's no guarantee you'll be able to get through his guards, but you are the only one who stands a chance. Dumbledore seems convinced that even he himself wouldn't be able to find out as much as you could. I know it's an unpleasant thing for you to have to do, but ..."  
  
"It's all right. I'll do it. Just let me get my jacket," Aurora said abruptly, leaving them alone.  
  
Remus was thoughtfully studying his hands again, while Frank cast the occasional glance at him that went unnoticed. Presently Aurora returned, wearing a thin light-blue summer jacket. Remus got up.  
  
"I'll come too."  
  
"No, you stay here till I get back," said Aurora, watching him with some concern. "It'll be best if you take whatever we find to your uncle, I think. Don't worry, I'll be quite all right."  
  
Feeling his legs still shaking beneath him, Remus grudgingly agreed. Aurora marched out the door, but Remus held Frank back by the arm.  
  
"Look after her, Frank," he said quietly. "We don't know how strong these guards he's got in his head might be, or how they'll affect her. In any case - entering the thoughts of someone wicked enough to willingly be on Voldemort's side could prove a great strain. I don't think either of us can really appreciate what it might feel like."  
  
Frank gave him a strange look. "Thanks for getting my hopes up, Remus," he said coldly.  
  
Remus stared at him blankly. "What do you mean? I don't know what you're ..."  
  
But Frank went on, "After what I told you last week, do you really think I need asking to take care of her?"  
  
Remus released his arm. "Of course not. But Frank, you ..."  
  
"Goodbye, Remus."  
  
And Frank walked out, leaving Remus to look after him, feeling rather puzzled.  
  
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As Bridget woke, she turned around in bed and felt the sunlight that penetrated the curtains warm her face. She opened her eyes, and blinked in confusion. Those were not the curtains she had expected to see, nor the wallpaper, nor indeed the room. She wondered for a moment where she was, then a voice behind her said,  
  
"Good morning."  
  
She turned back onto her other side and saw Malcolm standing in the doorway, smiling down at her, and blinked again.  
  
"I ..."  
  
Seeming to guess at the reason for her confusion, Malcolm came and sat by her side. He took her hand in his.  
  
"You fell asleep on the sofa last night."  
  
"And you carried me in here?"  
  
He nodded. Bridget smiled back at him. For a while they both fell silent, neither wanting to break the blissful stillness of the morning. Then Bridget sat up with a jolt.  
  
"Oh no," she cried, "I totally forgot ..."  
  
"What?" Malcolm enquired.  
  
"The boys! They don't know where I went, I never left them a note, or rang them up or anything."  
  
Malcolm soothed her at once. "Don't worry. I rang them as soon as I thought they might be up. I've spoken to James, so he knows you're all right."  
  
Bridget relaxed, but did not lay back down. Instead she and Malcolm looked at each other, and then she leaned forward and kissed his cheek. Malcolm put his arms around her and she snuggled against him.  
  
"I'll have to go and see John and Faith later," Malcolm said. "Will you come?"  
  
"Of course," Bridget replied at once. "You don't expect me to let you out of my sight if I can help it, do you?"  
  
Malcolm smiled and kissed her.  
  
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6 - Nightmare Visions  
  
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The street was strewn with bodies. Hundreds and hundreds of bodies, it seemed. Men, women, children, old people, young people, all dead. And above all floated the Dark Mark, a shimmering green skull with a serpent coiling out of its mouth, rearing its head as though to strike.  
  
Aurora turned away from the sight before her, screaming so loudly that it felt like her lungs would burst. She began running, tripped, and almost fell over something that lay on the ground at her feet. Looking down she saw that it was Sirius. He looked asleep, except that there was something odd about the way he was lying. It was as though he hadn't lain down, but fallen. The angle of his legs was all wrong and his mouth was hanging open as though in surprise. His eyes were open and stared at her, but she knew they could not see, would never see again - he was dead.  
  
Screaming again, Aurora spun around wildly, looking for help. She saw Lily floating towards her, her long red hair and green eyes oddly pale and translucent, her robes in tatters, her arms stretched out pleadingly before her.  
  
"Noooo!" Aurora yelled, turning away once more and running flat out, as fast as her legs would carry her.  
  
She passed through what felt like a cold shiver, barely aware that it was actually a ghostly form. Looking back over her shoulder, she recognised it as James Potter, his glasses cracked and askew, silvery blood trickling down his chin. She collided with something hard and looked up at the first thing in this nightmare realm that appeared normal, a reassuring pair of brown eyes.  
  
"Remus," she sighed. "Oh Remus, help me."  
  
Sinking into his arms, feeling as though she could go no further, she felt safe at last ... but then she heard a sort of odd, wet, squelching sound and drew back, already feeling the stickiness on her own front, even before her eyes fell to the hole in the chest of his robes that was leaking blood. He crumpled right at her feet and Aurora fell to her knees, clutching his hand.  
  
"Noooo!" she screamed again. "Help me, someone! Help me!"  
  
"Aurora!" a voice said loudly and sharply in her ear. "Aurora, listen to me. It's not real, do you hear? He isn't dead. None of this is really happening. You're at the Ministry of Magic. Everyone's safe, and no one's going to hurt you. Give me your hand, I'll get you out of here."  
  
The voice spoke in fast, short sentences, a stark contrast to the world she was in. Aurora's eyes, which had been wide open all the time, suddenly picked up her surroundings again. She was kneeling on a cold floor, staring up at the form of a man strapped to a kind of bed. His face had been contorted with concentration, but he relaxed now that she was no longer trying to penetrate his thoughts. She turned her head and saw a face right beside her, the eyes anxious as they studied her fearfully.  
  
"Frank?" she said uncertainly, and her eyes searched his body fearfully, as though she expected him, too, to be losing blood.  
  
"It's all right," he began reassuringly. "You're quite safe."  
  
He took her hand and squeezed it tightly to prove his point. Aurora shivered.  
  
"Did - did you see...?"  
  
"I saw everything," he told her. "Somehow your vision was projected in the whole room."  
  
"Sirius ... Lily ... James ... Remus ..."  
  
"It wasn't real. He made you see them like that. He's trying to keep you out of his mind, to stop you from finding out what we need to know."  
  
"Looks like he's succeeding too," said a gruff voice behind them.  
  
Frank turned around, as surprised as Aurora was to find they were no longer alone.  
  
"Mr. Moody," he said, getting to his feet. "I really don't think there's any point in our continuing this. It looks like Malcolm will either have to work with what he's got, or we cancel the whole thing."  
  
"He won't do that," Moody replied. "That's why we're doing this in the first place, remember." He gave a harsh laugh. "Dumbledore insists on helping him against his wishes."  
  
"But we're not going to be able to. Aurora's having no more luck than any of the others did, these visions are just too extreme ..."  
  
"I'm ready," Aurora's voice broke in, surprisingly steady. "Let's try again."  
  
Frank spun round. Aurora was back on her feet, but she still looked extremely shaken.  
  
"I really don't think you should. Putting yourself through this isn't worth it."  
  
"Why not? It's not killing me, is it?" she pointed out. "A bit of emotional discomfort, that's all. Visions of things that aren't even real. I can handle it. I'm not going to let some made-up nightmare stop me from finding out as much as I can."  
  
"But ..." Frank turned to Moody for support. "Sir, you tell her!"  
  
But Alastor Moody was eyeing Aurora appraisingly. He nodded at her, and turned to go. "Try again, Miss Borealis."  
  
Frank stared at the door as it closed behind the older man. He shook his head and turned around to face Aurora, but she had already moved away from him. She was standing now right beside the bed on which they had strapped the Death Eater for interrogation, looking right down into his open eyes. She took a step back, held out her wand and said,  
  
"Legilimens!"  
  
For a moment it felt as though her thoughts were rushing forwards, reaching out like a hand for the Death Eaters mind, groping around for information. Then the block came back up like a black wave that swept over her. Aurora stumbled and fell, and the room before her dissolved once more.  
  
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Malcolm apparated on the path that led to his sister and brother-in-law's house. It was a rough and stony track lined with trees, used only on the rare occasions when anyone (usually Malcolm himself) came by car. Bridget apparated beside him. He took her hand and they made their way to the clearing where the cottage stood. When they reached it, Bridget stopped to look at the scene before her. The little house, the overgrown garden, the crumbling greenhouse ...  
  
"What is it?" Malcolm asked.  
  
Bridget looked dreamy. "This is such a beautiful place, isn't it?"  
  
"Is it?" Malcolm said, seeming to consider. "I suppose it is. I've never really thought about it."  
  
"Oh yes," Bridget affirmed eagerly. "Yes, it is. It's lovely. So peaceful, so removed from the kind of hectic city life you and I are used to, and from the threat of the outside world. And I've experienced so many nice things here. This is where I found friends, where I learnt to laugh again, where I met my father ... I've been happy here. It's like this is a place where nothing bad can happen, no matter what."  
  
Malcolm's smile was mingled with sorrow.  
  
"But bad things have happened here."  
  
Bridget looked at him enquiringly.  
  
"Remus's transformations, John's quarrels with his mother. You know he banned her from ever coming here again?"  
  
Bridget nodded. "Faith told me."  
  
"It hurt him more than he cares to admit," Malcolm went on. "It hurt us all. To think that she had come to dislike Faith so much that she would blame Remus's complaint on her 'bad blood'. Faith and I had known John's parents all our lives, you see. It's funny, his mother was always so nice to us when we were kids. But in the end, while muggle-borns were fine as friends, they were not good enough to become related to her son."  
  
He felt Bridget's hand stroke his arm consolingly, and realised how melancholy he must have sounded. He laughed.  
  
"Hark at me rambling on, I sound like an old man reminiscing about the good old days."  
  
"Old men shouldn't be allowed to dwell on the past," Bridget teased. "Come along, let's go in."  
  
John opened the door when they knocked. He looked surprised to see them there. Malcolm told him quickly about the result of his trip to the Better Days Theatre.  
  
"You're going tomorrow?" John exclaimed.  
  
"I'm afraid so. I had hoped for a bit more time, but Travers - the fellow I'm supposed to be impersonating - has been captured by now and he's expected to meet someone tomorrow. We can't wait any longer."  
  
At that moment, Faith appeared on the stairs.  
  
"Malcolm! Bridget! What are you doing here?" she asked.  
  
Malcolm exchanged a glance with John and mouthed "I'll tell her." He went up to his sister and kissed her cheek. Looking puzzled, Faith asked quietly,  
  
"What can't you wait any longer for, Malcolm?"  
  
"Let's go outside," John said to Bridget.  
  
She agreed, and they went out into the back garden, leaving the other two indoors alone. Bridget seated herself on an obliging tree stump and watched the butterflies in the flower beds. John remained standing, looking over his shoulder back at the house every now and then. It was Bridget who spoke first. Her voice was dreamy.  
  
"I was saying to Malcolm as we came up the path that you and Faith have a wonderful home."  
  
"You think so?"  
  
"Yes. I love it."  
  
"It's falling apart a bit these days," John said sadly. "I'm afraid we spent all the money we had planned to save to keep it in good shape on ... other things."  
  
"I like it just the way it is. I wish ... I hope that I'll have such a lovely home some day."  
  
John studied her thoughtful profile.  
  
"I hope so too," he replied earnestly.  
  
She looked up at him suddenly, appealingly.  
  
"John, it will be all right, won't it? He - he will come back?"  
  
John said slowly, "So you do love him."  
  
Bridget nodded.  
  
"I'm glad," said John. "I was worried that - or rather, I wasn't worried, but Faith seemed to think that ..."  
  
"That ... what?"  
  
"That there was something between us. Between you and me," he finished awkwardly.  
  
He had expected Bridget to laugh it off as he had done. But Bridget was not laughing. She gave a small smile.  
  
"I see. Yes, I suppose she had reason to think that."  
  
"What?"  
  
Bridget looked into his startled face.  
  
"Come now, John, we did spend a lot of time together ... without her. When I stayed here, I'd get up early because I knew I would find you up, and I wanted to talk to you."  
  
"But that wasn't ..."  
  
"No, of course it wasn't. But it might seem that way. And in any case ... up to a point, Faith was right, John. I know you never had any romantic interest in me. But I did love you. Of course I did. I still do. I don't think any woman in a situation like mine, if she met a man like you, could stop herself."  
  
"But - you said you love Malcolm."  
  
This time Bridget did laugh. "Yes, I do. I said I loved you, John, not that I'm 'in love' with you. Though I may have been at first, just a little. But I never wanted you to myself, as - as I want Malcolm."  
  
John looked down at her pityingly, and took her hand on a sudden impulse. "It'll be all right, Bridget. It has to be."  
  
The back door opened and Malcolm and Faith appeared. John dropped Bridget's hand at once. To both his and Bridget's surprise, Faith was smiling. But there was something artificial in the way she said lightly,  
  
"How about some lunch, everyone?"  
  
Malcolm said he was starving, and Bridget got up at once. She was surprised anew when, as they went back into the house, Faith took her arm and whispered cheerfully and conspiratorially,  
  
"And I shall expecting you to tell me all about yourself and my big brother."  
  
After lunch, John asked Malcolm suspiciously what he had told his sister. Malcolm shrugged.  
  
"The truth." He added with a grin, "But I did emphasise how upset and worried Bridget is. You know Faith. She may be worried sick herself, but she'll always rally round and put on a brave face if she feels she can help someone else feel happier that way."  
  
It appeared that he was right. Faith, far from breaking down as she had when John had told her about the Order, kept conversation on a cheerful note as much as she could, and when it was time to say goodbye that evening, though there was a tear in her eye when she embraced her brother, she smiled warmly at Bridget and hugged her.  
  
"Come and see us as often as you like, won't you? You know I'm nearly always in, and I'll be there if you need to talk."  
  
"Thank you," said Bridget.  
  
John turned to Malcolm. "I wish you'd wait until Remus gets in. I don't want to be the one to have to tell him you've gone marching into Voldemort's lair without even saying goodbye to him."  
  
Malcolm frowned. "I'm sorry. But I really think we should be going now."  
  
"It can't be much longer before he gets back. Please, Malcolm. The boy's fond of you."  
  
"I know. He's a good, decent lad, John." He smiled. "Well, he's like his father."  
  
"He'll take it hard when he finds out you didn't wait."  
  
Malcolm nodded and patted John's shoulder, but said nothing more.  
  
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A small girl skipped merrily along a hedge-lined lane, her ponytail bobbing up and down at the back of her head, whistling a happy tune. Her school bag was swinging from her shoulder and she was carrying a sports bag in her other hand. She had finished school. Not just for the day, but for seven weeks. It was the school holidays at last, and though any reasonable adult would have pointed out to her that seven weeks would fly fast, to the child they seemed like an eternity, an infinity of days off, outings with her parents, visits to her aunt in London, trips to the seaside, treats, clear blue cloudless skies, her mother's gentle hands combing and plaiting her hair for hours on end, her father laughing heartily as he pushed her on a swing, his blue eyes shining, his cheeks flushed and jolly.  
  
Suddenly she was torn abruptly from her daydream. A siren sounded behind her, then another, and another. Big red fire engines zoomed past, their lights flashing, the firemen reaching for the hoses as they went. She watched them turn the corner and wondered vaguely where the fire was. She walked on more sedately. Even to a girl as young as her, it seemed improper to be too cheerful when something bad was happening. She didn't realise at first that the sky she was walking towards was not like the sky behind her. It was blackening quickly, swirling with what looked like black fog. Except that it wasn't fog. It was smoke. She rounded the bend and saw that the fire engines had stopped. They hadn't driven on further as she had thought they would, but were just along the road, at the other end, parked outside a burning house - the house at the very end ...  
  
Her feet stopped. Her little heart pounded in her chest. For a moment she didn't dare to move, then she dropped both her bags and started running, running as fast as her short legs would carry her, screaming as she went.  
  
"Mummy! Daddy! Mummy!"  
  
In all the noise that filled the street, the racket of firemen shouting to each other, megaphones switched on to make their voices carry further, passers-by and people from neighbouring houses yelling and screaming, babies crying and dogs barking, no one heard or saw the little girl running towards the burning house until it was too late.  
  
"Stop! Stop that child!" a fireman shouted after her as she dashed in through the hole where the front door had been.  
  
And then all was silent. Silent but for the crackling of flames all around her and the sounds of falling wood as the furniture crumbled and roof beams fell.  
  
"M-Mummy?" she called timidly. "Daddy?"  
  
She crept silently along the hallway and began climbing the stairs. The fire was all around her. It was unbearably hot, but she did not notice. She reached the first floor landing.  
  
"Daddy? Mu..."  
  
She had turned around and looked up. The trap door to the attic was open, and something was hanging out of it. It was, or rather it had once been, an arm, though it was now so badly burnt and blackened it was hardly recognisable as such. She did not need to climb any further, to see any more than that to know the horrible truth. She began screaming, screaming at the top of her voice as though she herself were on fire, though miraculously the flames never touched her. For a moment she thought she would faint, but then she saw a light, a bright glow shimmering through between the flames.  
  
The fire shifted aside, the flames recoiling from her, forming a narrow passage for her to walk along. The girl followed it, feeling herself grow as she did so, no longer a child but a young woman. She reached the glow and stretched out her hand. It felt cold, and something swept over her, something cool and calming. From far away she heard an echo of a young man's voice saying,  
  
"Aurora, Aurora, pull out. Let's forget this, come on. We've been trying for hours, it's only hurting you ..."  
  
The voice faded away. And then Aurora became once more a child, but something was different. She was a small boy this time, playing with a shrunken skull in a magnificent, mahogany-panelled room. The boy had grown to a teenager, sitting on a stone bench and reading excitedly about ancient Aztec wizards and the rituals they had performed with human hearts, then practising the use of the unforgivable curses first on insects, then on mice and other small mammals, then on his filthy mudblood neighbour's dog. A man, meeting a young woman with long black hair and a slightly upturned nose in a grimy pub, listening to her talk of power and the purification of wizardkind. Holding out his arm while a man with a flattened nose and stretched skin held a wand tip to his forearm, feeling the Dark Mark burn itself into his skin. Image after image flowed over her, enveloped her as though she were living it, as though Travers's life had become her own, until at last everything seemed to melt away and she could see only the high ceiling of an empty room.  
  
She tried to move her arms, but they were strapped to her sides. She cried out in frustration, and a gnarled hand gripped her wrist firmly. Everything shifted back into focus. She wasn't lying flat on her back strapped to a bed at all, she was curled up on the floor in a foetal position. Frank Longbottom was crouching beside her, together with another man who was holding her wrist in a vice-like grip.  
  
"Isn't it time we got her out of here, sir? We've got what we needed and she's been under a lot of strain for the past hours ..."  
  
"Yes, yes, but not yet," said the growling voice of Alastor Moody. "Give her a minute to find her way back to reality. We'll need her to write everything she saw down for us."  
  
"But ..."  
  
"Yes, I know you saw it all too, but we've got to be sure, Longbottom."  
  
"Yes sir."  
  
Aurora forced herself to relax, taking slow, deep breaths. There was nothing to be afraid of, she told herself. Moody and Frank would look after her. Presently, she felt herself becoming calmer, breathing more easily. She uncurled herself and tried to get up. Frank and Moody helped her to her feet.  
  
"Come along, girl, let's get you something to warm you up," said Moody.  
  
They led her out into an empty corridor, up a flight of steps and along a passage to the lift. It carried them all the way upstairs to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. All the way through to Moody's office they went, and only then was she settled as comfortably as possible in his hard leather desk chair.  
  
"I'll go and get some butterbeer and chocolate," growled Moody. "You help perk her up a bit, Longbottom."  
  
Frank nodded. He waited until Moody had left them alone, then he sat down on the edge of the desk and said,  
  
"You okay?"  
  
Aurora nodded, but she looked very drawn and shaken, and her eyes were very red. They seemed to fill with tears even as he watched, and the next minute she was holding her hand up to them, trying to stop herself crying. Frank reached out and squeezed her shoulder.  
  
"It's all right, you have a good cry if you want. I know it was horrible. I saw it all. You just have to keep reminding yourself that it wasn't real, that's all, and try and forget it as quickly as possible."  
  
But Aurora was shaking her head, the tears flowing freely now. "I wish - I wish I could," she choked. "But I c-can't. I haven't been able to forget it ... in over eleven years."  
  
It took a moment for the meaning of her words to sink in. When it did, Frank's jaw dropped in horror.  
  
"You mean that last bit before you broke through, the bit with the fire ... That was real. That little girl was - was ..."  
  
"Me," Aurora confirmed quietly. "Yes. That was no nightmare vision playing on my fears for the future or anything. That was the past. It was real. The memory of how I lost my parents. I was seven at the time."  
  
"Then ... it was them up in that attic."  
  
"Yes," she replied. Her voice sounded strange, both sadder than usual and shriller, younger, childlike. "M-Mummy had turned it into a sort of greenhouse. Her 'garden', she called it. She used to bread all sorts of interesting plants. We had mandrakes one year, and Mummy managed to keep them through the winter by knitting them little scarves and gloves. I helped her repot them." She gave a queer little laugh. "They were such odd- looking things, especially with pink woolly scarves on them. We didn't have a proper garden, you see. Just a little backyard. Daddy built me a sand pit out there, and he'd build really big sand castles with me, and we'd invent stories about beautiful princesses trapped in the highest tower, and handsome princes rescuing them. They used to make him laugh. We used to have such fun together."  
  
Frank watched her, feeling completely helpless. "What caused the fire? Do you know?"  
  
"It was the gas oven. Something to do with the pipes not being properly isolated or something, and then a short circuit in the electric wiring sparked and there was a massive explosion."  
  
Frank did not understand much about electricity and gas, and he admitted as much to her.  
  
"I know," she said. "It's not usual for all-magic families to bother with that, but Dad always made a particular point of making sure none of our muggle neighbours found out the truth."  
  
"It must have been awful, though," Frank said, "to have that happen, and when you were so young too."  
  
Aurora nodded sadly. "My greatest fear ever since has been my - my own parents. I used to dream of them every night, looking like that. Like they did up in that attic."  
  
"You mean you went up there?"  
  
"Yes, I went up. Into the heart of the fire. I don't know how I survived."  
  
"Accidental magic, I expect. You must have unwittingly performed some sort of protection charm. They say that can often happen to kids, and it's unfortunate really that adults have their powers too well under control, in situations like that."  
  
"I didn't want protection!" Aurora said with sudden vehemence. "I wanted to die! I wanted the fire to kill me as it had killed them!"  
  
She burst into tears again. Frank let her cry, saying nothing. He didn't know what to say. Eventually, Aurora's sobs died down.  
  
"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to go to pieces like this. It was all a very long time ago. It's just been brought back to me, that's all. I'll get over it again."  
  
"Aurora ..."  
  
"I don't want to talk about it," she said abruptly. "I told Lily the bare facts once, that's all. I came close to telling Remus, but ..." She lifted her head, an odd look on her face. "You're the only one now who really knows what it was like. And do you know ... I don't find that terrible at all. I always thought that if anyone knew exactly how I felt, it would be awful. But it's not. On the contrary, it's ... strangely relieving."  
  
"I'm glad," Frank replied. "I'm glad you don't mind my knowing, and I'm glad ..."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
He smiled. "I'm glad you didn't get what you wanted."  
  
Aurora smiled back through her tears. "Thank you, Frank."  
  
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7 - Introducing Mr. Travers  
  
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Neither Bridget nor Malcolm seemed to want to go to sleep that night. In the end, they went out and took a long stroll along the Thames, walking hand in hand and talking about anything that came into their heads, so long as it wasn't the following morning. The lights of buildings reflected in the river, and the roads were as noisy as if it had been broad daylight, but they took no notice of the traffic, and eventually even that seemed to die down. Many of the lights were extinguished. They were standing once more by Tower Bridge as they had done before, but this time Bridget pulled Malcolm's arms close around her and laid her head against his chest.  
  
"Why couldn't it have been you I stood here with all those years ago?" she sighed after a while.  
  
"You must have been what ... seventeen? Eighteen? And I was approaching thirty. Even if we had met then, I'm afraid I probably would have told myself you were too young ... or that I was too old," Malcolm reasoned.  
  
Bridget laughed. "Vindictus was already in his thirties, it didn't stop him."  
  
"One would almost say he had more sense than I did, but if he had he would have loved you for yourself, not for what he thought he could get out of you." He paused, and then a thought suddenly struck him. "Bridget?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"How much older was he than you?"  
  
"Fifteen years. Why?"  
  
"I've just realised ... John and I must have met Lothian at some time. When we were at school. Of course, he'd have been just another Slytherin to us back then, and therefore unworthy of further notice. It's strange how these things come about, though, isn't it? I wonder if I'll recognise him, when I see him again."  
  
Bridget shuddered. "Oh, Malcolm, don't!"  
  
"Well, I'm bound to meet the brute eventually."  
  
She looked up at him anxiously. "If you do, be careful. Remember who you're supposed to be. Don't let him provoke you, will you?"  
  
"Me? Of course not. I might rip his head off while no one's looking, but other than that I'll be the model of politeness."  
  
"Don't joke about it, please. He's a dangerous man."  
  
Malcolm smiled. "I promised you I'd be careful, didn't I?"  
  
They sat on a bench by the river until the last lights went out and only the moon and stars illuminated the night. Eventually the sun began to creep back over the horizon and Malcolm shifted. The night had been mild, but he was chilly, and his shoulder was feeling cramped. Because much as she had struggled against it, Bridget had succumbed to sleep in the end, and her head now rested on his shoulder, though he had not slept a wink all night. He kissed her forehead and she stirred sleepily.  
  
"What is it?" she murmured.  
  
"It's morning," he whispered back. "Time to go."  
  
She woke with a start, her eyes looking at him sadly. "I'll come to the theatre with you. I want to be with you as long as I can."  
  
Malcolm shook his head firmly. "No, Bridget. It's safer for you if you go home and then go to work as usual."  
  
They took a bus back to her street and Malcolm accompanied her upstairs. She unlocked the door and turned back, her eyes filling with tears. He took both her hands in his and held them tightly.  
  
"Don't be afraid, Bridget. I can look after myself, you know that."  
  
"I know," she choked, "but I'll miss you so. It's so horrible - not knowing when I'll see you again."  
  
"I'll try to make it soon. I'll have to keep a very low profile for a while. This Travers hasn't been a Death Eater for long, they'll still be watching him closely. Mustn't let them get suspicious by being conspicuously absent. But as soon as I can, I'll come back to see you."  
  
He kissed her and held her tightly. Then, gently but firmly, he pushed her away from him.  
  
"Goodbye, Bridget. Take care."  
  
"Malcolm ..."  
  
He blew her a kiss, and with an effort turned around and walked away, leaving her to stare after him. Bridget rushed up to the banisters and watched from above as he hurried down the stairs. She was barely aware of the footsteps behind her, until James touched her arm.  
  
"Mum ... is everything all right?"  
  
She swallowed hard and wiped her eyes with her hand. Then she turned to face him with a forced smile.  
  
"Yes, dear. Everything's fine."  
  
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Malcolm took a deep breath as he approached the stage entrance of the Better Days Theatre. He climbed the stone steps and knocked. He was answered by shuffling footsteps and the croaking voice of Mr. Craigg.  
  
"Who's there?"  
  
"Hood," Malcolm tried to say, but his voice failed him.  
  
"What was that?"  
  
"Hood," he repeated clearly.  
  
The door opened a little way. The large macaroon that was Craigg's head looked even more unappetising than usual, for it looked like he had neither shaved nor slept since Malcolm had last seen him on Saturday morning.  
  
"Is everything all right?" Malcolm asked when the door was firmly locked and bolted.  
  
Craigg shook his head. "No. Been worried out of me senses in case something went wrong. Helping ye collect information's all very well, but making polyjuice potion down in me cellar's a bit of a different story, ain't it, what with folk I've never seen before turning up in the early hours of the morning delivering hairs for the potion in a bag, and that Désirée woman hanging about ..."  
  
"I thought you admired her."  
  
"Ah, she's a good actress, all right," Craigg admitted. "But she's a bit queer, if you get my meaning. Ye never know what she's thinking. Intelligent, she is. And intelligent women is dangerous, you mark my words."  
  
Malcolm laughed and clapped Craigg on the shoulder. "You've been spending too much time among moth-eaten costumes and cobwebs, my friend. You ought to get out more. You might find intelligent women are not so much dangerous, as exciting. And really," he added with a fond smile, "quite charming."  
  
Craigg looked doubtful. "Yes, well, that's as may be, sir. But anyway, the potion's ready downstairs, and the young lad's waiting for you too."  
  
"Young lad?" Malcolm repeated, surprised. "What young lad?"  
  
"You mean you weren't expecting no young lad?" Craigg asked, looking frightened. "Oh dear, well I'm sorry, but he knew your password and all, and he said as how he had something you'd be needing, and he'd wait for you downstairs. Looked a decent enough sort. In fact, he looked somewhat like you, sir, so I figured as how he might be your son."  
  
"Oh." Malcolm's face cleared. "That's all right then. You'd better take me to him."  
  
Craigg led the way down a narrow spiral staircase, along a dark passage and up to a large, heavy black door. He opened it to reveal a medium-sized, dimly lit store room. There were racks of costumes pushed against the walls, a large bubbling cauldron stood in the corner, and Remus rose from one of the dusty crates as they entered.  
  
"I'll ... erm ... leave you two to it," Craigg murmured.  
  
He went out, closing the door behind him. Malcolm turned his attention to Remus.  
  
"Good morning. You're up bright and early."  
  
"And you look like you haven't had any sleep at all," Remus answered, his voice still slightly rough.  
  
"I haven't," Malcolm admitted bluntly. He studied his nephew for a moment. "Have you?"  
  
Remus smiled wryly. He shifted slightly, and the light from the lamp cast thick shadows on his drawn face.  
  
"No, not for two nights. First the full moon, then getting a note from Dad yesterday evening to say you'd been to see them."  
  
He paused, seeming to struggle with himself. There was unusual heat in his voice when he went on.  
  
"I went looking for you all around London last night. I tried your flat, Bridget's place, the Leaky Cauldron, every pub and bar and café I've ever heard you mention! In the end I pushed a note under your door and went back to Aurora's. I thought the minute you came home and found it, you'd come and see me. She waited up with me till past midnight, but you still didn't turn up. So I went back home to bed. I lay awake most of the night, though, worrying about you, wondering if I'd make it here in time today ..."  
  
He broke off, swaying suddenly on the spot. Alarmed, Malcolm hurried forward to stead him.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said, and meant it. "Your dad told me you'd be upset, but ... what can I say? I'm a coward when it comes to goodbyes. It was bad enough having to see your parents, and leaving Bridget behind ..."  
  
Remus nodded slowly. "Yes, I know. Dad told me that as well. Anyway, it doesn't matter now. I managed to catch up with you in the end, and that's the main thing." He gave a loud cough.  
  
"You should be in bed," Malcolm said worriedly. "You need to recover."  
  
"I will. But first I had to see you. McGonagall made me promise, you see, that I would wish you good luck from her ..."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"... and I had to bring you these ..."  
  
Remus reached inside his robes and handed Malcolm a thick sheaf of parchment.  
  
"What's this?" Malcolm asked, taking it.  
  
"Aurora spent most of the day at the Ministry yesterday, breaking through the mental defences of that Death Eater. Those sheets of parchment contain everything she found out about him."  
  
Malcolm flicked through the pages.  
  
"But - this looks like his entire life history."  
  
"Pretty much. The idea was to make sure you'd be well prepared and know all there is to know about the man you're about to be."  
  
Remus's eyes looked up into Malcolm's. Looking back into them and regarding his nephew's face, for a moment Malcolm could see himself there, his own determination to do what was right and to fight for what he believed in, at whatever cost to himself. He smiled.  
  
"Don't worry, it won't be the last time you see me," he said, voicing the boy's fears. "I'll be back."  
  
"I hope so," said Remus fervently.  
  
Malcolm clapped him on the shoulder. "I'm glad you came, Remus. And not just because of the information you brought me. I am very fond of you, you know. Even if I sometimes have difficulty showing it."  
  
"I know. You - you were always something of a hero to me, Uncle Malcolm," Remus said self-consciously, smiling back at him. "You still are."  
  
Malcolm hugged him, then he said,  
  
"It's time I took that potion."  
  
Remus's smile faded. He nodded tightly. Malcolm studied him a moment longer, then he went and opened the door and called out,  
  
"Craigg!"  
  
The theatre manager came hurrying back.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Craigg, this young man is my nephew," Malcolm told him. "He's ill, and I want him to rest before he starts on his journey home. Look after him, will you?"  
  
Craigg eyed Remus shiftily, but nodded.  
  
"Good."  
  
Malcolm gave Remus another brief smile, then he walked over to the cauldron that was bubbling in the corner. He picked up a glass that stood on the table beside it and filled it with polyjuice potion. He emptied the hairs out of the tube Remus had given him into the glass, swirled it around, and drank the foul-tasting potion quickly. The other two watched as he transformed, as his hair grew darker and shorter, his eyes narrowed, his eyebrows became bushier, his face rounder, and a moustache sprouted above his lip. The unfamiliar face turned to Remus, and an unfamiliar voice said,  
  
"Look after yourself."  
  
"You too," Remus replied.  
  
He watched the strange man set the glass down, take the sheaf of parchment and leave. 


	24. Part 24: The Life of a Death Eater

Prequel, Part 24: The Life of a Death Eater  
  
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1 - Arguments  
  
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After struggling valiantly against its end for a couple of months now, summer had finally given in to autumn. It was a Saturday morning in October, and most flowers had shed their petals. The leaves on the trees had turned to red and gold. The air was chill and crisp, though today the sun was peering through between the clouds. Squirrels were hurrying to assemble a store of nuts and birds were embarking on this year's long journey south.  
  
But of all this, Severus Snape saw nothing. He was far too busy. Despite the bright sunshine outside, his laboratory was gloomily dark. A candle burned on the table beside him, casting its flickering light on the heavy book and sheets of parchment that lay there. His finger traced the words in the book, his eyes darted from them to what was written on the loose pages. The list of ingredients that had so far been obtained for the brewing of the Dark Lord's potion, the Brew of Eternity that only the Darkest of wizards would drink, for it involved not only the killing of many innocent creatures, but also the death of another human being. It was the only thing - apart from the Elixir of Life, that could not be made without a Philosopher's Stone that he did not possess - that would prevent the Dark Lord from dying ... ever.  
  
"Drain the blood of a half-dozen house elves," Severus recited for the umpteenth time, for he had checked and double-checked this complicated brew so often that he practically knew the wording off by heart.  
  
He referred once more to the list on his left. Ah yes, of course, Macnair had provided this ingredient, as well as the next.  
  
"Add a grain of powdered unicorn horn ..."  
  
A unicorn. No wizard should ever kill a unicorn. They were so innocent, so pure, so utterly untouched by sin or evil ... Severus shook off these thoughts. He had not killed the animal. The curse would therefore not rest on him, but on those who had. The curse. He wondered, and not for the first time, if the Brew of Eternity might not actually be a curse in disguise. Could a life prolonged at the cost of killing such innocent creatures as unicorns and house elves truly bring its drinker happiness? Then again, what did happiness matter to the Dark Lord?  
  
"There is only power, and those too weak to seek it," he murmured.  
  
Tap-tap-tap. Something was beating against the window. After a first irritated grumble, Severus discovered that he welcomed the distraction. A tap on the window could only mean an owl was outside, and that, surely, could only have been sent by one person. Severus found that he was pleased. He had not been seeing as much of Josephine lately as he had at one time. Ever since that night at the Bouncing Banshee, there had been a strange sort of tension between them. But today, for some reason – perhaps it was the change of the season that affected him more than he cared to admit, or perhaps it was a case of absence making the heart grow fonder - he felt that tension ebbing away inside him.  
  
He went to the window and found that, sure enough, it was an owl, and the note it carried was indeed from Josephine. It was strange how she always seemed to interrupt him when he was reading this particular text. Almost as if she didn't want him to. Severus frowned. He should not be thinking such thoughts. She wanted to meet him in York for lunch today. Severus checked his watch. He would have to set out almost immediately if he wanted to make it in time. Without further ado, therefore, he quickly wrote a reply on the back of the turquoise parchment she customarily used and handed it back to the owl. He locked and bolted the door after the bird, closed the book that lay on the table and locked the loose pages away in a drawer. Neither his parents nor Mirmy the house elf were in the habit of venturing into his laboratory, but it was as well to be cautious, just in case. Then he blew out the candles, fastened the door behind him and went in search of his mother.  
  
He found her reading in the drawing room. She jumped when she heard the door open and looked obviously relieved to see that it was her son, not her husband, who came into the room.  
  
"Finished for today, have you, dear?" she enquired, getting up.  
  
"Not exactly finished," he replied curtly, "but it's nothing I need to complete right now. In fact I can't. I still need some ... things. So I'm going out."  
  
His mother gave him an odd look, a mixture of sorrow and doubt. Seeming to make up her mind all of a sudden, she walked quickly past him to the door, looked out into the hall to make quite sure it was empty, and closed the door again. Lowering her voice she said urgently,  
  
"Severus, give it up. Please, give it up."  
  
He looked puzzled. "Give what up, mother?" he asked, jumping at once to the totally wrong conclusion. "Do you mean meeting Josephine? Because if you do, you can forget it. I don't want to give it up ..."  
  
She was shaking her head impatiently. "No, no, no. I don't mean the girl. I'm glad you've found her. Even though I still haven't met her, I like the influence she's had on you. You know I've always wanted you to go out more, to do nice things rather than brood over those awful books all day. That's what I mean, you see," she went on hurriedly. "Those books. Your experiments. That's what I want you to give up."  
  
Severus stared at her. "But ... I am conducting these experiments in the service of the Dark Lord. He needs a potion that will grant him eternal life and invulnerability against all curses."  
  
His mother was nodding quickly and unhappily. "Yes, yes, I know. And that's just why I want you to stop. That man must not be allowed to live forever. He is evil, Severus. He will take every last shred of hope and happiness and tear it apart. He will subject the world to a rule of terror, bending every living creature to his will, killing and torturing."  
  
"Shut up, mother," Severus said sharply, facing her with a look of anger.  
  
His mother flinched and shrank back from him.  
  
"You don't know what you're talking about," he went on. "If father knew what you've been saying ..."  
  
"Oh Severus," she whimpered with an abrupt return to the usual timid, submissive manner that revolted him more and more, "Severus, you wouldn't tell him - would you? Oh ..."  
  
She sank back down on a chair. He watched her for a moment.  
  
"No, I won't tell him," he said quietly. "Though by rights I should. You shouldn't speak out against the Dark Lord. No one should."  
  
His mother shook her head. "You're wrong, Severus. If more people spoke out against him, then - then some of us might not need to be so afraid."  
  
"Only the filth of this world need to fear the Dark Lord, not pure-bloods like us."  
  
Her face changed. It took on a very strange expression he could not fathom.  
  
"The filth of this world," she repeated. "I wonder ..."  
  
"What?" he snapped.  
  
"Sometimes I think that we are the filth of this world. We who oppress others just because we feel superior to them, because our blood is purer."  
  
"We are superior to them."  
  
"Are we? Well, you keep telling yourself that, if it gives you comfort. If it makes you feel better about what you're doing."  
  
"I don't need to 'tell myself' anything to know I'm right."  
  
She smiled suddenly. "Oh, but you do. Yes, yes, I know you think that you believe in what you're doing, but there may come a day when you discover that you are my child as much as your father's. And no child of mine could willingly hurt anyone."  
  
Severus looked at her curiously, her rare, shy smile that he had not seen for years awaking something in him, something that he had long forgotten, like a hidden childlike affection for his mother that he had cast aside long ago, when her lack of self-assurance and timidness towards his father had begun to annoy him. Suddenly he realised that, beneath the swollen eyes and frailty that he despised was a pretty and generous woman who could have been a totally different person, if she had only had more luck in her choice - her family's choice, rather - of a spouse. For a second he wished that her life had been different, or that she had the courage to assert her true nature against the forcefulness of his father. The fact that she could not do so, and probably never would, caused Severus to shake his head with exasperation. He turned on his heel and left her alone.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------  
  
The youngest members of the Order of the Phoenix were back once more at Hogwarts, back in the room where they and a select group of students practised Defence Against the Dark Arts. Pippa was teaching them alone today, and had divided them into smaller groups. Remus was being pulled back onto his feet yet again by James and Sirius, having been knocked over by Frank Longbottom's powerful Reductor curse.  
  
"Whoa, Moony, looks like someone must have slipped something potent into your pumpkin juice last night," Sirius joked. "You're falling about all over the place."  
  
"If someone did, I'm willing to bet it was you," said Remus, coming up smiling, though a little breathless.  
  
However, James, as usual, was quick to notice that he seemed strangely irritated. He came closer under the pretext of wiping an imaginary speck of dust off his friend's shoulder for fun.  
  
"Come on, mate, pay him back. Don't let the side down," he said loudly. Then he whispered in Remus's ear, "What's up with Frank today?"  
  
"I don't know," Remus murmured back, sounding puzzled. "This is the first time he's even come near me in ages, and he's acting very strangely."  
  
James frowned. "Funny. Well, try hitting him back a bit harder. He's good, but - strike when he's preparing to cast, that always gets him. He's got this habit of giving his wand an elegant little swish before he casts a spell. That's your chance."  
  
He patted Remus on the shoulder and rejoined Sirius, who appeared to be busy watching a pair of pretty young Ravenclaw girls practising stunning spells, though they, in turn, were apparently spending at least half their time casting sidelong glances at Sirius and giggling openly.  
  
Remus readied himself. Grinning inwardly, he discovered James was right. Frank did flick his wrist before he cast, and Remus took the opportunity to hit him first, sending him flying backwards several paces. Still, as he watched Frank scramble back to his feet, he wondered what was wrong. They had always got on so well, but it had been a while now since he'd been able to have an ordinary conversation with Frank. It was as though Frank had been avoiding him on purpose. He was sure if it hadn't been for the fact that they were one short today, as Peter was busy helping his father in his apothecary, and there had been no one else to practise with, he wouldn't have exchanged so much as two words with Frank again today either.  
  
He made up his mind to talk to Frank directly after practice, but when the time came he was robbed of his chance when Aurora, packing her wand tidily in her handbag and freeing her hair from the ribbon with which she had tied it out of the way, came over to him, Sirius, James and Lily, and taking Remus by the arm, drew them all over to the side of the room.  
  
"Listen," she said conspiratorially, "I've just had a thought."  
  
"Great. Good to know the old grey matter's still working," Sirius teased.  
  
Though she looked positively exhausted this morning - the staff at St. Mungo's had been kept busy lately - Aurora smiled back at him. "It's in perfect working order, thank you. I was thinking ... it's Halloween this month, and what with all that's going on around us, wouldn't it be nice if we could all just get together and have some sort of party?"  
  
"When you say 'all', do you mean the whole Order, just some, us five and Peter, or what?" James asked.  
  
"Well, the Order, I suppose. Or at least those that can make it. I mean, the teachers will be spending Halloween here, of course. But if the rest of us could get together - us, Frank, Oliver, Gideon and your mum, James, and Remus's parents - well, I thought maybe it would brighten everyone's mood a bit."  
  
"Some of us could do with it, by the looks of it," James said quietly, nodding towards where Frank had slung his bag over his shoulder and was preparing to leave.  
  
"Exactly," Aurora agreed, following his gaze. "We all need to get in a bit of fun. We've all been working hard. You've had your Auror training and studying and things have been pretty busy for me at St. Mungo's lately too, what with all the people that have come in with nasty after-effects from illegal curses. We're all tense and nervous. We need to relax and let our hair down for once."  
  
She shook her long, auburn hair back over her shoulder as though to emphasise the point. "Well, I'm all for that," Sirius said, watching her with a grin.  
  
Lily agreed eagerly. "A party to take our minds off things sounds like a good idea."  
  
"But where can we have it?" Sirius asked. "We can't come here. We can't have a private party at the Bouncing Banshee. I somehow don't see Mrs. Pettigrew being keen on the idea of a load of witches and wizards endangering her perfect muggle disguise ..."  
  
"You could all come to my place," Remus said. "I'm sure my parents wouldn't mind. There's not much risk of any one bothering us there."  
  
"Sounds great," James agreed. "And ... well ..."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Do you think it would be all right if we asked my grandfather to come too?"  
  
"Do you think he'd want to?" Remus asked doubtfully.  
  
James nodded. "Oh yes. He's softened up a lot lately, and I think he's really quite lonely, you know. Actually," he added guiltily, "I promised him ages ago that we'd all come and help cheer him up and bring life back to the old Hall. I'd suggest we have our party there, only I don't think I should volunteer him as a host without asking. But if he could come round to your place ..."  
  
"In that case, of course."  
  
"Excellent." James beamed. "So shall we make it a proper fancy dress party with our own entertainment and games and such?"  
  
His suggestion was greeted with such cheerful enthusiasm that Pippa came over to join them and asked,  
  
"What are you lot so happy about?"  
  
"We've just made plans for a Halloween party," James told her. "For the Order, you know. Like to come?"  
  
"It sounds like fun," Pippa said enviously. "But I'm afraid I can't. I have to celebrate Halloween at Hogwarts, more's the pity."  
  
"Are you kidding?" Sirius demanded. "Halloween at Hogwarts? You're bound to have lots more excitement than we will."  
  
"I doubt it," Pippa laughed. "Hogwarts has become rather dull without it's chief troublemakers around. I hear parties were a lot more fun in the days when certain professors used to go shooting up into the air like rockets or bursting into fits of uncontrollable giggling."  
  
"You've been talking to Flitwick," Sirius guessed.  
  
Pippa winked at him. "Not only, but also. McGonagall still hasn't forgiven you for the fact that it was her Christmas pudding that Flitwick squashed when he landed. She's very partial to Christmas pudding."  
  
"So that's why I got such low marks in Transfiguration that year," Sirius quipped with the air of someone making an amazing discovery.  
  
Everyone chuckled, and they packed the rest of their things away and left.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------  
  
Severus's mood had not improved by the time he met Josephine at the arranged place. She greeted him brightly, slipping her skinny arm through his and at once dragging him off in the direction of the little place where she had decided they would lunch. Even though the sun was shining, there was a distinct chill in the air. But this had not prevented Josephine from wearing what she liked. She had on a short black skirt and a pair of dark green cotton tights. Her jumper was wine red and she had tied a multicoloured scarf around her neck that looked as though she had knitted it herself - and she was not a very skilled knitter, if so. They passed a little side street and Severus suddenly stopped.  
  
"No, it's this way," said Josephine, tugging at his arm. "There's nothing down there."  
  
"There's the apothecary. Do we have time to pop in there and get something? It won't take long."  
  
"All right," she agreed.  
  
They went down the narrow street and Severus stopped at a spot where two large overflowing rubbish containers stood against the wall of a delapidated building. With Josephine still hanging on his arm, he went right up to the container on the left and walked through it.  
  
Beyond the rubbish containers, the space opened out into a small but neatly arranged wizard apothecary, illuminated by a couple of oil lamps on the heavy oak counter. It smelled strongly of strange herbs, menthol and a few other things not so easily definable. The walls on either side of the door and behind the counter were lined with shelves, on which were stacked boxes of all sizes and colours, jars with oddly shaped contents - in some cases moving - and little dishes emitting puffs of differently coloured steam. A little bell floating unattached in mid-air above the door tinkled as they entered, and soon a small wooden door set in among the shelves behind the counter opened.  
  
"Good mor...," said a polite voice, then halted.  
  
Josephine, who had been standing looking at a jar containing what looked like live leeches on a shelf by the door with mixed fascination and revulsion, turned around to see what was the matter. The young man who had appeared through the little door was standing with his hand still on the knob, staring at Severus. He was short and stocky, with fair hair and eyes that looked positively shocked. Josephine had the distinct feeling she had seen him before, but she didn't know where.  
  
"Pettigrew?!" Severus exclaimed.  
  
The other gave a nervous attempt at a laugh. "H-hello Severus. What a surprise to see you here. Good morning, Miss," he added to Josephine.  
  
She smiled broadly and marched right up to him. "None of that. Just Josie will do, since you two obviously know each other," she said, and held out her hand, which he shook very hesitantly, quailing under the thunderous look on Severus's face.  
  
"What are you doing here?" Severus demanded.  
  
"I'm helping my dad out while he's busy stocktaking. This is his apothecary. Didn't you know?" Peter replied.  
  
"No. Do you think I bother to ask what an apothecary's name is before I let him serve me?" came the arrogant retort. "In any case, I wonder he trusts you to help him. You were never much good at Potions or Herbology - or anything else, for that matter."  
  
Peter went red. "Well, of course I don't advise people. But if it's ingredients people want ..."  
  
Severus snorted.  
  
"Sevvy dear," Josephine put in, taking his arm once more and squeezing it. "Won't you hurry up and get what we came for? I'm starving."  
  
Peter Pettigrew shot her a grateful look. "Y-yes, what can I help you with?"  
  
Severus pursed up his lips. "I need some root of asphodel. Whole, not powdered. An ounce of frog liver and a jar of leeches."  
  
Peter Pettigrew nodded and turned away, looking rather relieved. His hand shook under Severus Snape's cold stare as he scooped the frog liver onto the scales, weighed it and filled it into a jar. He placed it on the counter and went to fetch the asphodel. Then he began to thumb the prices into the ancient-looking cash register. Severus tapped his fingers on the counter impatiently.  
  
"Have I f-forgotten something?" Peter asked.  
  
Severus was about to say something cutting, when Josephine butted in again.  
  
"Leeches, wasn't it? They're over by the door, I think."  
  
She strode over to where she had been standing earlier, picked up a jar with two fingers only and, holding it at arm's length, brought it back to the counter. Peter Pettigrew entered the price and Severus paid. He waved Peter aside when he went to place the purchases in a bag and did it himself, making sure very noticeably that the labels were correct and the lids on tight.  
  
"Right," he said. "Goodbye."  
  
"B-bye," murmured Peter.  
  
Josephine waved at him merrily and followed Severus outside. He had paused in the street, looking livid.  
  
"What is it?" she asked him. "Who is this Pettigrew?"  
  
"He's no one," Severus snapped.  
  
Josephine laughed. "He looked like a person to me. Don't tell me he was at school with you too."  
  
"Actually, yes. Potter's loyal lapdog," he sneered.  
  
"Potter?" Josephine queried, ignoring the derisive comparison. "Oh, he was the one at the Banshee that night, wasn't he? The one that stopped Sirius and you fighting. Now I know where I'd seen this boy before too. He was there that night."  
  
"Yes," Severus said, starting to walk back up the street.  
  
"Was there anyone you actually liked at your school?" Josephine teased, hurrying to keep up with him.  
  
"Not in Gryffindor," he snarled. "There were plenty of decent people in Slytherin. People who were not a disgrace to wizardkind."  
  
"A disgrace? Well, I suppose I'm one of those too, aren't I?"  
  
She grinned, indicating her clothes.  
  
"No," he replied firmly. "I'm not talking about appearance. I'm talking about background. About purity."  
  
"Are we back on the blood thing?" she asked, sounding a little bored as they walked back out onto the main drag.  
  
"The 'blood thing', as you call it, is important. Our blood is what distinguishes us from the common. From half-bloods and mudbloods and muggles."  
  
Josephine shot him a sidelong glance.  
  
"Does it really distinguish us?" she asked. "Just because someone has a different purity of blood, does it make him so very different from someone else? I mean, do you look at a person and say 'Oh, he's different, he must have impure blood'? You can't tell, can you, from looking at a person, whether he or she has pure blood or not. Even when you've known someone for a long time, you might still not know whether their blood is pure. You might find that someone you like is about as impure as you can get. Or that someone you've always hated has much purer blood than you do. You don't know if people like, say, Sirius Black or James Potter might not be able to trace their bloodlines much further back than you can."  
  
Severus gave a dry laugh. "Black and Potter. Pure-blood? Not likely!"  
  
Suddenly he stopped and turned his head sharply.  
  
"James Potter," he mused. "James ...," he placed a strong emphasis on the name. "How do you know his first name?"  
  
Josephine replied quite naturally, "I don't know. You must have mentioned it some time. Why, did I get it wrong?"  
  
"No. His name is James, all right." Severus was looking at her sharply. "But I'm quite sure I have never mentioned it. I've never called him by his first name."  
  
"You must have done," Josephine said. "How else would I ..." She broke off, suddenly realising how she knew.  
  
Her cheeks flushed. Severus watched her and his face hardened.  
  
"How do you know?" he repeated.  
  
Josephine's face grew suddenly defiant.  
  
"Sirius Black told me," she said.  
  
"Sirius - Black?!" Severus spluttered. Several passers-by turned their heads and looked at them. His hand closed more tightly over the bag containing his purchases and he pulled Josephine hurriedly back the way they had come, down into the side street, and hissed, "When did Sirius Black tell you that? When you were dancing?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Then when?!"  
  
He shook her. Josephine wrenched her arm free of his grip, walked a few paces away from him, sighed and turned around.  
  
"I met him. Not long after that day at the Banshee, in fact. He asked to see me and I - I went."  
  
Severus's face turned slightly purple. "You ... went to see ... Sirius Black?"  
  
"Yes. Oh, only the once," she added hastily. "Like I said, he wanted to talk to me about something and I ... There was something I wanted to ask him too."  
  
"And what did you want to ask him that you couldn't have asked me?"  
  
Severus's voice was rising in volume again. Josephine kept hers calm.  
  
"About what had happened between you back when you were all still at Hogwarts. Well, it was obvious you didn't want to talk about it," she said defensively.  
  
The anger inside Severus became red hot. So this was what he got for looking forward to seeing her, was it? After having hoped that, after a couple of months of awkwardness, things would finally be all right again, he was to find out that she had been seeing Sirius Black, of all people, behind his back? Had been talking to Black about their past, about Hogwarts, about him! Now, at least, he thought he knew where the awkwardness had stemmed from in the first place ...  
  
"How could you?!" he yelled at her. "How could you go to meet Black when you knew very well what I thought of him?"  
  
"I wanted to know what had happened. And - and ... You may hate Sirius, but I like him," she said shrilly.  
  
"Oh, you like him, do you? I should have realised. You're a girl. And of course, all the girls like Sirius Black, don't they? Black the handsome, Black the ladies' man, Black the murderer! Well, if you like him so much, why don't you go back to him?"  
  
"Don't be ridiculous. I don't like him in that way," Josephine protested. "You know I don't. And I've already told you I only met him the once. But I do think you're being unfair to him."  
  
"Unfair? Josephine, he - he tried to kill me! Can you get that in that - that straw-filled head of yours? He's a common murderer."  
  
Josephine's voice was quiet. "He told me about that."  
  
"Oh yes? Rather proud of it, I expect. Proud of how he and Potter and their friend the halfbreed lured me down the tunnel that night, how they got away with it because Professor Monster-Lover Dumbledore didn't want anyone finding out one of his precious pupils was a werewolf."  
  
"A werewolf," Josephine repeated quietly, understanding at last, "so that was it. Sirius wouldn't tell me. It was that other boy, wasn't it? At the Banshee. Sirius's friend ... You called him a - a ..."  
  
"I called him a half-breed," said Severus. "Because that's what he is. And some day soon he'll be dead, because the Dark Lord will take over our world, and he will rid us of that kind of filth."  
  
But Josephine was shaking her head, and suddenly looking very sad.  
  
"No, no, he can't. He mustn't."  
  
"Shut up," Severus snarled. "You're starting to sound like my mother. The Dark Lord will kill the werewolf Lupin, and Black the murderer, and Potter and Pettigrew and all the other mudbloods and squibs and half-breeds and scum of the earth. His Death Eaters will help him do so. I will help him do so. It is our mission and our destiny. We will have a pure world ..."  
  
"No!" Josephine fairly screeched. She backed away, her eyes wide with horror.  
  
Severus stared at her. "What's go into you?" he demanded. "Josephine, I'm talking about the purification of our world, about making it a decent place for people like you and me to live in."  
  
But Josephine was shaking her head frantically, her eyes now brimming with tears.  
  
"Listen to yourself," she cried. "You're talking of murder - mass murder. Of killing people just because they're different."  
  
"Yes, because we are the ones who are pure, and we alone deserve to live ..."  
  
"No, Severus," Josephine said quietly. "Don't you see? Can't you understand that it's - it's wrong. To kill people for something they can't even help. After having had such a narrow escape yourself - you could have become a werewolf that night, if you had been bitten. Do you think that boy wanted to become a werewolf? Do you think people choose to be born as squibs or half-bloods or muggles? You can't kill them just because of their blood, it's madness."  
  
Severus drew himself up. "It seems to me that you're over-reacting. There is nothing more important than the purification of our world," he replied. "Nothing."  
  
"Nothing," Josephine echoed sadly. "Not kindness? Not happiness? Not - not love?"  
  
For a moment, a very brief moment, Severus hesitated. Then he said coldly, "Nothing."  
  
Very slowly, Josephine nodded. Her voice changed, it became dry and emotionless.  
  
"I don't think I fancy that lunch any more," she said. "I've lost my appetite. I'm going home. Goodbye, Severus."  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------  
  
A man stood alone by a small open window in the hallway of the fortress on Slytherin's Rock. His eyes were narrowed under the bushy eyebrows and his fingers tugged absent-mindedly at the moustache over his lip, until he realised what he was doing and stopped, remembering that he must never play with the moustache, but keep it perfectly groomed at all times.  
  
He therefore smoothed what was currently his moustache and rested his hand on the window sill. He looked out across the sea sparkling in the midday autumn sunlight. A gull swerved far above and began to circle lower and lower. It landed on the waves close to the rocks and waddled ashore. It was strange, the man thought, that creatures so ordinary as seagulls should venture near this place. Even as he thought that, the bird took off again, uttering a mournful cry. He smiled wryly.  
  
*That's it, fly away. You don't want to linger here if you can help it,* he thought, as once more the sound of pitiful screaming reached his ears.  
  
He balled his fist on the window sill, so hard that the knuckles stood out white. More screams followed. The cries of creatures in pain, somewhere below him, down in the cellars or dungeons of this miserable place. He had never been down there. If he was honest, he didn't really want to investigate the cause of the squealing too closely. If he did, it was more than likely that his righteous anger at what these people did to the helpless would gain control, would overcome his resolve to keep his cover, no matter what happened. But it was hard in moments like these, when even the crashing of the waves was drowned out by those terrible sounds. His jaw clenched, and he focused purposefully on the farther shore, where a small beach between tall rocks was half bathed in sunlight and blue waves washed the sand.  
  
He called up pictures from his memory and his mind readily projected one particular image onto that beach. The figure of a woman, small and slender, her brown curls framing the sweetest face he could think of, swam before his eyes. For a moment the screams, so close at hand, seemed to quieten, and he breathed in deeply. But then he heard the sound of muffled voices behind a nearby door, and he quickly cleared his mind of all those treasured memories. It would not do for anyone here to find out who he had been thinking about.  
  
He turned away from the window just as a door to his left opened and three people emerged. The group was led by a man with very dark hair and a goatee beard. He spoke in accented English. The other two were Paula Lestrange and a thin, nervy-looking man he had only met once before. He did not know the man's first name, but knew him to be the brother of Paula Lestrange's husband. Paula Lestrange at once spotted the man she knew as Travers, and smiled across at him. It was a smile that he had seen her give several times before now, and it gave him the shivers every time.  
  
When Paula Lestrange smiled, the corners of her mouth would curve softly upwards, and dimples formed in her cheeks. It was a smile identical to another that he knew - that of her sister, Pippa Pettigrew - except in one detail. When Pippa smiled, her pale eyes shone with a kindly light. In Mrs. Lestrange's case, that light was a malicious glow. She parted from the other two and came over to join him.  
  
"Hello, Tiberius," she said.  
  
As always, he flinched inwardly at the sound of that name. To carry the surname of Travers was not so bad. But to go around being called "Tiberius" ...  
  
"Good morning, Mrs. Lestrange," he replied.  
  
Her smiled stretched wider.  
  
"It won't kill you if you call me Paula, you know."  
  
"Presumably not."  
  
She studied him, her head a little to one side. He pretended not to notice or care about her scrutiny.  
  
"You look in a bad mood this morning," she said. "Why?"  
  
He shrugged. He knew perfectly well where his bad mood was coming from, naturally. But he could hardly tell her that.  
  
"I suppose you're bored," she went on. "We've not exactly given you an awful lot to do since you joined us, have we?"  
  
"No," he agreed.  
  
It was true that the man who went by the name of Tiberius Travers had been required to do very little since joining the Death Eaters. Beneath his disguise, Malcolm assumed that this was due to the fact that he had not been a Death Eater for long. Apparently, Voldemort and his supporters wanted to keep new members of their morbid club under observation for a while before sending them out "on the job", as it were. Secretly, he was rather glad of that. Travers had a reputation - as a ruthless killer who had first practised the killing curse on his neighbour's dog at the age of fourteen, and had since murdered more than just pets. And Malcolm, though the last thing he wanted was to blow his cover, had no intention of continuing that reputation.  
  
Paula Lestrange, thankfully unaware of what was going through his mind, looked mildly triumphant.  
  
"Ah, so I was right. You are bored," she declared. "Well, you needn't be for much longer. I've just been talking to Igor and Rabastan about a ... small matter. I can't tell you too much about it as yet. But let me just say that you may not have to be bored for too much longer. I shall talk to the Dark Lord about it later. On Wednesday afternoon we shall pay a nice little visit to the Ministry of Magic. It'll be risky, of course. There are a lot of Aurors about at the Ministry, and a lot of civilians most of the time. They might get in the way ... but that's half the fun, isn't it?"  
  
Malcolm hitched a look of curiosity and carefully controlled eagerness on Travers's face. It served to conceal a very urgent thought. The Ministry. They were planning some sort of trouble at the Ministry on Wednesday afternoon. This, he thought, definitely qualified as information that needed to be passed on immediately. So far, he had done what Dumbledore had advised: nothing. He had observed, he had listened, he had made mental notes of all that he had found out. Dumbledore had warned him not to risk an attempt at communication with the Order too soon, while he might still be being closely observed by the Death Eaters around him. But he could not let this opportunity pass. It sounded like just the kind of event that could end in disaster. He resolved to send a note to Craigg at the Better Days this evening.  
  
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2 - Wednesday Morning  
  
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Bridget stood in front of the mirror in her bedroom on Wednesday morning for an unusually long time. She felt restless and dissatisfied. Staring at her reflection without really seeing it, she was allowing her mind to dwell on all the things she should be trying not to think about. First and foremost in her mind was Malcolm. She missed him. She still marvelled at how suddenly and unexpectedly she had discovered just how much she cared about him. And she marvelled at how people could go on living with such dreadful worry as hers gnawing at their hearts. She had hardly slept since the last time she had been with him. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him. At night she would dream of him, but they were not pleasant dreams. She constantly pictured him in trouble, in pain, even dead.  
  
And when she was awake, not only did she spend much of her time wondering what Malcolm was doing, but she worried about everyone else around her too. Mrs. Hammersmith, for a start. The doctor had been wrong to count the old lady out so soon that summer. She had actually picked up a little after that seizure. But lately her health was declining rapidly, and it was terrible to watch her growing thinner and thinner, her skin greying. She barely ate anything these days, she couldn't lift a fork without help. It had hurt Bridget to have to do it, but in the end she had had no choice - she had called the doctor and he had arranged for Mrs. Hammersmith to go to hospital. What had pained Bridget even more than this was the fact that the old lady had not even had the strength left in her to protest. The doctor had spoken kindly to Bridget, had told her that there were places where people in Mrs. Hammersmith's condition could be cared for even better than the hospital. Nursing homes where she would receive all possible care and attention. But really, he had said, in his opinion it was not worth it. He had been wrong in the summer, but she could not last much longer now.  
  
Bridget had cried that first evening when she had come home from the hospital and passed the flat on the fifth floor, knowing it was empty, and that her old friend was never likely to enter it again. James had found her in that flat later, packing together some of Mrs. Hammersmith's things to take to the hospital for her - a favourite vase, a picture of her husband, one of Bridget and the boys - with tears streaming down her face. He had tried to comfort her, but it had ended with them comforting each other. Both James and Sirius had been especially kind and helpful to her since.  
  
She had not told them about her feelings for Malcolm, but she was sure they had found out somehow, because they so obviously avoided mentioning his name whenever she was around, and stopped talking about him and what he might be doing when she entered the room. Well, she supposed John or Faith or even Remus must have told them, since they would know. Or maybe they had worked it out for themselves. It didn't matter. In the mood she was in now, she was just grateful for every bit of consideration people showed her. She could not remember having felt so dreadful for years, and she almost despised herself for it. It was not like her to despair, or to feel so weak and helpless.  
  
And the strangest thing was, she reflected, that while she sank deeper and deeper into a well of misery, of all the people around her whom she had expected to help her and be strong for her, Faith - who normally seemed to go to pieces over the smallest hint of danger - had rallied to the cause most excellently. Really, Bridget thought, Faith had been a rock these past months. It was odd. As though the threat of something uncertain was worse for Faith to bear than knowing her brother to be in immediate danger. Or maybe it was that Faith, when faced with adversity in her private life, always put other people's worries before her own. And the more John and Bridget both worried, the more Faith tried to help them feel better, to do little things for them to make the burden lighter. Perhaps, Bridget thought, that was Faith's way of helping the Order. She could not fight herself, she was neither courageous nor powerful enough. But she could offer support to those who were.  
  
And as tears started back into her eyes and she wiped them away with her fingers, Bridget found herself wishing desperately that Faith had a telephone. She could do with a friend right now. But it was no good. It was Wednesday morning, and time to go out of the house. There was work to be done that would not do itself, and in any case sitting at home and moping would do no earthly good at all.  
  
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In a small antechamber behind a door marked 'Veritus Legis, International Magical Office of Law' at the Ministry of Magic, Peter Pettigrew sat at his desk, his hand moving slowly across a page of thick parchment, a long white quill clasped tightly in it. His tongue was protruding slightly between his lips and the fringe of his blond hair was drooping over his eyes. The door opened and he jumped to his feet as his boss entered, jerking his quill in so doing and leaving a very unsightly squiggle of ink right across his hard work.  
  
"Morning, Pettigrew," said his employer.  
  
Peter gave a polite reply.  
  
Veritus Legis was a middle-aged wizard with a round, red face and very close-cropped greying hair. He was short and somewhat overweight, which as some unkindly noted gave him the appearance of a rubber ball on legs. However, he was a genial sort of man, sympathetic and kindly, though tough on any who disobeyed the law. Removing a well-worn black cloak, he hung it up on the cloak stand and proceeded,  
  
"You're early this morning, young man."  
  
"Y-yes I know, sir, but I wanted to get the minutes of yesterday's meeting written out neatly for you by midday."  
  
Legis nodded approvingly, though his sharp blue eyes darted briefly to the squiggle now marring the page.  
  
"Good, good. Actually, I'm glad you're early this morning," he went on. "We've got a dispute coming up for hearing later - just a small matter, but nonetheless. I'd like you to attend."  
  
"Me, sir?"  
  
"Yes. As a matter of fact, Stele did his wrist in at the weekend playing some muggle sport. Squish or something. That sport where they use an oval net in a frame to hit a ball against the wall."  
  
"Squash?" Peter offered.  
  
"Yes, that was it. Squash. Sounds a damn silly name, and a damn silly waste of time to me. Anyway, Stele was playing it at the weekend, took a fall and landed awkwardly on his wrist, so he can't write. So Mulciber and I will be needing someone else to take notes for us, and I thought you might be interested in seeing the workings of the law first hand."  
  
"Oh yes, sir. Thank you, sir."  
  
"Good. Just finish what you're doing then, Pettigrew, and come into my office when you're done. Then I can fill you in on the procedure."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
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"Concealment and Disguise," Sirius muttered impatiently under his breath. "What a stupid waste of time it all is."  
  
"Shhh," whispered James, bending over his book, uncomfortably aware that Alastor Moody kept shooting critical glances in their direction.  
  
"But you know I'm right," Sirius said in his ear. "With our special abilities, we could teach him a thing or two about disguise ourselves - Prongs."  
  
"Will you shut up?" James hissed back. "The last thing we want is for him to find out about that."  
  
Sirius grunted, and very grudgingly and unconvincingly pretended to return his attention to what Moody was telling them about various magical methods of changing one's appearance.  
  
"Of course, probably the best method," he was saying in his growling voice, "is to become invisible. But there aren't many wizards and witches who can do that. Personally, I only know of three wizards alive today who can - and no, I won't be telling you their names. Invisibility Cloaks are the next best thing, but they have their disadvantages, as you may be aware. Yes, Miss Crimple?"  
  
Mary had raised her hand. Sirius turned his head to look at her while she spoke. It was almost impossible not to look at Mary, he thought. Annoying as he had found her that time when she had founded the 'Potty Potter Fan Club', as he had called it, he had since come to realise what a good- looking young lady she was becoming. She had arranged her curls in rather an elegant tangle on top of her head today and now rested her pretty face on a slim, delicate hand as she had a habit of doing whenever she spoke.  
  
"I was just thinking," she said in a very succinct voice that tended to be faintly condescending, but held a note of embarrassment at her own cleverness that never failed to endear her to the male population, "that Invisibility Cloaks are surely rather impractical as a means of concealment and disguise. After all, they are rather bulky. You could hardly hide an Invisibility Cloak under your coat or in a handbag, and it would look rather conspicuous if you went around with it draped over your arm."  
  
"I think the idea is to wear the Cloak, Mary, not carry it over your arm," Benjy Fenwick pointed out amusedly.  
  
She shot him a fiery look and he playfully pretended to cower under it.  
  
"I meant," Mary went on determinedly, "that one does not usually wear such a Cloak all the time. And while you're not wearing it, it would only attract attention, since Invisibility Cloaks are both very rare and rather expensive."  
  
"Ouch," James grumbled in response to a conspiratorial wink and a sharp- elbowed nudge in the ribs from Sirius.  
  
"Also," the girl added practically, "Invisibility Cloaks can slip off you or shift, and people are sure to notice a pair of feet walking around by themselves, and find it very odd indeed."  
  
"Very well, Miss Crimple," growled Moody. "What would you recommend?"  
  
"A Disillusionment Charm," she replied promptly. "It's not quite as difficult as learning to become invisible, but almost as effective, since you just take on the colour of whatever background is behind you."  
  
"Still takes a pretty powerful bit of magic though, doesn't it?" Sirius put in lazily, tipping his chair back a little.  
  
Mary rounded on him. Her eyes flashed.  
  
*I should ask her out again sometime,* Sirius thought.  
  
Then again, he doubted she would agree to go out with him again. The last time he had asked Mary Crimple out, he had not exactly given her a very enjoyable evening, or even the attention she had a right to expect, he reflected.  
  
"What would you do then?" she demanded.  
  
"Well," he began, well aware that James was eyeing him very warily, "the best bet, to my way of thinking, is to be conspicuously inconspicuous."  
  
Mary tutted and rolled her eyes.  
  
"What nonsense," she said.  
  
"No, it's not," Sirius objected, allowing his chair to drop onto all four legs again. "It makes sense. The best place to hide is when you're right under people's noses. That's their blind spot, you know. If there's a row of Death Eaters in front of you and you want to get by unnoticed, the best way is to find a disguise that doesn't make you invisible at all. I mean, imagine you're invisible. You're still solid, right? So they don't know you're there, and then they suddenly take a step sideways that you didn't expect and wham - they crash into you, probably grab hold of you as they fall, and they've got you. You'd find it pretty hard to explain that you're not up to anything fishy, but you just enjoy running round invisible. But get a simple disguise, one they can see but won't take any notice of because it makes you look like someone or something they have no interest in, and you're laughing."  
  
"Like what?" Damian Diggle asked, gazing at Sirius with a look of deep interest and admiration on his face.  
  
"Well, dress up as a beggar or something. Or the girls here could borrow a baby for the occasion." This remark earned a chuckle from the other boys and several huffs from the girls, but Sirius went on unperturbed. "No Death Eater's going to suspect a young mother going shopping with a pram of trying to spy on them. Of course, it would be ideal to be something like an animagus, or a metamorphmagus or something."  
  
James felt his stomach do a backflip. He had known it. The minute Sirius had opened his mouth, he had known what he was getting at. Honestly, sometimes the silly idiot just had to get in a boast, especially if it was risky. Sirius, meanwhile, was smiling genially and quite innocently at their fellow Aurors-to-be. Frank Longbottom laughed heartily.  
  
"Great plan, Sirius. Obviously, that would be ideal, but it's not all that simple, is it? Still, I think you have a point there. About being conspicuously inconspicuous, I mean." He turned to Moody. "What do you say, sir?"  
  
Moody nodded gruffly. "Black's quite right, of course," he said. "The way that looks riskiest is often the safest. Well, we'll soon find out. Because I'm planning to test your skills at concealment in the field, as it were."  
  
"Oh, really?" Florence Fortescue cried excitedly. "When?"  
  
"Not telling," said Moody with a crooked smile. "It'll be soon. But I won't be warning you of the exact date. You just do some practising at whatever method you think's best, and we'll see which of you manages to show the rest they were right."  
  
He proceeded to describe the methods of disguise that had so far been discussed in more detail, adding a few more suggestions which they all noted down. James risked a look at Sirius, who was looking entirely unconcerned, his dark head bent over his parchment.  
  
"You just couldn't resist it, could you?" he whispered.  
  
"You know me. Anyway, Moody said it himself. The way that looks riskiest is the safest. Now I've thrown in that bit about animagi, no one's going to suspect that ..."  
  
"Will you cut it out?"  
  
"Sorry." Sirius grinned. "But you've got to admit it feels good knowing we've got an advantage over them that they don't know about, doesn't it?"  
  
"Yes, but it's an advantage we can't very well use in Moody's test," James murmured, though he couldn't suppress a slight smile.  
  
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3 - Ill News Travels Fast  
  
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Bridget's mood was going from depressed to exasperated. She was dealing with a particularly troublesome customer: an elderly man who was looking for a suitable book to buy his fifteen-year-old granddaughter for her birthday. He had left it rather late, in Bridget's opinion, the birthday in question being tomorrow, and therefore was in a hurry as well as being very particular about what he chose.  
  
Bridget had recommended various works of literature that she knew were well- written and held a lot of appeal for a girl of that age, but the old man had refused them all, claiming that his granddaughter was still to young for that kind of novel. Instead he spent his time picking one children's book after another off the shelf. Some of which, while featuring very sweet illustrations, contained barely any story at all, and all of which were aimed at a much younger generation of budding bookworms.  
  
"Young lady, I really do not see what you object to where this volume is concerned," the customer was saying now, waving a thin booklet in her face. "It is informative, decent, ..."  
  
"It was written for children who can barely read, sir. It's supposed to help get them interested in books."  
  
"Yes, well, that's just what I need. My granddaughter has absolutely no interest in reading."  
  
"Then perhaps, sir, you should consider a different sort of present," Bridget advised.  
  
"No, I want a book. Every young girl should take a keen interest in literature."  
  
"Then pick something with a subject that concerns her age group."  
  
"I will not buy one of your teenage romance novels. She is far too young to be interested in that sort of thing," he declared pompously.  
  
"That's all you know," Bridget murmured under her breath.  
  
Luckily, the old man did not hear. He seemed to have made up his mind. Bridget was about to make one more attempt at changing it when the telephone on the counter rang.  
  
"Hello?" said Bridget, picking up the receiver with the relief a welcome distraction brings. "Yes. Speaking. Yes. Oh." The relief changing quickly into dismay, she turned away from her customer and from Mrs. Shaw, who had come bustling to the front of the shop from the store room at the back. "You don't mean ...? I see. Yes, of course I - I'll come at once. Thank you."  
  
She put the receiver down and stood for a moment with her hand still resting on it, aware that both her customer and Mrs. Shaw were watching her intently. She felt her hand tremble as she moved it away from the telephone and turned around. The old man looked annoyed, but Mrs. Shaw at once became sympathetic at the sight of Bridget's face.  
  
"Has something bad happened, my dear?" she asked.  
  
Bridget swallowed hard. "It's ... my neighbour. The one who's been in hospital for some time now and it seems - it seems ..."  
  
She broke off, but there was no need for her to go on anyway. Mrs. Shaw began patting her arm consolingly.  
  
"All right, dear. Don't upset yourself now. You just run along to the hospital and see your friend, I'll finish up here. Would you like me to call someone for you and let them know?"  
  
Bridget shook her head, wishing fervently that she knew of someone she could turn to who had a telephone. If only Malcolm were there ... She said, "If anyone calls for me, will you tell them where I've gone?"  
  
Mrs. Shaw promised that she would. Bridget quickly snatched up her jacket and hurried off to catch the bus.  
  
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Peter Pettigrew knocked on the door of his employer's office. In answer to the latter's call, he entered. Legis waved him to a chair and Peter sat. Veritus Legis continued to peruse the sheets of parchment in front of him for a moment, then he looked up.  
  
"Finished your work?" he enquired.  
  
"Yes sir."  
  
"Good."  
  
The older wizard bent his head over the documents once more.  
  
"Hm. I'm afraid today's hearing isn't going to be very exciting for you, Pettigrew," he began. "Quite a petty business, if I'm reading these notes correctly. Young French couple returning from honeymoon accosted by wizard who begins insulting the girl as being not all human. New husband gets offended, tells the other chap to back off - hot-blooded, these French people. Chap does not back off. Duel ensues, young groom ends up being carted off to hospital with nosebleed and conjunctivitis owing to curses received. The whole thing is only prevented from getting too much out of hand, it seems, by young bride's sister intervening. Apparently she was there to pick them up. She seems to have had her wits about her, all right - used the full body bind to great effect. Young French husband now suing the other chap for damages and demands he be locked up for attacking him and his wife."  
  
"Will he be?"  
  
"I don't know so much about that. It'll be hard to prove who actually started the fighting."  
  
"But that man insulted those people without reason, didn't he?"  
  
"That's what they're claiming. But even if it's true, insults don't land you in prison, Pettigrew," said Mr. Legis. "Besides, whether or not it was without reason is a point for debate. You see, apparently the young bride really isn't all human. Got some Veela blood in her. Now that could cause problems."  
  
"Why is that, sir?"  
  
Legis shot him an astonished look.  
  
"Why is that? Haven't you been following the news lately, lad? Part humans are getting to be about as popular right now as a bunch of nifflers at Gringotts. One quarter of the population thinks anyone who's not all wizard has no right to live, one quarter's terrified of being associated with anything but purebloods, one quarter's scared to death because they're not purebloods themselves ..."  
  
Peter's brow furrowed. He thought for a moment, then he said,  
  
"What about the last quarter?"  
  
Legis smiled. "Not too bad on your maths, are you? The last quarter are muggles who haven't got a clue what's going on."  
  
"They're probably a lot happier a lot of the time for not knowing about anything," Peter murmured. "I wish I were a muggle."  
  
His employer shot him a shrewd look.  
  
"Do you? Don't you think it's better to know what threat you're under than to be ignorant of the fact that any threat even exists?"  
  
"No. N-not necessarily. Not if ignorance makes you feel safer."  
  
"But doesn't that make it all the worse when the threat becomes a certain tragedy?"  
  
"Some people do look at it that way, I suppose."  
  
The young man looked awkward. Legis studied him for a moment, then he said matter-of-factly,  
  
"Well, what you and I think of the state of the world is neither here nor there. My point is that, whatever the facts may be or however we may evaluate them, if it comes to a proper trial, there will be plenty who will vote that the fellow who insulted them was quite right to do so, and that being part Veela this young woman has no right to expect the same treatment as a pure-blood. So you see there's a potential for ... Yes?" he called as there was a knock on the door.  
  
It opened, and in walked a man of about the same age as Legis himself. He was broader built, however, and tall, with a square chin and a toothbrush moustache. Though Legis gave him a polite smile, it was obvious that he did so to conceal an intense dislike of the newcomer.  
  
"Mr. Mulciber. This is a surprise."  
  
He did not say that it was a pleasant one.  
  
"Morning, Legis."  
  
The man called Mulciber came right into the room. He turned his head to look at Peter, and his piercing eyes seemed to take the young man's measure from head to foot, clearly disapproving of what they found. He returned his attention to the man behind the desk.  
  
"Could I have a word?"  
  
"Certainly," Legis said, keeping up the indifferent politeness. "Leave us, Pettigrew, will you? Go and make sure the small council chamber on this floor is in order - no need to go down to the court rooms for this - and get ready to receive these people in the Atrium when they arrive. Here's the file. Take a look through it."  
  
He handed Peter the parchment and the latter withdrew.  
  
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As soon as she reached the hospital, Bridget rushed upstairs to Mrs. Hammersmith's ward. The nurse on duty - a ginger-haired young woman with an abundance of freckles across her nose - spotted her and came straight towards her.  
  
"Ah, good mornin', Mrs. Potter," she said. "I'm so glad you made it. The poor ol' lady's been fretting something terrible, worrying as how you mightn't get here in time and she might die without seeing you. I told her. I says to her, I says, 'Now don't you go worrying yourself, Marm. She'll be along directly.' But she wouldn't hear none of it. 'I'm going to die,' she says. 'I'm going to die and I won't have seen her first. In a right old state, she's been. But you're here now, thank God."  
  
"Yes, yes, I'm here. Did the doctor say - do you have any idea - how long ..." Her voice trailed away.  
  
The nurse shook her head sadly. "It's hard to say, Mrs. Potter. Dr. Higgins reckoned last night as how she might be dead by morning, but he was wrong, you see? Dr. Jenkins now, he said he gives her till tonight, but that's at the most. I'm afraid she's failing, Marm."  
  
"I - I see. Thank you. I'd better go along and see her then."  
  
Bridget prepared to set off along the ward to the bed at the end, but was interrupted by a sudden outburst of noise behind her. She turned her head to see five people coming towards her. One was a man who looked to be in his mid-sixties. He was broadly built and not particularly tall, with grey hair and a square, expressionless face with an extremely weak chin. The woman beside him seemed about Bridget's age at most, perhaps a little younger. Her fair hair was thin, her face intended to be made interesting by a lot of rather garish makeup, which included bright red lipstick and ample amounts of dark blue eye shadow. But underneath all that she was a plain woman, conventional and with little or no charm about her. These two were preceded by a sort of advance guard comprised of three young and singularly unattractive children who made about as much noise as a primary school class out on a day trip. The man walked up the ginger-haired nurse.  
  
"Excuse me," he began in a pompous voice. "My name is Hammersmith. I was told that I would find my aunt in this ward. Mrs. Hilda Hammersmith?"  
  
"That's right, sir," said the nurse enthusiastically. "She's just down the end of this ward, sir. But I'm afraid she's in a bad way."  
  
"Yes, yes, I realise that," he said curtly. He turned to the woman who was with him. "Perhaps the children had better wait here, Agnes."  
  
She nodded, but what appeared to be the eldest of the children - a fair- haired boy - burst into loud protest.  
  
"Why, Granddad? Why have we got to wait here? Why can't we come with you?"  
  
His mother silenced him and the man turned away from the group. Bridget walked up to him.  
  
"Excuse me," she said. "Mr. Hammersmith?"  
  
"Yes," he said, looking at her blankly.  
  
"I'm sorry, I couldn't help but overhear ... I'm Mrs. Potter."  
  
Bridget held out her hand, and with a look that held more annoyance than curiosity, the man shook it.  
  
"Potter?" he repeated. "The name rings a bell. Are you an acquaintance of my aunt's?"  
  
"I live in the same building. Mrs. Hammersmith was kind enough to take me and my son in years ago, when I was in trouble."  
  
"Your son? Oh, wasn't he the one who rang me up a couple of months ago?"  
  
"Yes, that was James."  
  
"I see. Well, it's good of you to have come to visit my aunt, but her family are here now," he replied in a tone that said very definitely that he considered her a superfluous presence.  
  
"I'm glad of that," Bridget said, struggling to keep her voice steady and polite. "So, shall we go along to see her?"  
  
"Mrs. Potter," the woman called Agnes began tartly, briefly abandoning her children, who at once set about making a nuisance of themselves to one of the nurses on duty, "I'm sure we're all very grateful to you for what you have done for my great-aunt recently. We know there aren't many perfect strangers who would bother. But I really don't think that you need trouble yourself any longer."  
  
"Oh, it's no trouble, I assure you. Besides, the nurse tells me Mrs. Hammersmith has asked to see me."  
  
"Oh." Agnes seemed momentarily taken aback. "Well, in that case ... We'll tell her you came, of course. But I'm sure you'll agree that this is really a moment for the family," she finished in a sharp tone.  
  
"Oh yes, I agree," Bridget retorted just as sharply. "Which makes me wonder what exactly you're doing here. It seems to me that you've developed family feeling a bit late in the day. Not only has your aunt not had so much as a Christmas card from you for years, but you couldn't even be bothered to come down and see her when my son rang you a couple of months back to tell you she was ill."  
  
"Well, it clearly wasn't that serious," said Mr. Hammersmith. "After all, she didn't ... I mean ..."  
  
"You mean she didn't die then," Bridget finished for him. "No. That was rather lucky for you, wasn't it, or you'd be too late now."  
  
"Mrs. Potter!" the man exclaimed. "I do think you're being rather offensive about this ..."  
  
"Oh, am I? Well, that's just too bad, I'm afraid. It so happens that I find it rather offensive myself to be referred to as a perfect stranger and sent packing as though I have no feelings. In my opinion we'd all be a lot better off if you'd just go back where you ..."  
  
Bridget broke off, her speech coming in sharp breaths, her grief, fear and frustration getting the better of her, when she suddenly heard a soft voice call her name. She turned, and felt at once enormously surprised and extremely relieved to see none other than Faith Lupin coming towards her.  
  
"Bridget," Faith repeated gently, taking her arm as she reached them. "My dear, I just came round to the shop to see if we could have lunch together and your boss told me ... I'm so sorry."  
  
Bridget softened at once, her anger subsiding. Grief took over. She said nothing, but hugged Faith gratefully. Then she drew back, turned once more to Mr. Hammersmith and his daughter and said more calmly,  
  
"There's no point in our arguing. We're wasting time. I think we should go and see her now."  
  
Mr. Hammersmith, with an annoyed look at Faith, whom he seemed to regard as yet another intruder on the family 'grief', nodded and led the way. Bridget, taking Faith's arm again, followed and whispered,  
  
"Thank you so much for coming, Faith. I'm afraid I was rather losing control of myself just then."  
  
"Without knowing the exact circumstances, I'm sure you were well within your rights," Faith said. "These people don't strike me as particularly nice."  
  
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4 - The Stage is Set  
  
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Peter Pettigrew checked his watch for the umpteenth time, and for the umpteenth time discovered that the hands had barely moved. He felt nervous, and wished that his boss had not chosen to send him down to the Atrium alone to wait for the people involved in the hearing. Alone. It was almost the right word, as well. He had never known the Atrium to be so empty before. There was just one watchwizard asleep at his desk, and occasionally one or two people would cross to or from the golden gates. Other than that, the place was empty. It was strange.  
  
As strange as the change of manner in his boss. He had only seen Legis briefly after his talk with Mulciber, and had found him sterner and more curt. He wondered what Mulciber could have said to effect that change, but had not wished to intrude in a clearly private matter.  
  
A flash of flame flared up in one of the fireplaces and someone stepped out. For a minute Peter thought it might be the first of the party he was expecting, but then he recognised Gloria Boom. She spotted him while she was dusting herself off, smiled broadly and came over.  
  
"Hello, Peter," she said cheerfully.  
  
"H-hello," he replied, glancing over her shoulder in case the people he was waiting for should miraculously appear behind her.  
  
Gloria turned her head to follow his gaze, her head tilted a little to one side. She looked back at him enquiringly. Peter's face flushed and he said quickly,  
  
"I'm supposed to be meeting some people here and taking them up to Mr. Legis, my boss."  
  
"I see. You are a busy bee then, aren't you? Well, I haven't exactly been idle myself. Just had a very bad case of splitching to deal with." She screwed her face up rather comically and gave a shudder. "You should have seen it. Half of this bloke apparated in St. Alban's, the other down in Eastbourne."  
  
"That's a long way apart!" Peter exclaimed.  
  
Gloria nodded excitedly. "Yes, but that's not all. He tried to get the half that was in Eastbourne to apparate back in St. Alban's, where it belonged. And what do you think? He only ended up splitching himself again, didn't he? The part in St. Alban's stayed put all right - right in the middle of a zebra crossing, as a matter of fact. Now if that wasn't a shock to traffic I don't know! The other half got splitched again, with one bit still stuck in Eastbourne and the other transported to Margate. Talk about taking the coastal route."  
  
Gloria laughed, and Peter joined in. She had an infectious laugh. A rather awkward silence followed. At least, it was awkward to him. He didn't know if she knew what awkwardness was. She seemed to have such a cheery disposition, such an open nature, that it was impossible to imagine her experiencing such a feeling as awkwardness. She was a bright, shining girl, cheerful and full of life. Peter wondered that she could even be bothered to stop and talk to someone dull like him. He was about to say something of the kind, when several fireplaces along the wall flashed into life at the same time. He turned his attention that way, expecting the party he was waiting for to emerge from them, but instead five very unfriendly-looking characters materialised.  
  
They were all of them dressed in long black robes with voluminous hoods hanging back over their shoulders, and not one of them was talking. They merely exchanged glances and curt nods and marched straight towards the lifts. Peter's eyes followed the group, his mouth hanging slightly open. Gloria followed their direction, then looked back at him and said,  
  
"What's up, Peter? You look as though you've seen a ghost."  
  
He didn't hear her. His eyes were still fixed on the figures now disappearing behind the closing lift doors.  
  
"Polly?" he muttered, half wonderingly and half with concern. "Polly? Here?"  
  
"Polly who?"  
  
But Peter never got around to explaining, for the fireplaces came to life again, and this time a group emerged that seemed to fit the description in the file he'd read. Peter excused himself to Gloria and went to welcome them.  
  
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Bridget, Faith and the Hammersmith relations had been sitting by old Mrs. Hammersmith's bed for about an hour now. Mr. Hammersmith's daughter had left them once or twice to make sure the children were all right, which apparently they were - more than could be said for the nurses they were continually terrorising and under whose feet they were evidently getting. Mrs. Hammersmith had opened her eyes only once so far, and then she had clearly been too weak to speak. The ginger-haired nurse popped in now and then to adjust the tubes that connected the old lady up to various machines. Bridget shook her head and murmured quietly to Faith,  
  
"She would have hated all this so much."  
  
"Yes, from what you've told me about her over the years, I'm sure she would have."  
  
"It seems so unfair," Bridget went on, "for her to have to put up with this. She hated being ill, she hated doctors and medication and hospitals."  
  
"I know," Faith said. "This kind of ending is cruel for people who love an active life. In most cases I think when they reach this stage, they'd prefer it to end quickly. But instead they go on and on existing, until their bodies finally convince their brains to give in, and death comes as a relief. That's what happened to Christopher, in the end."  
  
Bridget turned her head enquiringly. "Christopher?"  
  
"Christopher Lupin," Faith explained. "John's father. He had always been such an active person. Used to take the three of us out a lot when we were children, and even in later years he used to take his broomstick and go out on the moors. Then he - he fell ill. It was a slow, painful decline, awful to watch. Though it was worst of all for John, of course. He adored his father. He took it hard."  
  
Bridget nodded. "Yes. Yes, I can imagine John would."  
  
She looked back at old Mrs. Hammersmith and gave an unhappy shudder. Faith grasped her hand. With a grateful look, Bridget said,  
  
"Would you - could I ask you to do me a huge favour? I know I shouldn't be asking you to dash here, there and everywhere for me, but ..."  
  
Faith smiled understandingly. "You want me to go to the Ministry and send James to you?"  
  
"If you would," Bridget answered. "I'd be ever so grateful."  
  
"Of course," Faith said kindly. "Leave it to me. I'm sure he'll come right away. And if ... well, you know John and I will be more than happy to have you come and see us tonight, and stay with us if you like."  
  
"Thank you," Bridget said again.  
  
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Six people sat around an oval table in one of the smaller council chambers at the Ministry of Magic. Sitting at his own small desk a little way apart from them, Peter Pettigrew heard rather than saw them. There was Veritus Legis, whose voice was uncharacteristically subdued and lacking in his usual tendency to heartiness. The man called Mulciber, speaking quietly and distinctly. Monsieur François Delacour, who had a rather guttural voice with a strong French accent. His wife with her soft, musical tones. She did not appear to know much English, but her presence alone made a man believe anything she was saying, even without being able to understand a word of it. Then there was her sister, Désirée Dulac, who spoke excellent English in spite of a distinct accent. And a man with a deep, cold voice who had been introduced as Mr. Wallis, the man who had apparently insulted Madame Delacour.  
  
How all these people had looked, what mannerisms they displayed and how they behaved to one another was something Peter would never be able to recollect afterwards. He listened only, he did not observe. He was far too nervous of missing an important word to waste time admiring Madame Delacour's beauty as Sirius would have done, noticing her young husband's utter and complete devotion or even wondering at the change in his employer's attitude.  
  
For in view of the opinions he had voiced to Peter earlier that day, Veritus Legis was acting very strangely. So far, he had poo-pooed everything the 'accused' was reported to have said to Madame Delacour as being insignificant, not to be taken seriously, clearly intended as a joke rather than to cause offence, etc. etc. Now that they had come to the subject of the actual duel that had taken place, he seemed actually to be twisting everything the young Frenchman said around in order to make it sound as though he, not Wallis, had started the fight and he, not Wallis, had inflicted the most damage - this last despite the fact that Monsier Delacour was still sporting a black eye, had a plaster across his nose and his arm in a sling.  
  
Peter Pettigrew merely wrote all that was said down, hardly paying attention to the contents until Monsieur Delacour's voice suddenly rose angrily and he jumped to his feet.  
  
"Monsieur Legis! May I remind you zat it is my wife and I 'oo are ze plaintiffs in zis matter! You talk as if my wife 'ad done something to provoke zis man into insulting 'er."  
  
"So she had," Mulciber said in a dangerously quiet voice, leaning forwards a little and staring hard at Madame Delacour across the table. "She existed. People like her should not be allowed to exist. Don't you agree, Veritus, my friend?"  
  
For the first time, Peter looked up from his sheets of parchment. He fancied that Mr. Legis was looking queer, his eyes oddly empty. For a moment the man said nothing. Then Mulciber turned his head slightly towards him and prompted again,  
  
"Veritus?"  
  
The emptiness of Legis's eyes gave way to a hard, cold expression strangely similar to Mulciber's own. He gave a sharp nod.  
  
"Yes, indeed. It is time that the halfbreeds in our world were taught a lesson."  
  
With a crooked sneer, Wallis rounded on Madame Delacour. "You think that you can walk around as you please, taking up breathing space that belongs to pureblood witches and wizards. Well you can't. You're nothing but cum, both of you." He cast a glance at Miss Dulac, who had so far said nothing. "And any pureblood wizard who degrades himself by preferring your presence over that of a decent, pureblood witch, deserves to be killed just as much as you filthy halfbreed upstarts who aspire to infect our world with your impurity."  
  
"You 'ave no right to speak to my wife like zat!" Delacour cried, outraged.  
  
His hand went for his wand. In a flash, Wallis was on his feet and had his out too. Curses split the air. One of them grazed Legis's shoulder and caught him off balance, nearly knocking him off his chair. Peter made it as far as to stand up before he froze in mid-action.  
  
Mr. and Mrs. Delacour had taken cover their side of the table, Wallis was crouched on the opposite side. Mulciber had withdrawn to the door and Legis was still half hanging off his chair, looking dazed and rather as though he hadn't a clue of what was going on. A hand descended on Peter's arm and pulled him down behind his desk. Gasping for breath from his surprise, he looked across at Miss Dulac, crouching next to him. The door to the council chamber opened. Through the forest of desk, table and chair legs before him, Peter saw one pair of black shoes leave the room, and several others enter, all of whose owners seemed to be wearing sweeping long black robes.  
  
Next to Peter, Miss Dulac had taken out her wand too. He stared at her. She looked very much out of place, squatting on the floor in her elegant robes, her white fingers with their bright red fingernails gripping the small wooden rod that was her wand. She turned to him.  
  
"We do not stand much of a chance against zese people," she whispered hurriedly. "We need 'elp."  
  
"Wh-who are they?" Peter stammered.  
  
"Death Eaters, I presume."  
  
He paled. "D-Death Eaters? Here, at the Ministry?"  
  
The look she gave him was filled with both pity and annoyance with his naivety. "Yes, 'ere. And if we do not act quickly, zey will soon 'ave achieved zeir objective to kill my sister, 'er 'usband, and probably me. Now, I will 'elp to 'old zem off as long as possible, but zere are only three of us and many more of zem. It does not seem to me that Monsieur Legis will be of much assistance. You must go and get 'elp."  
  
Peter swallowed hard, aware of the many dangerous curses that were flying back and forth across the room, shattering furniture and bits of the wall as they missed their intended targets.  
  
"I will cover you while you make for ze door," Miss Dulac told him. "Do not look back, do you 'ear? Just 'urry."  
  
He nodded nervously. With a moment's delay and a deep breath, Miss Dulac leapt out the other side of the desk and fired two curses in the Death Eaters' direction. Peter scrambled along the length of the desk the other way. He hesitated. What if one of the Death Eaters saw him? What of they killed him before he even reached the door? He saw a red spark fly across the room and strike the wall behind Miss Dulac's shoulder. He would have to go. Shaking all over, he threw himself flat on his stomach and started to crawl towards the door. His eyes were half closed with fear, and he kept their vision firmly focused on the opening before him, trying not to pay attention to the many pairs of feet around him, the shouts, yells and curses.  
  
He reached the door at last and scrambled to his feet. As he did so, he caught the eye of one of the Death Eaters. The man stared at him through the slits in his mask for a moment, then suddenly he yelled,  
  
"Oi! You!" and directed his wand in Peter's direction.  
  
Peter darted out of the room at once and heard a crash and splintering noises behind him, where a curse had just struck the door frame just above where his head had been. He charged along the passage towards the lifts, and the second the door to one of them opened, swung into it. As the doors closed behind him, he thought he saw the Death Eater who had fired a curse at him come hurrying along the passage after him.  
  
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5 - An Unexpected Turn  
  
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The Auror headquarters were practically empty. Most of its personnel were either out on duty or had gone for a break. Laura Lovegood, busy removing the pictures of criminals off the walls of her office who had since been apprehended, was interrupted by a knock on the open door. She looked up, and was more than a little displeased to see Mr. Bartemius Crouch in the doorway.  
  
"Ah, Miss Lovegood," he said with an artificial air of one surprised to find her there. "Left you holding the baby, have they?"  
  
"Mr. Crouch," she replied, politely but coolly. "What can I do for you?"  
  
"As a matter of fact," said the man, "I was hoping I might catch you alone."  
  
"Indeed?"  
  
"Yes, indeed. May I ...?"  
  
He came into the room, closed the door and sat down before she could reply either way.  
  
"I was wondering whether you might have heard anything from our mutual friend, Mr. Marley."  
  
Laura was genuinely surprised. "You mean Malcolm? Why would I hear from him? And why would it matter if I had?"  
  
"To answer your questions in order: Malcolm? Yes, Malcolm. I know of no other Mr. Marley. Why would you hear from him? Because, apart from being your partner in crime detection, I believe he was also a friend of yours - some say more than that. Why would it matter? Because Marley has a tendency to pigheadedness that could prove a risk to us now that he is no longer an Auror. He is not the sort of man to step aside quietly and leave the job to others just because it is no longer his to handle. His landlady hasn't seen him at his flat for quite a long time, yet his bills are still being paid. To me, that indicates he is still in the country, carrying out some hidden agenda of his own that could interfere with our work when it is most inconvenient for him to do so. So, will you answer my question now?"  
  
Laura considered for a moment. Then she said steadily,  
  
"I have not heard from him. I have only spoken to him once since you fired him. And that was shortly afterwards. I'm sure there is no need for you to be concerned. Malcolm would never do anything to interfere with our work. He was a good Auror - one of the best."  
  
Bartemius Crouch returned her reproachful look coldly.  
  
"So you claim you don't know where he is or what he's doing?"  
  
"I don't." In answer to her superior's disbelieving expression she went on, "Malcolm and I worked well together as a team. That was all. Occasionally he might tell me what he'd been doing at the weekend, occasionally he wouldn't. I have no idea where he went after you fired him ... sir. If you really want to find him, I suggest you ask someone who is more likely to know. His brother-in-law, for instance. He works here, at the Ministry."  
  
Crouch rose impatiently.  
  
"I have spoken to Mr. Lupin. He claims not to know anything either."  
  
"In that case ..." Laura spread out her hands apologetically.  
  
"He's lying," Crouch affirmed. "He's not a good liar. I told him so. That much he admitted freely. But he still refused to change his statement."  
  
"And why should he do otherwise? Malcolm no longer works as an Auror, and he has not committed any crime. That takes away the only two possibly options that would give you a right to insist on knowing where he ..."  
  
She was interrupted, perhaps rather opportunely, at that moment by the rushed arrival of Peter Pettigrew. He looked startled to find Auror headquarters so empty and hurried over at once. Ignoring Mr. Crouch, whom he had never met, he turned at once to Laura.  
  
"M-Miss Lovegood, quick, there's a fight going on down on level five."  
  
"A fight? What sort of fight?" Crouch asked.  
  
"Death Eaters," Peter panted. "They burst in on the hearing ..."  
  
He got no further. Laura immediately strode to the door at the back and pulled it open.  
  
"Mr. Moody - you were right," she said briskly. "It's happened."  
  
Alastor Moody emerged from his office, shaking his hair back and pulling his wand out of his pocket.  
  
"Whereabouts?" he asked her, then stopped when he saw Peter. "International Magical Office of Law," he murmured to himself. "I see."  
  
Reaching inside his coat pocket, he looked around him and whistled. A small owl came flying up. Moody produced a small scrap of parchment that appeared to already have writing on it, swiftly pointed his wand at it, muttered something, then shook the parchment quickly to disperse the smoke it was suddenly emitting. Peter saw that it now had a number five burned on it beneath the scratchy writing. Moody tied the note to the owl's leg.  
  
"John Lupin, level four," he said gruffly.  
  
The owl took off at once.  
  
"What's going on?" Crouch demanded.  
  
"We knew there'd be some funny business," Moody told him. "That's why we made up all sorts of excuses to keep most personnel out of the building today. Don't want to invite disaster."  
  
Crouch looked around him. "Where are the Aurors?"  
  
"Not far," said Laura, taking out her wand and stepping towards Moody. "Shall we go, sir?"  
  
He nodded.  
  
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From under Travers's black mask, Malcolm watched Peter Pettigrew disappear into the lift and gave a secret sigh of relief. He turned back to the hearing room and almost collided with the masked Paula Lestrange coming the other way.  
  
"Did he get away?" she asked.  
  
"I'm afraid so," Malcolm replied. "We'd better go. The Aurors won't be far away."  
  
She nodded and called back into the room, "Aurors on the way. Time to go."  
  
The other Death Eaters stepped over the now unconscious bodies of their adversaries towards the door. Wallis, the only one not wearing a mask, paused in the doorway and looked back. Before Malcolm even realised what he was about to do, he had raised his wand.  
  
"Avada Kedavra," the Death Eater said lazily.  
  
A green spark emitted from his wand and struck the semi-conscious Veritus Legis full in the chest. Malcolm suppressed a gasp with difficulty, grateful that his mask concealed the shock that must otherwise have been plainly visible on his face.  
  
"He'd have been no use to us," said Wallis. "We always knew he'd fight Mulciber's Imperius Curse. And then he'd have let on who put it on him. Which reminds me ..." He looked around searchingly. "Where's the kid?"  
  
"What about him?" asked the voice of Rabastan Lestrange.  
  
"Mulciber told me he was there when he went in and put the curse on his boss," Wallis explained. "I don't like witnesses."  
  
"He got away," Paula stated factually, and Malcolm wondered if she knew that the boy in question was her own brother. He thought she might - but she obviously didn't care.  
  
"Well, we can't hang around," he made himself say. "The place'll be swarming with Aurors soon."  
  
Paula gave a queer laugh. "Yes. Isn't it exciting?"  
  
Rabastan tugged at her arm. "Let's go."  
  
Well aware that it was impossible to disapparate on this particular floor of the building - a security measure that Crouch had insisted on - they headed quickly towards the golden-grilled lifts. They were almost there when they saw one of the lifts descend from above. It was not empty. Four people were in it, and Malcolm recognised them all at once, even before the grilles slid aside. Sparks began to fly back and forth at once. The only one not joining in was Wallis, who had turned his back to the lifts while he pulled a mask over his face. Malcolm carefully aimed his wand at a point just right of Crouch's head. The older man flinched as a small part of the wall beside him exploded and showered him with plaster, but he was unhurt.  
  
"Get the kid," Malcolm heard Wallis order.  
  
At once, his suspicions regarding Paula Lestrange were confirmed. Without hesitation, she directed her wand straight at her brother and sent a shot of green light flying towards him. But Laura Lovegood was fast. Seeing the curse coming, she dived sideways and pulled Peter down to the floor with her. With relief, Malcolm saw the force of the curse impact the closing lift doors and shatter them instead of killing their intended target. Meanwhile, the doors of one of the lifts coming up from the Atrium slid open.  
  
"In!" he yelled, and pushed Paula into the open lift before she could do any more damage.  
  
The others followed them quickly, Wallis hanging back till last, muttering something under his breath. The grilles closed behind them and they travelled quickly upwards.  
  
"Pity you missed that boy," Rabastan said to Paula.  
  
"Doesn't matter," Wallis assured him. "I managed to modify his memory. I've always been pretty good at fast memory charms, though I say it myself."  
  
Malcolm's relief grew. They travelled up a couple of floors, catching their breath, before Paula said,  
  
"This is no good. We've got to get to the Atrium."  
  
"Don't you think that's what the Aurors will be waiting for?" Malcolm pointed out.  
  
"Yes, but we've got to get out of here somehow."  
  
The lift made its announcement.  
  
"Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters and Wizengamot Administration Services."  
  
Eager to prevent a catastrophe if he could, Malcolm made sure he was first to step out of the lift. He headed for one going down. Standing there waiting for it, he found himself wondering if there was really no other way out that would not take them back past Moody and the others, or any other Aurors that must be around somewhere.  
  
*Stop it,* he told himself, *You're starting to think like some sort of criminal.*  
  
A lift arrived, going downwards. They all stepped behind the grilles. Malcolm was aware of his breath coming heavily as it began to move. They passed level three. There was no sign of anyone. Malcolm wished fervently that he knew what exactly the plan was. He assumed Dumbledore must have received his warning. There would have been more people about if he hadn't. But what had the Order decided to do? They had clearly emptied the Ministry as far as possible without making it too obvious. But now what? Would the Aurors simply sit tight and wait for the group of Death Eaters to depart? That was probably the best bet, but then Paula and the others would surely grow suspicious. No, the Aurors must be about. But where?  
  
Level four. Suddenly, it all happened rather fast. The lift stopped. Not as it normally did, but abruptly, as though someone had literally thrown a spanner in the works. It would not go on. The grilles slid aside and they had no choice but to exit onto the corridor - a corridor that had been empty on the way going up, but which was now full of familiar faces for Malcolm. So this was where the Aurors were, or at least some of them. The eldest and most experienced of his former colleagues looked as though they had been waiting for this moment all day, if not all week or even all their lives. Their expressions were grim.  
  
The fight began at once. There was little cover to be found in the corridor of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. John had explained once that the idea of having shelves and cupboards in the hallways had been abandoned after a family of vampire flees had decided to nest in the warm and inaccessible spaces behind them, coming out every once in a while to bite an unsuspecting employee. It was clear to Malcolm, however, that these Aurors had been told to be careful with their spells. They were holding back, dodging and using defensive spells rather than attacking the group of Death Eaters. A few of them entered into duels with one or two of the Death Eaters, but he was pretty sure they had no intention of really holding any of them.  
  
He heard a rattling sound close by. Another lift. It was going up. But that was better than nothing, it would get them out of this difficult fix. He backed towards it, using a shield charm to easily block one of the Auror's curses. He felt the grilles slide back behind him, he stepped backwards into it, the other Death Eaters following suit, he heard a muffled scream he turned round ... and felt an impact of shock so fierce that it made the world around him spin as though he had just been dealt a physical blow to his head. The lift he had backed into had not been empty. There was someone in it. Someone who had simply wanted to go upstairs, so it seemed. Malcolm cursed inwardly. The idiots. Instead of hanging around on level four to stage a weak attempt at preventing the Death Eaters' escape, why hadn't those damned fools of Aurors waited down in the Atrium to prevent anyone from entering the lifts?  
  
"Grab her!" he heard Paula yell.  
  
Her voice echoed in his head like that of a harpy in some of the worst nightmares he had had as a child. But even those nightmares had never been as bad as this. Not once in his life had he dreamt that one day he would be standing in a large, golden-grilled lift at the Ministry of Magic, pretending to be a murderer, on the run from Aurors with his own sister as a hostage!  
  
He forced himself to come back to his senses just in time, stepping in just as Wallis was about to. Taking Faith's arm in a firm grip that he hoped had not hurt her as badly as her terrified face indicated and praying silently that he could get her out of this mess unscathed and without having to drop his cover so soon into his mission, he pulled her up to the grille and stepped back out of the lift beside the triumphant Paula, making sure the Aurors could see just what the situation was. He saw their looks of dismay as he and the Death Eaters moved sideways to the nearest undamaged lift going down.  
  
"Don't try and stop us," Paula Lestrange warned them coldly. "We will now take this lift down to the Atrium. From there we will disapparate. If anyone tries to prevent us from doing so, she dies. Is that quite clear?"  
  
As yet another set of golden grilles closed before his eyes, Malcolm saw one of the Aurors in the front row nod. He also saw something else. John had just stepped out of a door just behind the man's shoulder. His face, which Malcolm could only see for the briefest of moments, registered complete horror as he came running up to the already descending lift.  
  
"Faith!" he yelled.  
  
Malcolm clapped his hand firmly over his sister's mouth before she could call back. She struggled, but he held firm.  
  
*Don't let her do anything to provoke them,* he thought desperately.  
  
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John Lupin stood back from the space where the lift had been, feeling utterly dazed. He felt someone come up beside him, but did not look round.  
  
"Idiots," Alastor Moody said angrily, voicing Malcolm's thoughts of moments before. He turned on the others. "Idiots! I thought I ordered the visitor's entrance to be sealed up once we knew the Death Eaters were in the building, and the fireplaces watched. Who's the watchwizard on duty?"  
  
"Barney Doze," one of the Aurors replied.  
  
"The man who holds the national record for sleeping on duty!" Moody exclaimed. "Damn. I shall have his guts for garters for this!"  
  
"But not now," said Crouch. "We need to act fast. I don't know where the rest of you are ..."  
  
"On their way to the Atrium," Moody told him. "Well, they should just be arriving. Waiting to stage a final attempt at preventing the Death Eaters' escape."  
  
"Attempt?!" Crouch was beside himself. "Attempt? I ... what were the Death Eaters doing here, anyway?"  
  
"They came to stir up a bit of trouble at a basically rather insignificant hearing. Their idea of fun, I suppose. Not old Legis's idea of fun though, I'll bet."  
  
"Legis? What about him?"  
  
"Dead," Moody said emotionlessly.  
  
At last, John turned his head sharply.  
  
"Dead?" he repeated hoarsely. "My God ..."  
  
"It'll be all right," Laura Lovegood said soothingly. "He won't let anything happen to her."  
  
"But why did she have to come?" John asked. "Why? I was so sure she'd be quite safe. She said - she said she wanted to stay at home all day with Remus. She told me so."  
  
Laura patted him gently on the arm. Bartemius Crouch drew himself up.  
  
"They're not going to get away with this," he said grimly. "This has got to stop. We can't have them marching in here as if they own the place, murdering as they please. We're going after them."  
  
To everyone's surprise, he motioned to them to follow him, and led the way to a small door at the far end of the hallway. It opened into a cramped storage space. An empty storage space. Taking out his wand, Crouch ran it in a circular pattern over a solid brick wall. A hole appeared there, widening fast until it was large enough for grown men to walk through onto a very narrow, very dark winding staircase leading both upstairs and down.  
  
"Very clever," Moody murmured. "Yes. I always knew there was a secret escape route only certain people knew about. So you're one of the certain people, eh?"  
  
With a brief smug grin, Crouch turned to the Aurors.  
  
"This will get you down to the Atrium before the lift, if you hurry. I want those Death Eaters stopped. I don't care how you do it, just stop them. Use any means you have to. And I mean any means. I am hereby authorising the use of the Unforgivable Curses," he added with an almost triumphant look at Moody.  
  
Several of the Aurors nodded and moved through the hole. Moody held Crouch's gaze steadily.  
  
"Well," the Auror said in his growling voice, "you've got what you wanted, at least. You've been after authorising those curses for ages, haven't you? But you're making a mistake. Those Death Eaters must not be stopped."  
  
"They will be stopped," Crouch insisted.  
  
"What about my wife?" John demanded. "Have you thought about what might happen to her, with all your curses flying about?"  
  
He looked nearly frantic with fear.  
  
"Those people have committed a murder today, Mr. Lupin," said Crouch. "I am determined not to let them get away with it, whatever the cost."  
  
"The hell you are!" John exclaimed, and pushing the man aside, he hastened through the hole after the Aurors.  
  
"Whatever the cost?" Laura Lovegood repeated, turning slowly to face her superior. "Are you saying that apprehending a group of murdering Death Eaters justifies the sacrifice of yet another innocent life in the process?"  
  
"I am saying that preventing several further murders in the future justifies the loss of one life in the present."  
  
Laura stared at him coldly. Then she said quietly,  
  
"I'm going down to see what I can do. But when I come back upstairs, I shall be resigning, Mr. Crouch."  
  
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James, Sirius and Frank were positioned down in the Atrium with a number of fully trained Aurors. They had insisted on not being kept out of this encounter with the Death Eaters on the grounds that they had not yet completed their training, and Moody had apparently seen no reason not to let them have their way. Sirius was fingering his wand eagerly.  
  
"Come on," he murmured under his breath, apparently speaking to the Death Eaters, who had not yet made an appearance in the Atrium.  
  
James grinned at him. "Hold your horses, Sirius. There's not much we can do anyway. We've got to let them escape."  
  
"Yes. Worse luck," Sirius grumbled. "I thought the idea of Malcolm getting in with the Death Eaters was to help us catch them."  
  
"Right. But not when he's with them. Especially when we don't know which one is him. Hello, now what?"  
  
He had just noticed a group of people appearing along a corridor. He recognised them as Aurors, and with them was John Lupin, talking urgently to what appeared to be the Auror in charge. He came over to them.  
  
"John," James said, "what are you doing here? I thought the idea was Aurors only. What's happened?" he added, noticing the look of anxiety on John's face.  
  
But John did not have time to explain, for at that moment the lift arrived, and the Death Eaters stepped out, leading a terrified-looking Faith in front of them.  
  
"Oh hell," Sirius exclaimed.  
  
All of them watched, fully alert, as the Death Eaters advanced. Peter Pettigrew came up beside James. He was shaking.  
  
"Stay back!" the Death Eater leading the group warned them.  
  
As the Aurors all moved to form a circle, wands held out before them, James heard Peter murmur next to him,  
  
"My God ... that sounds like Polly's voice."  
  
The woman went on.  
  
"Now, we are going to disapparate one by one. Don't try to stop us, or we will kill this woman." She indicated Faith, whose eyes were wide with fright.  
  
Then she nodded to one of her companions. He returned the gesture, and disappeared instantly. One of the Aurors made to step forwards and intervene before more Death Eaters could follow, but John held him back.  
  
"Let me go," the man whispered. "I've got my orders. We can't let them escape."  
  
"Oh yes, you can. You're not going to do anything to endanger my wife!" John's voice shook with fear, but his eyes were cold and determined, and his wand was in his hand, pointing at the Auror.  
  
"Step aside, Lupin," said Bartemius Crouch, appearing beside them, "I can understand your concern, but while we're wasting time talking, the Death Eaters are escaping, and all they'll do when they've got away is go out and threaten and harm and kill more innocent people. I'm sure that's something neither of us want to happen."  
  
James stepped in. "John," he said quietly, "... you know Malcolm's one of those Death Eaters. He won't let anything happen to her ..."  
  
John ran his fingers through his hair and nodded. He bent his eyes towards the Death Eaters once more. There were only three left now. The woman and two men, one of whom was holding Faith in a firm grip, preventing her from struggling loose. And suddenly John noticed something about that man. Something about his stance, the way he was holding his wand against his captive. He was standing with one shoulder, the right, a little forward, the other drawn back. That way, Faith was actually standing more to the side of him than in front, shielding him as she should be. In fact, any spell cast in their direction would be likely to cause more harm to the Death Eater than to her. John let out a quiet sigh of relief that caused Sirius and James to look at him rather surprised. Their bewilderment increased further when he murmured under his breath,  
  
"Nottingham. Of course."  
  
Suddenly, pushing the Auror and Mr. Crouch aside, he strode forwards, brought his wand up quickly and in a flash sent a powerful Reductor curse flying at the Death Eater holding Faith. They both went down before anyone had time to react. The Death Eater at once began scrambling back onto his feet, but the curious thing was that he did not try to grab Faith again, who had received less of the impact of the blow and was crawling away from him. In fact, it seemed to the boys that he was actually positioning himself so as to block the line of fire for the other Death Eaters' wands. And suddenly they understood. James and Sirius exchanged grins. The Aurors advanced, and the final Death Eaters quickly disapparated all at once before they could be apprehended.  
  
John, his wand still in his hand, ran across the Atrium to where Faith was just getting to her feet and helped her up. James and Sirius came up behind him, and soon Peter, Laura and Moody caught up with them too.  
  
"You all right, girl?" Moody asked gruffly.  
  
Faith looked shaken and was clinging to John, but she nodded. "Yes. Yes, I think so. He ... he didn't really hurt me."  
  
"No," said Sirius with a grin. "He wouldn't."  
  
Faith looked enquiringly from him to John. He said nothing, but his smile seemed to give her the answer she needed. She smiled back.  
  
"I see."  
  
Seeming to relax, she closed her eyes for a moment. Then John said softly,  
  
"What were you doing here anyway? I thought you were going to stay home ..."  
  
Faith's face became upset again. "Oh, yes. I decided to go out just for a little while and see Bridget. Remus said it would be all right, he was going to get some sleep and wouldn't be needing anything. But Bridget wasn't at the shop. I went to the hospital to see her there, and she asked me to come here ..." She turned to James. "She wants you, dear. Do you think you could get away?"  
  
James swallowed hard. Sirius's face lost its cheer. Moody growled sympathetically,  
  
"Yes, he can get away all right. Off you go now, Potter. Take as long as you need. You too, Black. You've both done enough for today."  
  
The two boys nodded.  
  
Faith went on, "Look, I know this has been a hard day for all of us, and ... well, I've already told your mother, James, that you're welcome to come and stay with us tonight if you feel you want to. All right?"  
  
"Thanks," said James, and he and Sirius headed for the exit. John turned to Faith once more.  
  
"That's the second time you've ended up right in the middle of a dangerous Death Eater attack. Please don't do it again, darling, or you might finally frighten the life out of me."  
  
Faith kissed his cheek, and wrapped her arms around him.  
  
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6 - The Day's End  
  
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Back on Slytherin's Rock that night, Malcolm stepped out of a back door and took a short stroll down the rocks, then stood looking out across the black sea under a moonlit sky. There was a chill wind blowing in his hair and biting his face, but he felt he needed that. It reminded him that he, Malcolm Marley, was still alive somewhere under the shell that imprisoned him: the shell that was Tiberius Travers.  
  
He sat down on a rock and thought back over the events of the day. It had been a bad day. He had though that, having warned Dumbledore of what was likely to occur, he could prevent anything bad from happening. He had been wrong. Those two young people - they would recover, he was sure, but they had received something of a shock. And Désirée. It had given him quite a turn to see her there. And then Wallis murdering that man, and his momentary fear that Peter Pettigrew would be killed too.  
  
But nothing had compared to the horror of coming across Faith in that lift. He hoped he had not frightened her too much, that she was all right now and that the Death Eaters had not remarked his reluctance to hurt her. It did not seem as though they had. And he was glad that John had cottoned on to what he was doing. The old trick. Him and John playing Robin Hood. John playing the Sheriff of Nottingham, pushing his arm in front of his "hostage", Lady Marian - played by Faith as customary - and himself, as Robin Hood, using a much weaker form of the curse John had employed today to send them both flying and rescue the fair maiden. The good old days ...  
  
He smiled to himself. It was good to remember times like those, once in a while. To remember what you were fighting for. For children now and in the future, children who were like he and John and Faith had been. Happy children. Children who could play in the woods without being afraid of anyone coming to hurt them or their parents, just because they were different. Children. Suddenly he found himself picturing a little house, somewhere on a cliff with a garden overlooking the sea, and two children with curly brown hair - beautiful children, he knew, though he could not see their faces - playing with a ball. He could picture Bridget, smiling as she watched them ... How strange, he thought, that he could suddenly picture scenes like that. He had always been so essentially an uncle. It had never occurred to him before that he would ever seriously consider fatherhood. But he would think no further of it now. No, not now. He, Malcolm Marley, would not put a child into the world as things were now.  
  
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It was over. Mrs. Hammersmith was dead. She had struggled against the inevitable to the end, but finally she had succumbed. Shortly before it had happened, she had regained consciousness once more. Seeing her family sitting by her bed, she had at once sent them away. She had not wanted her nephew or his daughter to be with her. She had held Bridget's hand and told her in a voice that was so weak that it could barely be heard,  
  
"Thank you, my dear. Thank you for everything. You've been good to me, always. As good as a daughter."  
  
Bridget had smiled and kissed the old lady's cheek, and Mrs. Hammersmith had smiled too and turned her head to look at the boys.  
  
"Sirius ... I'm sorry if I've been ... a bit distant with you. It meant nothing. It's just ..."  
  
He had answered quickly,  
  
"It's all right. I understand, Mrs. Hammersmith. Really I do."  
  
She had managed a nod and looked at James.  
  
"Jamie ..."  
  
"I'm here."  
  
"I know you are," she sighed. "Dear Jamie. I know you've always been there when you were needed, and you always will be. You're a good lad. Be good to your mother."  
  
"I will," said James, and Mrs. Hammersmith nodded.  
  
"Yes, you will."  
  
She had lain there another half hour or so after this, exhausted and unable to move or speak. Then, at last, she had tried to say something more, but she had not had the strength. Finally, she had let out a sigh, and breathed no more.  
  
Now, Bridget, James and Sirius were sitting on a bus taking them home. They said nothing. Bridget was holding a tissue to her face and James's eyes were very red. Sirius looked both solemn and uncomfortable. The bus stopped and they got off. Bridget fumbled trying to get her key in the lock, and in the end Sirius took it from her and unlocked the door. They began to climb the stairs, but when they reached the fifth floor, Bridget stopped. Suddenly tears filled her eyes again and she broke down completely. Putting his arms around her, James looked rather helplessly at Sirius across her shoulder.  
  
"You know," Sirius said, "I think perhaps it would be better if we didn't stay here tonight. Faith said we could come round any time. I think we ought to take her up on that, don't you?"  
  
James nodded. "Yes, good idea. What do you think, Mum? Would you like us to go to John and Faith's?"  
  
Bridget nodded. "Yes. Yes, I - I think I would."  
  
Making sure they were unobserved, they apparated a little way from the Lupins' house and walked there. Faith was in her night gown, but she and John welcomed them warmly and made some steaming hot chocolate. Remus appeared a while later, looking ill and very tired, but anxious to offer his condolences and help in any way he could. It was the early hours of the morning before any of them went to bed. Faith went first. Sirius and James bedded down on mattresses in Remus's room, but Bridget still couldn't bring herself to go upstairs. At about half past three, John - looking dead on his feet by now - persuaded her to come upstairs. He led her into the spare bedroom and made sure she was comfortable. But as he was about to leave, she turned and held out her hand to him.  
  
"John," she called appealingly.  
  
He came back and sat down, taking her hand.  
  
"Yes, Bridget?"  
  
For a while she said nothing, but just held onto his hand for comfort. Then she murmured,  
  
"Do you think he's all right - Malcolm, I mean? It's been such a day ... I've missed him more than ever. And I've been thinking - if anything were to happen to him ..."  
  
"He's all right," John assured her. Then he added. "I saw him today. No, I won't go into details now. You need to get some sleep. I'll tell you tomorrow. But I promise you he's all right."  
  
Bridget nodded slowly, and finally released John's hand. He paused in the doorway and watched her snuggle under the covers, her body apparently relaxing at last. He only had to wait a few minutes to hear her breathing coming regularly. She was asleep. 


	25. Part 25: Death Eaters At Large

Prequel, Part 25: Death Eaters at Large  
  
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1 - Unexpected Guests  
  
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In a perfectly ordinary semi-detached house just ten minutes' walk from the railway station, Laura Lovegood took a seat at the breakfast table and picked up a mug of hot chocolate between two hands, blowing on it with a pensive expression fixed firmly on her face. Across the table, the Daily Prophet newspaper emitted an impatient snort. A bony hand appeared around the side of the page and groped around on the table. Releasing one hand from her mug, but not looking up from her study of the steam steadily rising from it, Laura reached out and pushed a glass of grapefruit juice towards the groping hand.  
  
"Thanks," muttered the newspaper.  
  
The glass disappeared from view, reappearing empty a few moments later. The paper emitted another snort. Then there was a rustling sound and the Daily Prophet was moved aside to reveal the long, effeminate face of Laura's younger brother Lance. He pushed his large glasses up his narrow nose and leaned low across the table to take a slice of toast from the rack, an action which caused his glasses to slide down again immediately.  
  
"So," said Laura, taking a sip of her cocoa. "What do they say about yesterday's drama?"  
  
"Drama?"  
  
"The business at the Ministry."  
  
"Oh, that," said Lance lazily, as if it didn't really interest him.  
  
Laura looked up at last. "Isn't that what you've been reading about?"  
  
"No. I was reading this article by Professor Savvy about endangered magical species in Sweden. It could have been jolly interesting reading if the man wasn't such a fool. Do you know he actually claims there is no such thing as the Crumple-Horned Snor..."  
  
Laura's exasperated sigh and the look on her face silenced him. Though he might be prone to absent-mindedness, and did have a tendency to dwell on matters other than those other people would consider vital, Lance was not insensitive to other people's worries. He sensed that his sister was deeply concerned, and therefore took up the Prophet once more, turning to page eight as the front page instructed him to. After a few minutes' silence, he laid the paper aside once more.  
  
"Well?" prompted Laura.  
  
Lance said in a slow, deliberating voice, "If you go by what the Prophet writes, no less than a dozen Death Eaters forced their way into the Ministry of Magic, took about ten helpless hostages and murdered several Ministry officials, before being despatched single-handedly by Mr. Bartemius Crouch himself."  
  
"Do they mention that he authorised the use of the Unforgivable Curses?"  
  
"Yes," said her brother, helping himself to marmalade. "The way they put it, it sounds like he was completely justified in doing so, and it's the only way we can all be saved from being murdered in our beds."  
  
After a pause, Laura shrugged. "Well, it could have been worse, I suppose."  
  
Her brother shot her a questioning look and she explained.  
  
"I half expected the Prophet to take the other view, at the rate things are going. At least, if they're putting Crouch across as the hero, it means that they're not on the side of the Death Eaters."  
  
"Oh, but they couldn't be!"  
  
With a dry laugh, Laura contradicted him.  
  
"I'll bet you anything you like they could! In fact," she went on, "they may yet change their tune if it turns out that even authorising the use of the Unforgivable Curses doesn't help Crouch put a stop to the Death Eaters' activities. Though they've been active for years now, this is the first time any of You-Know-Who's supporters have dared to attack the Ministry direct. That they got away with it could embolden them to carry out more similar actions. So far they've been careful. They've struck out often, they've killed or otherwise harmed a lot of people, yes - but they've always kept to public, out-of-doors locations. Places that offered an easy escape, where they could simply disapparate to safety. It's not a good sign that they dared to enter the Ministry like that, and kill a high-ranking Ministry official in broad daylight. Not good at all."  
  
"It will be a long time before they dare to try anything like this again. The Ministry will be prepared from now on."  
  
"Oh yes, the Ministry will be prepared. They'll take precautions now. Seems like closing the gate after the troll has bolted to me ... No, the Death Eaters won't strike against the Ministry again. Not yet, anyway. But there are other places. And the more successful attacks they launch on important locations, the more confident they will become, and the more people will give in to them out of fear."  
  
"But the Prophet won't ever support them, surely."  
  
Laura looked at him affectionately, but also with a hint of pity in her gaze.  
  
"You can be so naïve sometimes, Lance. You'd willingly believe in the existence of some creatures no one has ever heard of, no matter how many experts have looked for them without success, but you refuse to believe people can be bad, or just too scared to hold firm."  
  
"You can believe in the evil in everyone if you like," Lance said unperturbed. "I happen to think everyone has a potential to be better."  
  
"I don't believe everyone's bad!"  
  
"No, perhaps not. I don't suppose you believe I could be bad, or at least I hope you don't."  
  
"Of course not!" Laura exclaimed hotly.  
  
She was spared from defending herself further, however, by the shrill ring of the doorbell. She went to answer it. To her surprise, she found the last person standing on the doorstep in the cold October air whom she would have expected to see in the quiet neighbourhood where she lived with her brother. In fact, she worried seriously what the neighbours would make of him, in particular Mrs. Ridley-Boynton, who she knew would at this moment be peeking around her kitchen curtain just across the road, avidly studying Alastor Moody's travel-stained cloak that reached down to his muddy boots, and the unkempt tangled hair that hung to his shoulders.  
  
"Morning, Laura," he said gruffly. "Can I come in?"  
  
"Of course," she said, standing aside to let him by.  
  
Receiving a refusal when she offered to take his cloak from him, she led Moody through into the kitchen. Lance, who had just finished his first slice of toast, got to his feet. Laura introduced him.  
  
"My brother Lance. Lance, this is Mr. Moody."  
  
"How do you do, sir," said Lance, shaking the older man's hand. "I've heard a lot about you."  
  
"I'll bet you have. I dare say your sister's told you all about what a queer customer I am," said Moody with a sparkle in his eye.  
  
But Lance was far too polite to agree. Instead he said "Won't you sit down?" rather superfluously, as Moody was already pulling up a chair and lowering himself onto it.  
  
"So, what can we do for you?" Laura asked, returning to her own seat.  
  
"Just a small thing," Moody said. "You, young lady, can come back to the Ministry with me this morning and eat humble pie before our mutual friend, Barty Crouch."  
  
"What?" Laura cried.  
  
"You heard me. You're going back to Auror headquarters and you're going to apologise to our Barty for losing your temper yesterday and tell him you still want your job after all."  
  
"That's out of the question. I resigned yesterday, I can't go back today and say I've changed my mind."  
  
"You can and you will, my girl."  
  
Laura was still staring at him incredulously. It was Lance who spoke next.  
  
"Why?" he asked simply.  
  
Moody looked up at him. The young man, who had remained standing, was studying him closely. The Auror turned his eyes back on Laura before replying in his familiar growl.  
  
"I don't trust Barty Crouch. I'm not saying I believe he's in cahoots with the enemy. I don't. But I don't like his methods. I don't like him. And I know for a fact he doesn't like me. I want someone in Auror headquarters who I can trust, but it's got to be someone who's not so close to Albus Dumbledore as to arouse Crouch's suspicions."  
  
"Professor Dumbledore? What's he got to do with it?" Lance asked.  
  
"Laura knows," Moody said, his eyes still fixed on the young woman's face.  
  
Laura thoughtfully fingered the mug she had been drinking from for a moment. Then her eyes met Moody's.  
  
"You're talking about this society you mentioned the other day, when you told me about Malcolm working undercover," she said slowly. "This Order of the Phoenix, or whatever you said it was called."  
  
"Exactly. Crouch was a member of it once."  
  
"He's not any more?"  
  
"Certainly not," Moody said grimly. "His ideas were not shared by the rest of us, you see. He resented that. And he resents even more knowing that the Order is going on regardless of what he thinks, and several of its members are stationed in Auror headquarters, right under his nose. He found an excuse to give get rid of Malcolm. The rest of us don't intend to make it quite that easy for him, but I'm sure he'll find a way to get us out from under his feet. Not that that will stop us going on with our work, mind. But we need someone on the inside for if and when that happens. We've got to know what Crouch is up to, or we could end up getting in the Aurors' way without meaning to. And after all, we are on the same side, though our methods may be rather different."  
  
"I see," said Laura slowly. "And you want me to be that person 'on the inside'? Well, that's rather flattering in a way, but I don't know that it will work. Mr. Crouch knows that I disapprove of his methods. He also knows that I worked closely with Malcolm. He'll guess that I'm still supporting him, whether he's working for the Aurors or the Order of the Phoenix."  
  
"Yes, he knows that. But he also knows you've always been loyal to the Ministry. What I need you to do is convince him that that loyalty is more important to you than the ties of friendship, and you'll do what he wants you to do."  
  
Laura thought for a moment. Then she nodded. "All right. I'll do whatever you say. I've always respected you and Professor Dumbledore. I'm sure yours is the right way. If you asked me to join this Order of yours, I'd do so at once. But I realise that's not what you need me to do."  
  
"No."  
  
Laura smiled. "I'll do what I can."  
  
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On any weather map, Yorkshire would have been rendered invisibly this morning by large grey shapes intended to represent clouds. Indeed, visibility through the window was practically non existent as the rain outside poured steadily down, beating loud against the panes and on the roof. The noise was so deafening that Peter Pettigrew, standing in front of the mirror in the electrically illuminated bathroom of his home, dampening his fringe with a flannel and pulling a comb through to flatten it, barely heard the doorbell ring. He was surprised when his mother's voice called to him up the stairs.  
  
"Peter! It's for you!"  
  
For him? But who could have come to see him, especially now, so early on a Thursday morning? He returned the comb to its proper drawer in the cabinet and went out into the hall and down the stairs. His mother was waiting by the living room door.  
  
"They're in here," she said, her lips pursed and her whole aspect that of one who would rather 'they' - whoever they were - had chosen to visit any place but her nice, clean, dry living room given the current weather conditions.  
  
"Who is?"  
  
"Sirius Black and Remus Lupin."  
  
Peter's eyes widened. Puzzled, he passed his mother and entered the room. Sure enough, there were his two friends. Sirius - looking particularly roguish today in a manner too conspicuously non-muggle to meet with Mrs. Pettigrew's approval, Peter thought - was sprawling in a low armchair, dressed in sweeping black robes and stroking his rain-sodden black hair out of his grey eyes. He had draped his equally wet cloak over the back of another chair, and Peter winced at the thought of what his mother would say to having her furniture thus abused. Remus, who stood looking out of the back window, had also removed his dripping wet cloak, and folded it over his arm.  
  
"Hello," said Peter. "What are you two doing here? And where's James?"  
  
"James is at my place," Remus told him. "Old Mrs. Hammersmith died last night, so he and Bridget are staying with Mum today."  
  
"And we're here," Sirius continued, passing quickly from the uncomfortable subject of his best friend's grief to the matter at hand, "to act as your bodyguards."  
  
"My what?"  
  
"He means we've come to make sure no one tries to do anything unpleasant to you this morning," Remus said.  
  
"Why would anyone want to?"  
  
"Because the Death Eaters that paid a little visit to the Ministry might take it into their evil heads to give you a dose of the same medicine they dealt out to old Legis yesterday, and Moony and I decided we're not too keen on letting them do so."  
  
Peter looked startled. "I s-still don't understand. Why would they want to - to come after me?"  
  
"You were a witness, Peter," Remus explained. "You saw it all happen. The Aurors will want to question you about everything this morning. And you may have seen some things the Death Eaters don't want the Aurors to know."  
  
"But I've already spoken to the Aurors. I told them all I know when they asked me yesterday."  
  
Remus shook his head. "You think you did. But you see, it was all still very fresh in your mind then, and while that may be good in some cases, it can also mean you forget to mention certain things due to the influence of shock. Once you've had time to sleep on it, you might remember more, things that perhaps seemed irrelevant to you before, that may have slipped your mind. Therefore, they will want to go over it all again, clear up certain points that may have been confused yesterday, see if there's anything else you remember ... It's perfectly routine procedure. We've already had an Auror round this morning, asking Mum a few extra questions."  
  
"In your case, they know you'll be at the Ministry today anyway, so they'll just talk to you there. And we're here to make sure you get there in one piece," Sirius finished.  
  
Peter sank into a chair. "B-but I honestly don't know anything more than what I've already told them. If the Death Eaters really didn't want me to talk to the Aurors, wouldn't - wouldn't they have killed me yesterday?"  
  
Sirius coughed. Remus said gently,  
  
"From what Alastor Moody told us earlier, they obviously tried to. If it hadn't been for Laura Lovegood ..."  
  
Very pale, Peter nodded.  
  
"Yes. You're right. She s-saved my life."  
  
"Did you recognise the Death Eater who tried to kill you? Or any of the others?" Sirius asked eagerly.  
  
Peter screwed up his eyes in concentration, thinking hard. Then he shook his head.  
  
"It's all just a blur. I barely remember anything at all of what happened. I remember the French lady telling me to go and get help, and I remember doing so. One of the Death Eaters chased after me. I don't remember anything about him, though."  
  
"But you do remember it was a man?" Sirius interrupted.  
  
"Yes. Yes, I-I'm quite sure it was."  
  
"Were they all men?" Remus asked.  
  
"No." Peter looked up, a startled look on his face. "Why did I say that?" he wondered out loud. "I - I didn't hear their voices properly, and I don't even remember how many there were. I certainly don't remember seeing their faces. That is ..." Again he screwed up his eyes. "I - I didn't see them then. But ..."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Earlier in the day, in the Atrium, I saw ..." He flushed. "I saw Polly."  
  
Sirius whistled. "I see. Was there anyone with her?"  
  
"Oh yes, she arrived with a group."  
  
"Then you must have seen all of their faces after all!" Remus exclaimed.  
  
Peter stared at him. "Y-yes. Yes, I suppose I must have done."  
  
"So it's possible you could identify them all," Sirius pointed out.  
  
"I don't know about that. I didn't look that closely. I was talking to Gloria at the time and I didn't really want her to notice I'd noticed these people, you see, because she might have asked how I knew them and ..."  
  
"Gloria?" Remus interrupted sharply.  
  
"Gloria Boom. She was the girl w-who got my first job after they chucked me out," Peter said, blushing. "She's ..."  
  
"Yes, yes, I know," said Remus with sudden impatience. "The point is: did the Death Eaters notice her?"  
  
"If so, they'll be eager to stop her talking to the Aurors if they can," Sirius said quickly, even as Peter was still trying to puzzle out where his friends' sudden urgency sprang from. He rose and quickly pulled on his cloak, dripping rainwater all over a brand new Persian rug as he did so. "Come on you two, I suggest we avoid wasting any more time and get to the Ministry at once. Then we can find out where this Gloria lives and have her picked up safely."  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------  
  
2 - A Change of Positions  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------  
  
Auror headquarters was in an excited flurry. The place looked very different from the way it had done the previous day. For one thing, it was no longer deserted, but full of people. For another, all those people were talking animatedly, some loudly, some in more hushed voices. One of the first group was Bert the cleaner in his purple overalls. He had his hands clasped over the top of his broom handle and was leaning his weight on it, the chores awaiting him forgotten while he argued with a tall, eager-faced young Auror beside him.  
  
"I've said it once, I'll say it again," Bert was proclaiming. "It ain't right, it's not. 'is motives may be all fair an' square or they may not. I wouldn't know about that. But I say it don't make no difference. The Unforgivable Curses is called that for a reason, and that's because there's no excuse for using 'em, no matter what the circumstances."  
  
"I disagree," said the young Auror. "Desperate times require desperate measures. We don't stand an earthly against the Death Eaters unless we're allowed to fight them with their own weapons."  
  
"There's weapons other 'n those what's used by Dark wizards. Weapons that'll 'urt 'em all the 'arder for not knowing nothin' about 'em. Can't understand things like faithfulness and the determination not to give away your friends no matter what you're offered. That can be a weapon, too. Not givin' in to 'em. And that's what this decree's doing, it is," Bert added sagely, pointing a gnarled finger at the notice pinned to the wall.  
  
Frank, standing silently reading the notice with Damian, caught Gideon Prewett's eye. The latter jerked his head over to a corner and began to move that way. Frank and Damian followed suit. They were joined by Oliver McKinnon, Benjy Fenwick and the girls from their Auror training group.  
  
"What do you make of that news then?" Oliver asked in a subdued voice.  
  
"I think it's terrible," said Florence Fortescue. "Old Bert's right, this is no way to fight the Dark Arts."  
  
Gideon shook his head, frowning. "Crouch has been aiming for this all along. Right from the beginning he's wanted to 'fight them with their own weapons', like that man put it."  
  
"But we can't fight the Dark Arts with Dark spells," Florence insisted.  
  
"If we did we'd be just as bad as the Death Eaters," Damian agreed.  
  
"I don't know about that," Benjy mused. "As long as one was only using the Curses in self-defence ..."  
  
"It won't be only in self-defence though, will it?" Frank said. "Granted, that might be the intention in some people's minds. But like Gideon said, Crouch has been planning this all along."  
  
Oliver nodded. "He'd probably call it a precautionary measure. I say it's inviting Aurors to shoot first and ask questions later."  
  
"Shoot?" Damian queried.  
  
"It's something muggles do with things called guns."  
  
"Guns?"  
  
"They're ..."  
  
But Oliver's explanation of what a gun is was cut short by a "Shhh" behind his left shoulder. The group all stared at the person the sound had originated from. They all knew Dorcas Meadowes by sight, but though she was known to be one of the best Aurors in the Ministry's employ, she kept herself to herself most of the time, and only those in the group who had attended meetings of the Order at which she had decided to make one of her rare appearances had ever heard her speak before.  
  
"There's a time for discussing these things and a time for holding your tongue," the elderly witch warned them. "This is one of the latter. Wait for Alastor. He went to see Dumbledore yesterday. He'll tell you what to do."  
  
She nodded curtly at them all and withdrew again. They exchanged glances, shoulders were shrugged, and their attention was drawn to the bulk of the murmuring crowd, whose volume had lowered while the rapidity of its speech increased as it drew apart to let Bartemius Crouch himself pass.  
  
He stopped in front of the notice and drew himself up importantly. Motioning for silence, he cleared his throat and began to speak.  
  
"My dear friends and colleagues. Good morning. I take it you have all read the decree pinned to the wall behind me. No doubt many of you are wondering whether I am quite in my right mind in authorising you all to use the Unforgivable Curses in the fight against the Death Eaters. Believe me, it is a decision I did not make lightly. But I assure you that I am honestly of the opinion that this is a necessary measure. We live in times where, unfortunately, the Dark Arts are gaining the upper hand. So far, we have been too soft with those who we know or suspect are in league with He-Who- Must-Not-Be-Named. We have allowed them to thrive and gain both power and confidence. The fact that they were able to walk in here unchallenged, kill one of the Ministry's most prominent figures and walk out again without so much as one arrest being made proves that ..."  
  
"That was only because we had orders not to stop them!" one voice protested.  
  
Clearly annoyed at the interruption, Crouch scowled at the speaker.  
  
"Those orders did not come from me," he said coldly.  
  
"No," said a growling voice from the back of the crowd. Heads were turned. "They came from me," said Alastor Moody. "And I'd like to take this opportunity to thank everyone here present for carrying them out so faithfully. If serious action had been taken against that group of Death Eaters, the results, as I explained to you yesterday evening, Barty, could have been disastrous."  
  
"I can't help it if the policies of this Ministry upset the plans of some reckless vigilante," Crouch retorted. "And from now on I shall expect you, Mr. Moody ..." - he laid a great emphasis on the formal address - "... and everyone here to carry out my instructions without question. This morning's decree authorises and requires all of you to use any of the Unforgivable Curses wherever necessary to help you apprehend Death Eaters or suspected supporters of the Dark Lord. I intend to come down hard on those who practise the Dark Arts," he added with vigour, "on those who have terrorised, tormented and killed so many innocent people and will continue to do so in the future if we do not take action now and prevent their influence from expanding any further, before it's too late. That's all. Now get to work."  
  
The crowd dispersed. Laura, who had entered headquarters just behind Moody, making sure not to appear too obviously to have come in with him, made her way towards Bartemius Crouch.  
  
"Sir?" she began.  
  
Crouch turned to face her, clearly surprised to see her there.  
  
"Miss Lovegood. What brings you here? I thought you said yesterday that you were done with the Ministry. Weren't your words something like 'I refuse to go on working for a damned egotistical megalomaniac like you'? I'm sure I remember you accused me of being just as bad as ..."  
  
"... as the Death Eaters, in your own way. Yes, sir, I remember what I said," Laura admitted, making sure to look as embarrassed as possible. "I'm afraid I was rather over-excited yesterday evening. The tragedy, an innocent person's life at stake ... I confess I thought you were being rather ruthless. It seemed to me at the time that you were putting the woman's life on the line unnecessarily. I couldn't think clearly, I'm afraid, owing to the fact that the person in question was Malcolm's sister."  
  
Crouch gave a snort. "I don't see what that has to do with it."  
  
"Oh, everything," Laura assured him. "I was unable to think rationally at the time because of her connection to Malcolm and my friendship for him. I knew he'd never forgive us if anything happened to her, and my concern over that clouded my judgement, I fear. I've had time to think it over since, and I realise now that you were right, of course. Those Death Eaters had killed a man, and if they were allowed to escape, they might kill many more. One person's life against many. Naturally, there was only one decision you could make."  
  
"It didn't do me much good though, did it?" Crouch hissed viciously. "They got away anyway. And in the end it was Lupin himself who took the greatest risk with his wife's life. Two words, and that Death Eater could have killed her before he hit the ground."  
  
Laura was not about to put him right on this. She did not know just how much Crouch knew about Malcolm's 'vigilante' part in the previous day's happenings. She therefore remained silent and waited for Crouch to speak again, which eventually he did.  
  
"So, what is it you want?"  
  
"I want my job back, sir."  
  
"And you expect me to believe that you'll support me from now on?"  
  
"Oh, I will. Don't worry, I've learnt my lesson. I shan't allow personal feeling to prevent me from doing my duty again."  
  
Bartemius Crouch was frowning, but at last he nodded.  
  
"Very well. But you'll understand that I shall be keeping you in the office for a while before I can trust you to carry out my orders off premises again."  
  
"Naturally. Thank you, sir."  
  
"Hm." Crouch paused. Sirius and Remus had just arrived, Peter walking hesitantly along between them. "There's a job for you. You can question that youngster and find out what he really knows. I can't believe he took part in the council proceedings all that time and has nothing to tell us. He didn't even seem to know who was in the room when the trouble began. I'd like to question him myself, but I have a feeling that would only intimidate him into silence. You get what you can out of him."  
  
"I will."  
  
Laura waited for Crouch to leave before moving towards the trio.  
  
"Good morning," she said.  
  
"Hello, Laura. So you're back," Sirius remarked.  
  
"Yes," she said curtly.  
  
"I'm surprised. I thought ..."  
  
"Never mind that now. Peter, will you come with me? Mr. Crouch wants me to ask you a few more questions about yesterday."  
  
"Y-you?"  
  
"Yes. Do you mind?"  
  
"On the contrary."  
  
Peter looked relieved. Laura smiled.  
  
"Come along, then."  
  
"I'd better sort out this Gloria business," Sirius said.  
  
Remus nodded. "And I've got to be getting to work."  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------  
  
While Mrs. Pettigrew was pointing her wand tip severely at the soggy watermarks on her usually so spotless furniture, James was standing by the kitchen window at the Lupins', his fingers picking absent-mindedly at a crack in the old wooden cabinet in front of him. The rain was running down the glass in a torrent, and large puddles had long formed out on the lawn. There was no sign of squirrels or rabbits today, only the odd bird ducking into shelter under the leaves of an evergreen bush, its sharp little claws digging into the sodden brown soil.  
  
"Let's hope we have better weather than this on Halloween," Faith said brightly, coming into the room.  
  
"Yes," agreed James mechanically, sounding as though he didn't really care.  
  
"We'll be needing a lot of cakes and drinks, I expect. I was thinking of digging out an old recipe for a pumpkin punch that John's grandmother used to make on these occasions when we were young."  
  
"Uh-huh."  
  
"From what Remus has been saying, I gather it's not exactly going to be a small party. He said Sirius seems quite determined to make a big thing of it, and can hardly be stopped from inviting the entire wizarding community," she finished, stopping beside him.  
  
James gave her the smallest of smiles. Faith sighed.  
  
"What a gloomy day it is."  
  
Looking back out the window, James shrugged in a manner that made it clear the day was no gloomier than his mood. Studying him for a moment, Faith said,  
  
"Look, I know you've taken the day off to be with your mother. Mrs. Hammersmith's death has hit her hard, poor dear. But it's hit you hard too, and if you don't mind my giving you some advice, I personally think you'd be getting over it more easily if you weren't sitting around here all day watching the rain pour down."  
  
"There's not much else for me to do. I don't really feel up to working, and I don't want to leave Mum. She needs help to get over this."  
  
"But you need to get over it yourself, James. I know you feel you've got to be strong, for her sake, but you have to let it out, or you won't be any help to her at all. One mustn't let this kind of thing eat away at one. What you need to do is find someone to talk to, to help you before you can help her."  
  
"Who?"  
  
Faith smiled. "I'm sure you can think of someone."  
  
"Maybe you're right," James said slowly. "I do feel like I want to get out for a bit. Still, it hardly seems fair to run off and leave you to ..."  
  
Faith interrupted him. "I don't mind, really. You go on out. Take as much time as you need. I'll take care of your mother."  
  
"Thanks," he said, turning to her gratefully. "I really appreciate it."  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------  
  
Remus turned in at the black door of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. He walked past the closed doors of various offices as usual, noticing that Mr. Westmore, the head of department, seemed to be having a somewhat heated argument with someone, for his excessively precise voice resounded loudly from behind the only half-closed door of his office. Then he suddenly stopped when he heard the second voice involved in the discussion.  
  
"Don't give me that!" his father cried. "You don't really believe all that nonsense. The Ban on Experimental Breeding exists for a reason, and no attack by Death Eaters, no matter how bad, gives us cause to allow unqualified members of the magical community to create new species without proper control ..."  
  
"They will be properly supervised. The breeding will not take place in people's homes, John, but here, on Ministry premises."  
  
"Here?! You must be out of your mind! Don't you realise how dangerous that could be? What if something goes wrong? What if one of these - these things you create escapes?"  
  
"I can assure you there will be no danger whatsoever - to the staff of other departments, at least. Nor to those directly involved in the experiments, if all precautionary measures are taken as they should be. The supervision will be very strict."  
  
John made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a snort. It was then that Mr. Westmore, turning his crooked nose and quivering moustache towards the door, spotted Remus standing in the hallway.  
  
"Here's your boy now," he pointed out.  
  
John pulled the door right open and looked first at Remus, then back at the head of the department. His shoulders appeared to sag.  
  
"All right then," he said, lowering his voice a little. "Just give us a minute, will you?"  
  
Mr. Westmore looked hesitant at first, then he nodded. John came out into the hall, closing the door behind him. He put a hand on Remus's shoulder and led him further down the corridor.  
  
"What was all that about, Dad?"  
  
John checked to make sure they were alone.  
  
"Those fools," he began in a low voice, "have decided that yesterday's attack calls for extreme measures to 'increase the safety level' around here."  
  
"What sort of extreme measures?"  
  
John sighed heavily. "They're going to slacken the Ban on Experimental Breeding."  
  
"Slacken? To what extent?"  
  
"They're going to start trying to create new kinds of beings as guards for the Ministry and other vital locations."  
  
"How are they going to do that?"  
  
"By trapping all kinds of Dark creatures, dissecting them, using their blood, venom and goodness knows what else for experiments, cross-breeding and basically just seeing what comes of it, ..."  
  
"But ... that sounds more like they're creating an additional army of Dark beings to serve Voldemort than something that will protect us. Creatures like that are just what he and his Death Eaters would welcome."  
  
John nodded repeatedly. "I know, I know."  
  
"Did this order really come from forces within the Ministry who want to see the Dark Arts stopped, or is he behind it?"  
  
"I don't know. That's just what worries me. That, and one other thing."  
  
"What, Dad?"  
  
Remus looked deep into his father's blue eyes. They looked tired. In fact, his whole bearing was that of a man who was totally exhausted and didn't know which way to turn. Remus suddenly felt infinitely sorry for him. Here he was, a man who had never wanted anything more than to leave in peace with his little family, who enjoyed picnics and broom rides and long walks in the countryside, caught up in the politics of the Ministry, the ever- growing threat of a rule of terror, of seeing the life he loved vanish completely, his family torn apart.  
  
"Dad?" he repeated gently.  
  
John shook himself and straightened up a little. "Mr. Westmore feels that the job you're currently doing could be carried out by someone much less qualified than you are."  
  
"Qualified? But I'm not qualified for anything. I've hardly even been getting around to any studying for ages, even though Professor McGonagall told me about that Dark Arts exam in Oxford next June ..."  
  
"It's just a pretext, Remus," his father broke in. "A pretext for ... moving you."  
  
"Moving? What do you mean? Is Westmore going to fire ..."  
  
"No," said John quickly. "No, he isn't going to fire you. He feels that with your excellent background in Defence Against the Dark Arts, which Professor Darkhardt attested to before his death, you are ideally qualified for a new position."  
  
Remus felt a glum foreboding at the sight of his father's anxious face.  
  
"What kind of new position?" he asked slowly. "Somewhere in this new 'laboratory' or whatever it is they're creating?"  
  
John nodded. Remus stared at him, then he began to shake his head.  
  
"I'm not doing it."  
  
"Remus ..."  
  
"No, Dad!" John took a step back, startled by his son's vehemence. "This is wrong. No one has the right to try and create new beings that nature never intended, and especially not beings full of Dark magic. It's madness. It's completely unethical, it's exceptionally dangerous, and it's cruel. What are they going to do when they have created one of these things? When they find it's something beyond their control, something monstrous and yet still a living being? Kill it? What if they can't?"  
  
"That's just it, Remus. These are the risks behind it all, risks that no one besides you can see. Because you do see them, Mr. Westmore is right: You are ideally suited to quietly keep an eye on things down there. I'm not saying you'll be able to do anything to prevent a disaster, but you might just make a difference."  
  
"So you're saying you want me to do this?" Remus asked very quietly.  
  
"My god, no! This is dangerous, very dangerous, especially for anyone closely involved. If something goes wrong ... I don't want you anywhere near there."  
  
"But you think it's necessary."  
  
"I don't know. I wish we could stop them from conducting these experiments altogether, but since there's no chance of that, I think perhaps there ought to be one person there, at least, with a sense of responsibility. I think that was Mr. Westmore's idea in deciding to reassign you there. He's defending the Ministry's decision in front of the rest of us, but I don't think he's really happy with it. He knows you'll keep an eye on things - not too openly, not with any obvious authority, but you'll raise the alarm if you think it's getting out of hand."  
  
Remus sighed. "All right. Fine. I'll do it. I just hope that we won't find we're playing right into Voldemort's hands."  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------  
  
"D'you reckon this is it?" Gideon asked a little doubtfully, looking up and down a suburban, completely muggle-looking street in the pouring rain.  
  
Dorcas Meadowes checked the address on the wet sheet of note paper in her hand against the road name beside her.  
  
"So it would seem."  
  
"Okay, let's get closer then," said Oliver.  
  
The little group cautiously moved a little nearer to the house inhabited by Miss Gloria Boom. The heavy rain ensured that the street was deserted.  
  
"So, what do you reckon?" Oliver asked Gideon, plunging without prelude back into a conversation they had been having earlier, while Dorcas Meadowes surveyed the lay of the land. "Do I ask her now, or wait?"  
  
Gideon frowned at what he thought might be the figure of a man on the opposite corner, until he discovered it was only the shadow of a tree.  
  
"Ask who what?"  
  
"Ask Marlene to marry me, of course."  
  
Madam Meadowes motioned them both to follow her and moved further down the road.  
  
"Looks safe enough," Gideon commented, then added, "Don't you think it's a bit early for that? I mean, she's still at school ..."  
  
"Not for much longer. This is her last year, and her family are thinking of moving abroad once she leaves school."  
  
"Nothing here," said Madam Meadowes, peering down a side street.  
  
"Why abroad? What's wrong with good old England?" As he stepped in a muddy puddle, Gideon added, "Apart from the weather?"  
  
"Death Eaters, for one thing. Her folks seem to think they can get away from danger abroad."  
  
"In that case, won't they expect you to let Marlene go with them to where they believe it's safer?"  
  
"But it's not safer! She'd be much safer here with me, where I can protect her."  
  
Gideon grinned suddenly. "You have got it badly, haven't you? Well, if you're that serious about her ..."  
  
He was interrupted suddenly by a totally unexpected and very loud bang. An enormous flash of green light erupted from the back of the very house they had been heading towards.  
  
"Damn!" cried Oliver. "We're too late!"  
  
The three of them set off at a run, Madam Meadowes exhibiting a surprising speed for her age, making straight for the place where they had seen the light. There was a gaping hole in the back wall of the house, from which issued a screen of smoke. Covering their mouths with the sleeves of their robes, they went in. At first all was silent, but then they heard someone cough.  
  
"Hello?!" Gideon called, moving towards the spot where he could see something moving.  
  
"Lumos," murmured Oliver, and the light of his wand fell on the source of the coughing. "Are you Gloria Boom?" he asked the dishevelled-looking girl, whose prominent eyes blinked white in her currently soot-blackened face.  
  
"That's me," she confirmed cheerfully amid her coughs. "Who are you, though?"  
  
"This is Madam Meadowes. I'm Gideon Prewett, this is Oliver McKinnon," Gideon told her. "We're Aurors."  
  
"Aurors? How exciting. What are Aurors doing in my kitchen?"  
  
"You call this a kitchen?" Oliver queried, looking at the debris lying all around them.  
  
"Most of the time. Sometimes, like now, I call it a mess."  
  
Gideon laughed. "No arguments there. What happened?"  
  
"I was just experimenting with ... something. It didn't work. It huffed and it puffed and it blew my kitchen wall down."  
  
"No sign of any Death Eaters then?"  
  
"Death Eaters? No. What would they want with me?"  
  
Gideon was about to explain when Madam Meadowes put her finger to her lips and nodded towards the garden.  
  
"We'll explain later," said Oliver, positioning himself between Gloria and the dark figures moving towards them through the back garden.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------  
  
Laura Lovegood was shaking her head at the sheet of parchment in front of her. It was virtually empty.  
  
"I don't believe this," she said, sounding confused. "You say you turned up early for work yesterday. You spent the entire morning in Mr. Legis's office. You were there throughout the hearing, but you claim you don't properly remember who was in the room. The Delacours and Miss Dulac have said that you and Mr. Legis were not the only Ministry representatives in the room, but they don't know the name of the other man who was there. Are you sure you have no idea ...?"  
  
"I can't remember," Peter repeated plaintively. "You have my notes, don't you? I was taking notes all the time."  
  
"They've vanished mysteriously. As has your memory, it seems. Do you know if anyone had the chance to modify your memory at any time?"  
  
Peter shrugged. "I can't ..."  
  
"You can't remember," Laura broke in. "I know." She sighed. "Well, Peter, let's hope that they get to Miss Boom in time and that she can tell us more. Basically, all I've got so far is that you remember seeing your sister in the Atrium. That's not much to go on."  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
Laura smiled. "It's not your fault, Peter. Perhaps, if you wouldn't mind, we could get a legilimens to check if your memory has been ... Come in?" she said, as there was a loud knock on the door.  
  
The square chin, piercing eyes and toothbrush moustache of Mr. Mulciber appeared in the doorway.  
  
"I'm sorry to disturb you, Miss Lovegood," he said, not sounding sorry at all. "I was looking for Mr. Pettigrew."  
  
"Me?" Peter asked, surprised.  
  
"Yes. Yesterday's tragedy is regrettable, but the work must still be done. I have been assigned to Mr. Legis's position, and I need your help, Pettigrew, to get myself settled in. That is," he added to Laura, "if you have quite finished with him."  
  
Laura hesitated. She was watching Mulciber closely. There was something about his manner that she did not like one bit. Nevertheless, she finally shook her head.  
  
"No. He doesn't seem to be able to help us. He remembers nothing."  
  
Was it her imagination, or did Mulciber smile, just for a second? Peter rose and said goodbye. As the door closed behind him and Mulciber, Laura remained staring at it for a long time.  
  
I wonder, she thought. They say Mulciber's ambitious, and he likes to be in control of things. What if it was him?  
  
It was a thought that appealed to her as being plausible. But would they ever be able to prove it? Perhaps, if she could get the Delacours or Miss Dulac to identify a picture of Mulciber as the man who had been at the hearing ...  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------  
  
3 - Friends in Need  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------  
  
Lily stroked her red hair behind her ear and turned a page of the register that lay open in front of her. Her brow creased in a frown. Picking up the register, she went with it to the communicating door into the next room and knocked.  
  
"Come in."  
  
Lily entered the office of Mr. Rookwood. It was a singularly impersonal room. There was not a single photograph in sight, nor a spot of colour. All the cupboards around the walls were closed and locked, and the only indication that anyone worked here at all lay in the many books and sheets of parchment that were spread out on the heavy ebony desk.  
  
"Miss Evans, what can I do for you?" he enquired, turning a bored-looking face towards her.  
  
"I've been looking through this register of houses we're meant to be putting extra protection charms on and I think there must have been a mistake made," Lily said without preamble. "Several names have been crossed off the list that we drew up last week."  
  
"That would be because these people cannot afford to have these charms installed."  
  
Lily gaped at him. "But ... We're not some profit-making company. This is the Ministry of Magic. We're supposed to make things safer for the magical community and the muggles, and not ask to be paid for it."  
  
"Nevertheless, the Ministry has expenses that need to be covered and can hardly be expected to place powerful protection charms on private houses free of charge."  
  
"These people need that protection, though. Some of them live miles away from anywhere."  
  
"At their own risk - yes."  
  
"They can hardly be expected to abandon their homes because the Ministry is too mean to help them. Sir, this isn't fair ..."  
  
"What is not fair," said Rookwood sharply, "is that we here at the Department of Mysteries should be troubled with something so trivial as home security. We have far more important things to attend to."  
  
"More important?" Lily cried. "What could be more important than keeping people safe?"  
  
Rookwood was about to reply in a manner that would no doubt have disagreed with her ideals yet again when a minute owl fluttered in through the door and dropped a memo right on top of Lily's head. It fell to the floor and she bent to pick it up. Unfolding it, she recognised the handwriting at once. She read what it said quickly, and the words drove all other worries from her mind for the present.  
  
"Sir," she said, "would it be all right if I took my break a bit earlier today? I'll work through lunch time if you like, but it really would be ever so kind if I could have an hour now."  
  
Algernon Rookwook eyed her curiously, but nodded, apparently quite happy to get her out of his way.  
  
"Thank you." Closing the register in her hand, Lily left the room. She simply dropped the register on her desk, took her cloak off the hook and hurried out of the Department of Mysteries and along the corridor to the lift.  
  
"Come on, come on," she hissed at the grilles.  
  
After what felt like an age, they slid aside and let her in. The lift travelled up a floor. As soon as it reached the Atrium and the grilles had opened wide enough, Lily surged through them, her eyes alertly searching the assembled crowds for ...  
  
"James!"  
  
He took his hands out of his pockets and turned to face her as she rushed towards him. Lily reached him quickly, and her eyes were anxious as she looked up into his face. He looked pale and upset. The memo had already told her the reason. She stroked his cheek.  
  
"James, I'm so sorry," she said, and sounded it.  
  
He opened his mouth, could think of nothing to say, and shut it again. Lily put her arms around him, and that at last seemed to be the trigger he had needed. Right there, in the middle of the Atrium, he felt the tears start into his eyes. He held her closely, hiding his face in her long hair so no one would see. Lily stroked his back and whispered gently,  
  
"I've asked to take my break now. Come, let's get out of here."  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------  
  
It was quite late by the time Bridget managed to force herself to get dressed and go downstairs. She tucked her damp handkerchief in the sleeve of the dress Faith had leant her. It was lucky, she reflected, that they took almost exactly the same size. It didn't notice that this dress what not her own. The hallway of the little cottage was even more dimly lit than usual owing to the gloomy weather, which meant that there was no sunshine to pour in today.  
  
Bridget descended slowly, listening to the muffled murmur of the wireless behind the closed kitchen door and the steady patter of the rain. There was a smell of freshly baked cake, she noticed. Mingled with the scent of old wood that was ever-present here, it made her feel warm and comforted. Her foot touched the creaking step. She wondered whether John had ever considered repairing it, or whether the Lupins had at some time decided that they rather liked it that way. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs, debating what to do. Should she join Faith in the kitchen, or go and sit in the living room by herself? She could hardly go outdoors. Her eyes swept the gloomy hall, and not surprisingly came to rest on the collection of photographs in old, slightly chipped frames on the wall just beside the coat rack.  
  
Bridget walked over to them, realising that though she had always been aware of their presence, she had never actually bothered to look at them more closely. There was a moving photograph of John and Faith's wedding. How young and timid Faith had looked then, and John - how handsome and happy. Then came another magic picture. It showed a grey-haired man with kind, laughing blue eyes bouncing a little boy up and down on his knee. The child looked to be about two years old. Its cheeks were a healthy rose colour and it was laughing merrily.  
  
It filled Bridget with a sudden deep regret when she looked at the next picture, which hung a little lower down and to the right and had clearly been taken with a muggle camera, for it did not move. It showed Remus at the age of maybe five or six. The colour had by then faded from his cheeks and he was a lot thinner. In fact, he looked so ill in this photo that Bridget thought it must have been taken shortly after a full moon. Yet he was smiling happily, squeezed onto a couch between a jolly, round-faced man and a woman whose smile was so startlingly like Malcolm's that she was immediately certain these were his and Faith's parents.  
  
The last picture on this wall was a group, taken a little more recently, some time in late summer judging by the dazzling sun and the vivid violet and yellow of the moors in the background. It showed Faith stretched out lazily on a blanket beside Remus and Malcolm, who appeared to be laughing loud while launching himself at his nephew. Remus was laughing too, and holding something out of Malcolm's reach. Bridget smiled. Her eyes fixed on the picture, she stood there for a long time, until the kitchen door opened and Faith emerged.  
  
"Oh, you're up," said Faith, and came over to join Bridget. "What are you looking at? Ah, I see." She laughed. "John took that picture on his birthday. I think it was his fortieth. Yes, it must have been. Remus had only just started growing his grey hairs and we'd all been pretty worried about him. I think that was about the first day we all managed to relax again."  
  
"It looks like a glorious day."  
  
"Yes." Faith looked at the photo fondly and said, "I know it's not really a very good picture. I mean, no one was in pose for this one. But it's always been one of my favourites."  
  
Again, Bridget looked closely at the picture. After a while she said,  
  
"I know what you mean. It's because you were all happy at the time."  
  
"Yes," Faith sighed. "Yes, we were happy. It was Malcolm's doing, you know. He had the idea to go out for a picnic. He thought it would do us good, and he was right. I don't mind telling you, Bridget, that he's frustrated me many times in the past. He used to be quite reckless as a youngster, and you wouldn't believe the trouble he used to get into at Hogwarts! But he could always be relied on to help where he could, and he had a knack for making people happy. I don't know what I would have done without him sometimes."  
  
Bridget felt a lump form in her throat. "I know what you mean. I don't know what I shall do if - if ..."  
  
Her voice trailed away, and Faith quickly took her by the hand.  
  
"I know. But we have to hope for the best, Bridget. Believe me, I don't want to lose him any more than you do. He's my brother, and he means the world to me."  
  
Her voice was quite steady, but thick with emotion. Bridget looked at her. Once more it puzzled her that their roles seemed to have been reversed lately, that Faith was being so strong while she herself had become so weak. Perhaps because she was Malcolm's sister, Bridget felt closer to Faith this moment than she had ever done before, and wanted to cling to her like someone drowning would cling to the low branch of a tree. Yet in the same moment, she understood that such a branch might not be as strong as it appeared to be. She wondered how much strain Faith could take. Enough to hold them both over water?  
  
Bridget inwardly shook herself. She was being foolishly melodramatic. But you're also being selfish, she thought. Yes, she was upset over her friend's death, and it would take her a while to get over it, and yes, she was worried about Malcolm, but Faith's eyes told her that she was not the only one. Dark and honest as her brother's, they were giving Bridget a clear message.  
  
"You're right," Bridget said at length. "We can only hope ... together. I - I'm glad to have you as a friend."  
  
Faith smiled. "And I could not have wished for my brother to find anyone better. I'll tell you what: If you like old photographs, I've got boxes full of them upstairs. All the pictures my parents took of us when we were children, and plenty of more recent ones too. There must be a whole shoe carton of pictures of Malcolm and Remus climbing trees. Would you like to see some of them?"  
  
"I'd love to."  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------  
  
By the time Lily said she was very sorry, but it was really time for her to be getting back to work, James was feeling a little better. How comforting it was, he thought, to be able to talk to someone about how he felt. Faith had been right. He had needed this break. He supposed now he had better go back to the Lupins', but somehow he still didn't feel quite ready. He wanted more time. He wondered if it would be expecting too much of Faith if he stayed away just a little longer. Then again, she had told him to take as much time as he needed. James checked his watch. It was still early in the day. He decided he would go and visit his grandfather.  
  
At Gryffindor Hall, an old gramophone was loudly engaged in filling the halls with the notes of such classics as Mozart and Beethoven as it floated along in mid-air, following the old house elf Cronky wherever he went. Behind it followed an army of mops and dusters, jumping, swirling and racing along the floors and shelves in time with the music, performing the most astounding antics as they cleaned and polished every inch of the house. When James stepped into the downstairs hall, therefore, he was at once greeted by an extremely old feather duster that endeavoured to dust first his shoes, then his head, and finally the tip of his nose. James sneezed. At once, as though frozen by the sound, Cronky, his dusters and broomsticks and the gramophone all stopped. The old house elf twirled the tufts of white hair that grew from his ears around his fingers, turned around without seeming to move his feet, and blinked up at James.  
  
"Ah, it is you, young master," he said, bowing very low.  
  
His army of cleaning equipment followed suit. A particularly large floor cloth even twisted itself into an almost human shape and performed an elegant curtsey, so that James, despite his grief, was forced to laugh.  
  
"Hello, Cronky," he said. "You look hard at it."  
  
"We house elves is always hard at it," Cronky replied, straightening up with an effort and leaning against the very same feather duster that had previously incited James to sneeze.  
  
James looked around him. At this moment, at least, none of the house elves of Gryffindor Hall could be said to be "hard at it", unless "it" were referring to staring with excessive curiosity at the young man in the downstairs hall. For in all the open doorways and between the rungs of the gallery above, James could see pairs of huge round eyes watching him. Strange, he thought, how his visits always caused such wonder to these house elves, even though they had hardly been infrequent of late.  
  
"Is there anything the young master wants, Cronky wonders?"  
  
James had to stop himself from patting the frail old creature on its wrinkled head.  
  
"I'm not your master, Cronky. It's your master I've come to see."  
  
"You is Cronky's young master, sir. The master - the old master - is telling Cronky so. He is telling all the other house elves so too, sir. He is telling us all that we must do whatever the young master wishes, sir, whenever you wishes."  
  
Resisting the urge to reply "I wishes you would stop calling me 'master' and 'sir' all the time", James said,  
  
"Well, that's nice. So - where is my grandfather?"  
  
Cronky turned his head to look at the house elf peeking round the drawing room door. The latter looked around at the house elf nearest the bottom of the stairs, who looked at one further up, who looked at one at the end of the gallery nearest the stairs, and so on ...  
  
"Thanks," said James, and following the direction indicated by the house elves' stares, made his way along the passage to what Cronky would have referred to as the mistress's chamber.  
  
He knocked and went in when his grandfather called, while the music picked up once more behind him. To his surprise, the chair before the Mirror of Erised was empty today, and the mirror itself was hung with a long cloth of red velvet. Gordon was on the balcony, sheltered from the rain by a small ledge overhead. He turned and came into the room.  
  
"James! What brings you here? Is everything quite all right?"  
  
"To tell you the truth - no. You remember my telling you about the old lady we used to live with?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Well, last night, she ... died."  
  
"Ah. I'm sorry, my boy," Gordon said sincerely.  
  
James sighed. "I was fond of her. She was ... well, don't be offended, but in a way she was like a grandmother to me."  
  
"I can imagine you must have felt that way. It's only natural. It doesn't offend me, James. Nor would it have offended your grandmother."  
  
James looked around him. The room was darker today than that memorable time when he had first seen it, flooded with light, unworldly compared to the rest of this dark, gloomy place. The constant patter of the raindrops outside and the sound of Cronky's music echoing up the stairs formed a melancholy backdrop to a place so long uninhabited, untouched by the passage of years, frozen, as it were, at a moment in time so very long ago, when its mistress had lived here happily. At least, James assumed she had been happy. He looked back at his grandfather to find the old iron-grey eyes watching him patiently. On an impulse, he asked a question it had never occurred to him to ask before.  
  
"What was she like? My grandmother, I mean. Will you tell me about her?"  
  
Gordon continued to look at him for a while, then he walked to the foot of the bed and looked down at its creamy covers. He said slowly,  
  
"I have never been much good at descriptions. I could not describe her appearance, her posture, the clothes she wore. I can only tell you the effect she had on people - that she had on me. When she entered a room, it was full for the first time. Full of peace and understanding. When she spoke, not another voice would interrupt hers. Everyone would listen to her, and only to her. She was, I suppose, not beautiful. But she was enchanting. Men lost their heads over her, but not she over them. She was calm. She was serenity itself. And she was young. Oh, how young she was!"  
  
"You loved her," James said quietly.  
  
"I adored her. She was my world, from the moment I saw her planting daffodils in her parents' garden. But I dared not tell her my feelings. She was, as I say, young. Compared to her, I was an old man. And yet she loved me. She told me so one day, quite simply and quite plainly, and she said that if I cared for her and was willing to marry her, she would consent and come to Gryffindor Hall as my wife. I was so afraid that I would make her unhappy. It was all very well then, while I was not yet middle-aged and completely healthy, but what would happen when I grew older? I did not want her to spend her life nursing a sick old man. She told me that if that was what fate had chosen for her, then so be it, but she could not choose another husband. So we were married. We were happy together. Never more so than when your mother was born." He paused, then went on, "Greta loved your mother more than anything in the world. More than herself, and certainly more than me. But then, when your mother was thirteen, she ... died."  
  
"That must have been awful for you."  
  
"It was. I lost more than my wife that day. I lost a part of myself. And I lost something else that was precious to me. I lost your mother's love. We should have shared our grief, you see, but we didn't. I think your mother wanted to, at first, but I pushed her away from me. And in so doing I left her unprotected against that monster of a man, your father. By the time I discovered what his game was, it was too late. I had lost her trust and her affection. She scorned my warnings and those of her friends, she ran away and married him. It was my fault, you see." The old wizard smiled. "But Bridget was right. If this had not happened, you would never have been born. And therefore, painful as the whole matter is to both of us, we cannot wish it away." He turned his smile to James. "You mean too much to us for that."  
  
"I'm just glad she got away from him," said James. "I wish she could be happy, though."  
  
"Is she so very unhappy?"  
  
"Yes. Desperately so, I think."  
  
"Because of the loss of her friend?"  
  
"No, it's not just that. Mrs. Hammersmith's death is painful for her, but it's not the worst of it."  
  
"What then?"  
  
"She's been alone for a long time," James began. "Oh, I know she's had me and Sirius and Mrs. Hammersmith, but – she needs someone, if you see what I mean."  
  
Gordon nodded slowly. "I know what you mean, and I think I know who you mean." He sighed. "One of my reservations when she married your father was owing to the large age gap between them. It did not occur to me, then, that her mother had married me though I was much older. It would appear," he went on with a note of amusement, "that the women in our family have a particular weakness for older men."  
  
"Malcolm's not as old as my father."  
  
"Not quite, no. But he is a good deal older than your mother, all the same."  
  
"She loves him," James said, thereby saying it out loud for the first time and finding, to his relief, that he was not as jealous as he had feared he might be. "Does anything else matter?"  
  
Gordon looked thoughtful. "Not to her, I agree. I also suspect that nothing else mattered to him before he left. But what he has undertaken to do is dangerous, James. I'm not talking about the kind of danger you probably think I mean, the danger everyone fears – that of being discovered and killed. I am talking about another kind of danger – that of not being discovered, of spending a long time with the Death Eaters and surviving."  
  
"I don't understand," James said, bewildered. "What are you driving at? Are you saying that, the longer he spends with the Death Eaters, the more Malcolm will – well – become like them? Because if you think that ..."  
  
Gordon shook his head. "No, I do not think that. It might affect some men that way, admittedly, but I am quite sure that Mr. Marley is not one of them. What I mean, James, is that to be forced into such close contact with people so cruel, to talk to them daily, to watch them kill and torture and enjoy what they're doing, maybe even to be forced to help them do it, can seriously affect a man. He may return safely, but will he still be the same man he was? He will certainly not find his experiences easy to get over. Before he left, he was optimistic, lively, and till very young at heart, if not in years. When he returns, will he still be the man he was? Will he keep his youth and forget what he has seen, or will it haunt him forever?"  
  
James shuddered. "That would be terrible."  
  
"Indeed it would."  
  
James lapsed into deep and silent thought. His eyes stared unseeingly at the cloth covering the Mirror of Erised.  
  
He said regretfully. "Do you know what I wish. I wish, more than anything, that it would show me the future as it will really be."  
  
"That is impossible."  
  
"I know. I'd only see the future that I want to see, and that would hardly be of any use, would it?"  
  
"What would you see right now?"  
  
"I think I would see everyone – Mum, you, and all my friends – together, just ... happy."  
  
Gordon studied him closely. "Yes, perhaps you would."  
  
James smiled. "You don't sound as sure as the first time when we met here. That time you seemed to know exactly what the mirror was showing me."  
  
"That was a pretty safe guess. You were not preoccupied with other thoughts at the time. Thoughts that, possibly, are more important to you than the desire the mirror reflected then. To know what you would see in the mirror at any given time, I would have to know you better than I do. I would have to know you intimately."  
  
"Hm. I suppose so. Well, I should think you'd see the same as always, wouldn't you?"  
  
"Your grandmother? Perhaps. For many long years I saw her in this mirror, it's true. Now that you and your mother have entered my life, however ... I rarely look into the mirror. And when I do, I am not sure myself what I will see. So you see, it is impossible for you to predict my vision, or everyone else's."  
  
"I wouldn't be so sure about that," James said thoughtfully. "There are some people whose visions I could predict with a great deal of certainty. Mum's, for a start. And my friends'."  
  
"Indeed? I wonder. The Mirror of Erised possesses the power to reveal desires we do not know ourselves. One day, maybe you should bring your friends here and find out how much you really know about them."  
  
"One day, maybe I will."  
  
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4 - Halloween Preparations  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------  
  
It was lunchtime, and as usual the Leaky Cauldron was packed fit to burst. Peter had just finished reciting the mornings' events, from his interview with Laura Lovegood to Mulciber's disgruntled permission to take his lunch break as usual.  
  
"I mean, it wasn't as though there had been that much to do, even. But the way he reacted, you'd have thought the last thing he wanted to do was to let me go and get something to eat."  
  
Remus took a thoughtful sip of his coffee and suggested,  
  
"Maybe he didn't want to let you out of his sight."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"It's rather suspicious, isn't it, the way he came in right on cue to take you away from Laura? Almost as though he didn't want you to reveal anything to the Aurors."  
  
"There's nothing to reveal. My mind's a complete blank."  
  
"Hm. Have you heard whether Gloria was any help, Sirius?"  
  
Sirius, tipping some extra salt onto his chips, said,  
  
"I don't think they got much out of her. A couple of descriptions, but they were pretty vague, Gideon said. He went with Oliver and Madam Meadowes to get her. Apparently she nearly blew herself up before they arrived, then some Death Eaters showed up, but Meadowes is a tough old bean. Not much can crack her. She finished off the Death Eaters practically single-handedly. They're in a holding cell at the Ministry now."  
  
"Gloria nearly blew herself up?" Peter exclaimed.  
  
"Yup. With some experiment or other."  
  
Remus's hand clenched a little tighter on his fork at the mention of the word. Sirius did not notice. He was looking around him. He frowned, thinking for a moment. Then he smiled, looked at Remus and said cheerfully,  
  
"So, how are the preparations for our Halloween party coming on at your place, Moony?"  
  
"Not at all, since last night, I expect. Mum won't be thinking about parties right now, not until Bridget is a little better."  
  
"Suppose not." Sirius skipped the point. "You two got your costumes worked out yet?"  
  
"Costumes?" Peter queried anxiously.  
  
"We decided right from the start we'd make this a fancy dress party," Sirius reminded him.  
  
"You mean you decided and no one objected openly," Remus reminded him.  
  
Sirius grinned. "If you like to put it that way. It makes no odds, really. Well?"  
  
Peter frowned. "I haven't got a clue what I could dress up as. I'm not much good at coming up with ideas, you know that."  
  
Sirius examined him closely, actually leaning across the table to turn his head the other way like an artist studying his model.  
  
"You are a difficult case, Pete. Can't really imagine you as anyone other than who you are. I might be able to picture you as a monk or something. Yes, I could just about see you as Friar Tuck ..."  
  
Peter considered the idea and finally nodded. Remus smiled to himself - until Sirius, after looking covertly around him once more, said,  
  
"And how about you, Remus? Thought about what you'll go as yet?"  
  
"Me? I don't think dressing up is quite my scene, Sirius. I think I'll pass."  
  
"Can't do that!" Sirius insisted. "No backing out. And no 'I think I'll dress up as host', either."  
  
"How did you know ..."  
  
"I know you," Sirius pronounced. "Come on now, think seriously."  
  
"I've no idea."  
  
Once again, Sirius cast his eyes about. He leaned forward conspiratorially, but spoke at normal volume.  
  
"I know, you and Rory could go as a pair. Beauty and the Beast, Remus, how's that for a plan?"  
  
"Very romantic," Peter agreed teasingly.  
  
Remus looked sideways at him.  
  
"Yes, and that's one of many good reasons to say 'no' to that one."  
  
"Oh." Peter was taken aback. "But I thought you two ..."  
  
"Think again, Wormtail," said Sirius, leaning back lazily in his seat and still speaking quite distinctly. He waggled his fork at Remus. "Our Moony here entertains nothing but ordinary friendship for the beautiful Miss Borealis. While anyone else would lap up her attention and sink into her arms, what does our friend here do? He picks a full moon night to stay over at her place. A full moon night, I ask you! Anyone else would have had the sense to pick a night when he could ..."  
  
"Sirius, please," Remus hissed, "keep your voice down."  
  
He looked about him anxiously, uncomfortably aware that Damian, Frank and several of their fellow Aurors-in-training were sitting at a table not too far away. Sirius followed his gaze and seemed satisfied.  
  
"All right, I'll shut up," he said, appearing reluctant. "Fact is, Wormtail, there's no romance to be expected in that quarter. But I still think my Beauty and the Beast idea is a good one. Perhaps if we found you a different girl ..."  
  
"No, Sirius!"  
  
"All right, all right." Sirius sighed. "Something less obvious, then. How about ..." His brow furrowed in thought.  
  
Remus, relieved that the delicate subject of his non existent love life and Sirius's offers of assistance in that respect had apparently been dropped, relaxed. He swallowed a mouthful of potato and said,  
  
"That's it, you think me up something, Padfoot. Just please don't suggest Dr. Jekyll."  
  
"Now there's a thought," said Sirius, laughing.  
  
Frank and Damian walked by, pulling on their cloaks as they went. There was a curious look on Frank's face, slightly dumbfounded and almost guilty. He seemed to hesitate as he passed their table, but walked on when Damian called. Sirius turned his head to watch them leave and gave a satisfied sigh.  
  
"What are you so pleased about?" Peter asked.  
  
"I think my little trick worked."  
  
"Trick?" Remus asked. "What trick?"  
  
Sirius refused to explain, however much they badgered him. All he would do was tap his temple knowingly and say,  
  
"Wait and see." He went on, "So what do you two reckon? Do we pay a little visit to Hogsmeade on Saturday? Can't have a Halloween party without some of Zonko's tricks and Honeydukes' treats, right? James and I saw these absolutely real-looking muffins in Zonko's once that ..."  
  
"No tricks with the food, please, Sirius," Remus begged. "Mum's rather proud of her cakes, she'd hate people to be scared of eating them for fear they might contain swelling solution."  
  
Placing his hand to his heart, Sirius said lightly, "I swear to you, my good Remus, that there shall not be a single drop of swelling solution in your mother's cakes. It would be sacrilege."  
  
Remus and Peter laughed.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------  
  
Saturday came rapidly, and though not all the invited members of the Order and the Auror training class had seemed thrilled at the idea of dressing up, or even been sure they felt like partying at all, by now most of them had grown quite used to the idea and entered into the spirit of the thing with gusto. Bridget, who had taken the past week off following Faith's advice, had been helping her decide what cakes to bake and subsequently bake them, starting with those that would keep longest. John had spent the few hours left between working for the Ministry and working for the Order in teaching his beloved violin to play dance tunes. James, Sirius, Peter and Lily too had spent practically every minute of their spare time at the Lupins', helping to set up a long buffet table outdoors, building a kind of small dance floor in the clearing, excitedly helping to tidy up the house and garden. They had been so busy, in fact, that Faith had remarked on Friday evening that she thought they ought to have Halloween parties every year, since the preparations provided her with so many willing hands to help clean the place up. Lily had not infrequently been seen to disappear into the woods, wand in hand, quite alone. Whenever anyone had attempted to follow her, he or she had been held back immediately by John, who appeared to be the only one whom she had let into her secret.  
  
It was now Saturday lunch time, Halloween was just a couple of days away, and the four Marauders and Lily were sitting at a round table in the Three Broomsticks at Hogsmeade, sipping butterbeer. Sirius was jealously guarding a half-dozen bags of Zonko's tricks and they were surrounded by shopping bags of all sizes, bits of costumes and notes written on parchment.  
  
"Are you sure you've all got everything you need?" Lily was asking. "James, did you get that trident in the end?"  
  
"Yes," James murmured. "Though I still think I'm going to look a perfect fool in that outfit."  
  
"That's the whole point," Sirius laughed. "You're meant to look daft, to make people laugh."  
  
"I notice you got out of being made to wear a toga and sandals yourself," James pointed out. "I'll be freezing."  
  
"No you won't," said Lily. "John and I worked the heating problem out the other day. We're going to have differently-coloured fires all around. They'll be charmed to stop them spreading. I only hope it doesn't rain."  
  
"You and John, eh?" Sirius repeated suspiciously. "Get on like a house on fire, don't you? What else have you two been up to?"  
  
"Not telling," Lily replied shortly.  
  
"At least you won't be the only one looking silly in sandals," Peter reminded James.  
  
"To be honest, Peter, I think you're going to look a lot less silly as a monk than I will as Neptune. You got your costume sorted yet, Moony?"  
  
Remus looked a little embarrassed. "I really don't want ..."  
  
"You're not backing out, Moony," Sirius said firmly. "I've warned you!"  
  
"Yes, yes, I know. I have got ... I've got ... I ..."  
  
"What?"  
  
Everyone's heads turned as Remus's speech slowed until he stopped talking. The door had just opened to let in a group of people. Remus stared for a minute, then abruptly began to speak again, in rather a hurried manner.  
  
"I've got a costume. Mum come across some old dress robes of my father's, and an old shirt of my grandfather's, and she's making me something out of that."  
  
The others were watching him. He was looking from one to the other of them as he talked, keeping his eyes firmly focused on the group at the table and not looking about him. The group that had come in was moving to the counter, fetching drinks and then taking a seat at a table not far from theirs. Peter took a sip of his butterbeer and spilt some down his front. While he muttered something about being clumsy, the others had fallen silent. At the other table, a blonde boy wearing a Ravenclaw scarf was complaining loudly,  
  
"It's like he just doesn't care sometimes. And at others I wish he'd just leave me alone."  
  
"Well," Fabian Prewett replied distractedly. "He's a busy man, Barty. Especially these days, with Death Eaters attacking the Ministry outright and all that."  
  
The girls sitting with them shuddered and one of them spoke, her voice soft and timid,  
  
"That must have been terrible. Is it true what the Prophet said? About all those people being killed?" Heather Woodcock asked.  
  
Fabian made a noise of dissent. "That was rubbish. Only one person was actually killed and no one else was hurt."  
  
"Thank goodness for that," said Heather.  
  
Remus looked around at the others, noticing their eyes on him, and smiled mildly.  
  
"What's in those bags, Sirius?" he asked, pointing to the Zonko's bags in an attempt to get the conversation going again.  
  
"I've told you," Sirius said, "I'm not telling. And that's final."  
  
"Sirius?" Fabian had obviously recognised the voice, for he had turned in his chair and he and his companions were looking straight at them now. "James, Peter, Lily, Remus ... what are you all still doing here? I thought you'd gone straight home."  
  
"We've been buying things," James said, indicating the shopping bags surrounding them.  
  
"Lots of things! Wow, I wish I could come to that party Gideon says you're having!" Fabian exclaimed enviously. Then he seemed to remember that he was not alone and began introducing his friends. "Oh, you all know Gemma, of course ..." - He indicated his fellow seventh-year Gryffindor who smiled broadly at them all, especially Sirius - "David Whitby ..." - He pointed to a younger Hufflepuff boy - "Barty Crouch ..." - This was the blonde boy who had spoken before - "... and Heather Woodcock."  
  
Fabian's ears turned slightly red as he introduced Heather. However, while the others were all busily saying their hellos and the two groups generally seemed to melt into one, the clear blue eyes of Heather Woodcock kept darting covertly in one direction. After a few minutes, Remus looked at his watch.  
  
"Sorry to interrupt you all," he said distinctly, "but I think it's time we were getting back. We've got to get all these bags home yet and finish the preparations."  
  
Lily looked around at him and agreed quickly. "Quite right. There's still lots to do."  
  
"You go on ahead," Sirius said. "I'm going to stay on here for a bit with Fab. How about you, James?"  
  
"Err ..."  
  
"I'll stay," Peter said while James was still hesitating.  
  
"Right, see you later then," Remus said, draining the last of his butterbeer and picking up some of the bags.  
  
Heather spoke up suddenly, her speech coming rapidly.  
  
"Oh, must you really go so soon? Are you sure you won't have just one more drink with us?"  
  
Remus paused then. He looked at her for the first time. Her expression was hopeful. He gave a slow smile.  
  
"No, really," he said. "Thank you."  
  
Then he turned and left rather fast. He walked a little way down the street and then stopped for a moment to take a deep, relieved breath. The sound of soft footsteps behind startled him. He was relieved again to see that it was Lily.  
  
"James is staying on for a bit with Peter and Sirius," she told him.  
  
"You could have stayed too," said Remus. "There's not really all that much left to do, I just ..."  
  
"Wanted to get away? Yes, that was rather obvious. I don't suppose you want to tell me why?"  
  
"I should have thought that was rather obvious too."  
  
"Not really. Admittedly, it's obvious it was Heather Woodcock you wanted to get away from, but I can't see a reason behind that. Fabian may be keen on her, but from the way she looked at you, I doubt he stands much of a chance. And you can't tell me you don't like her. So what's the problem?"  
  
Her statement of fact was so honest and simple, her smile so open that Remus returned it. "Clever, aren't you? You should have been in Ravenclaw."  
  
"I've often thought that about you too, and yet we both ended up in Gryffindor. But that's beside the point. You spent a lot of time with Heather when we were at school, didn't you? You seemed to get on well with her. What went wrong?"  
  
The smile faded from Remus's lips. His face took on a dark expression. "Nothing that I care to talk about."  
  
"Those are usually the things that are most important to get off your chest."  
  
"Sometimes they are things that make people turn their backs on you forever."  
  
Lily opened her mouth to protest, but she was cut short by Remus who, seeing Heather come out of the Three Broomsticks behind her, said that he really must go now and hurried away along the street. Heather was a little short of breath by the time she reached Lily who, instinctively, stood Heather's way to halt her pursuit, though appearing merely keen on a friendly chat between two girls.  
  
"Heather, it's so lovely to see you again after all this time. Are you getting on well at Hogwarts?"  
  
"Oh. Yes, yes, quite well, thank you."  
  
Catching sight of the badge Heather wore on her chest, Lily pretended not to notice that the younger girl clearly did not wish to linger.  
  
"So you're a prefect? Congratulations."  
  
"Thanks." Heather blushed ever so slightly, embarrassed by being complimented. "You were a prefect too, weren't you? Along with Remus ..."  
  
"That's right."  
  
Lily's tone of voice was light, but Heather's blue eyes were now bent on her in a new way. They were at once eager, expectant and pleading.  
  
"Lily, could I ask you something?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
"You know him pretty well, don't you? Remus, I mean."  
  
"He's one of James's best friends, so I do see a good deal of him."  
  
Heather nodded quickly. "I know, that's why I wondered ... Do you know ... Did he ever ... like me? Or was it just my imagination? I know I must sound awfully silly to you, but I did think ... I hoped ... well ..."  
  
Lily looked pityingly at the girl facing her. There were so few years between them, yet already she wondered whether she had also looked so very young at fifteen. Heather looked to her excessively young. And without knowing why, she made up her mind in that moment that, truth be told, Remus was probably right to keep his distance from Heather. Without understanding his motives, she sensed that there was something important that he was keeping secret, something that was certainly not suitable to burden a young, innocent creature like Heather with. She smiled slowly, and hoped it would not come across as patronising, but that it would show her sympathy and understanding for the child.  
  
"Yes, Heather," she said softly, choosing her words with care to sound both kind and convincing. "I believe he did like you. Very much. But you know, people change. Their lives change. They move on. They grow up ... and they grow apart from people they cared about. It happens."  
  
"You mean," Heather replied, swallowing hard as she brought the words out, "that he doesn't care for me any more?"  
  
Lily suppressed the brief annoyance that the other girl's naïvety aroused in her. Why some people couldn't see the obvious ... She said gently,  
  
"I think he will always be fond of you, but he's moved on. You should do that too. Now, Fabian Prewett's a nice boy, and he obviously likes you a lot."  
  
"Yes, he is nice," Heather admitted, if a trifle grudgingly. "I do like him."  
  
"Good," Lily said cheerfully. "Then go back to him and your other friends and enjoy yourself, Heather."  
  
Heather looked uncertain, but she nodded slowly, said goodbye and walked back the way she had come. Lily wondered for a moment whether the advice se had given had been right. She remembered Remus's words. "Sometimes they are things that make people turn their backs on you forever." She could not imagine what kind of thing he was talking about, but the heaviness and the - yes, the sorrow that had lain in those words had impressed her. She decided that she would find out what it was that he chose not to talk about, if only to reassure herself that she had not helped to finalise the rift between him and this young, sweet, vulnerable young Ravenclaw for nothing.  
  
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5 - The Halloween Party  
  
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"What luck the weather's holding," said Faith, laying out the last of the napkins on the long buffet table out of doors. "It would have been rather a squeeze to get everyone in the house."  
  
"It may be a squeeze to get them all out here," John remarked, looking down the roll of parchment in his hand. "There seem to be more names on this guest list every time I look at it. This wouldn't be Sirius's writing by any chance, would it, Bridget? ... Bridget?"  
  
Bridget, absent-mindedly fingering the sparkling necklace that perfected her Morgana Le Fay costume, started out of some kind of reverie. "What? Oh ... Yes. Yes, that's Sirius's handwriting."  
  
Faith looked over John's shoulder and read, "Florence Fortescue, Mary Crimple, Alice Spriggs ... Hm. I know Sirius asked if it was all right to bring a girl, but I didn't expect him to bring several."  
  
"You know Sirius." John laughed. He looked around him. "This all looks very nice and inviting," he commented. Sniffing the air, he moved closer to the table. "Is that a chocolate fudge cake?"  
  
"Ah-ah-ah," Faith reproached him, playfully smacking his extended hand. "You can have some of that later."  
  
John caught her hand in his and squeezed it gently. "All right. I'll be good."  
  
Faith smiled. At that moment, Remus came out of the house. He was frowning and tugging uncomfortably at his collar. His mother immediately went over and pulled it straight for him.  
  
"You look very nice and dashing, my dear," she said approvingly.  
  
Remus grumbled, "I don't feel it. I wish Sirius hadn't insisted on all this fancy dress nonsense." He looked at his mother and added, "You look nice though."  
  
"Well, thank you." Faith smiled, brushing the folds of her long green dress straight.  
  
After debating for a long time what costume she should choose, she had given in to Sirius's suggestion. He had bought a bag containing various miniature figures of magical creatures and well-known personalities in Hogsmeade and gone around offering it to anyone who either did not know what they wanted to dress up as, or using it as a threat to those who wanted to "chicken out", as he called it. Faith's hand had drawn out a miniature banshee. Though disliking banshees, she had been grateful that at least the costume would be simple and inexpensive: Bridget had helped her make her hair even longer than it was anyway so that it came down past her waist and colour it black, and she had made a dress that reached down to the floor out of some old dark green material she had found in a trunk in the loft.  
  
Remus had at first planned to pick his costume by the same method, but had backed out when Sirius mentioned that the harmless-looking little sack contained figures of all manner of creatures from house elves to centaurs. Instead he had gone up to the loft with his mother a few weeks ago and rummaged through a pile of old adventure books. Sirius had volunteered to come with him and 'help', but Remus had firmly refused to have him along. He and his mother had cast many volumes aside and finally come across Kidnapped. Faith had then held up the book and said, "Why don't you dress up as one of these Highland gentlemen? I'm sure I could make you something." Remus had at once protested vehemently, "There is no way I am wearing a kilt!"  
  
This he had stuck to firmly, and was therefore now clad in an old-fashioned shirt with a ruffled collar, a long maroon overcoat and black trousers.  
  
"Very smart," his father said approvingly. "But I'm sure Sirius will be disappointed you decided against the kilt."  
  
Remus caught the twinkle in his father's eyes and laughed.  
  
"Well, he's going to have to lump it, I'm afraid." He checked his watch. "Time's getting on, Dad, shouldn't you be putting the finishing touch on your disguise?"  
  
"I would if Lily would hurry up and get here. She's supposed to be helping me modify the disillusionment charm to make myself more transparent. That girl is amazingly good at charms."  
  
Faith frowned. "I don't know why you had to choose to dress up as a ghost, John. It's rather macabre, don't you think?"  
  
"It's just a costume, my love, that's all. I thought it would be rather novel. Oh look, I think the first of our guests are coming."  
  
Sure enough, a group of people were advancing between the trees. They were led by what looked like a pirate captain come straight from his ship, complete with eye patch and - false - wooden leg.  
  
"Ah, good evening, Alastor," John said, greeting him. He proceeded to the next in line, a somewhat overlarge house elf, so it seemed. "Dedalus," he said, recognising the top hat more than the face, which Dedalus Diggle had disguised so cleverly that there must have been a not inconsiderable degree of transfiguration involved, "good to see you. I don't believe you've met my wife ..."  
  
The introductions continued. Remus was approached by a centaur that had the bare chest, arms and head of Gideon Prewett and walked rather haltingly.  
  
"Hello, Gideon. I see you weren't able to escape Sirius's bag of tricks."  
  
"No," Gideon replied. "But on the whole I think I've been quite lucky. I mean, I get to show off my bare chest to all those pretty girls that Sirius promised he'd be inviting." He winked. "It's poor Oliver I feel sorry for."  
  
"Oliver? Why?"  
  
There was a zipping sound and the hind legs of the 'centaur' were suddenly extended by an extra torso, arms and a head.  
  
"Oh ... err ... hello Oliver." Remus tried ineffectively to conceal a grin.  
  
"Hello," Oliver groaned, rubbing his back. "Merlin's beard - this is uncomfortable. I tell you, Gideon, I'm not walking round like this all evening."  
  
"Oh, stop moaning, Oliver," Gideon pretended to scold. "You should be grateful."  
  
"Grateful? Grateful? Would you mind explaining what I've got to be grateful about?"  
  
"That Marlene's celebrating Halloween at Hogwarts."  
  
Oliver went pale. "Oh boy, you're right!"  
  
Gideon laughed and looked around him. "Great place you've got here, Remus. I've a feeling I'm not going to be sorry I declined to join the family do and came here instead. Fond as I am of my little nephews, it gets a bit tiring when you have to pretend to be scared of a miniature white blanket toddling along the floor and going 'Boo boo' for the hundredth time."  
  
"I didn't know you had nephews."  
  
Gideon nodded glumly. "Three, actually. Bill's five, Charlie's three, and Percy had his first birthday last month. And there are more on the way. Well, we've always been a big family, so I suppose another tot or two can't hurt. You haven't got any brothers or sisters, have you?"  
  
"No," Remus confirmed.  
  
"Fancy having this whole forest to yourself as a kid, that must have been brilliant."  
  
"It wasn't bad."  
  
"Not bad? It would have been heaven to me. My place was always so packed full of other kids that I'd have given anything for a place to sneak off to. I was only one of three, of course, but with the amount of cousins and what-have-you that used to be round our place most of the time ..."  
  
" I'd have given anything to have someone to share the forest with."  
  
"Well, I suppose one always wants what one hasn't got. Must have been fun when you had friends round, I bet."  
  
Remus, unpleasantly reminded that he had never had any friends to share 'his' forest with as a child, cast around for something else to say, and was quite relieved to see that more people were arriving so that he could make a quick excuse about having to go and say hello. He had shaken hands with Benjy Fenwick and was just walking back towards the house when someone cleared their throat just behind him and said,  
  
"Excuse me."  
  
Remus turned and found himself face to face with Frank Longbottom. Frank smiled somewhat awkwardly. He was dressed in black from head to foot, including a black hat, and carrying a kind of broom on a very long rod.  
  
"Hello," he said, and he sounded as though he were feeling a trifle uncomfortable. "I - err - was hoping to catch you alone for a minute this evening. Do you suppose I could have a word?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
They walked a little way away from the rest.  
  
"Well?" Remus prompted. "What's the problem?"  
  
Frank looked more uncomfortable than ever. "I - err - I thought I ought to - I mean, I really should - I - err - I want to ..."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
Frank took a deep breath. "I just want to say I'm sorry."  
  
"Sorry?"  
  
"Yes, for - for behaving to you like I have been lately. It was just that I thought that morning - well, I know now it was stupid of me, and of course you couldn't have, and if I'd only bothered to switch on my brain I'd have known. I should have realised you wouldn't anyway, you're not like that. I've behaved like a cad and I'm really sorry. I was supposed to be your friend, I promised you that and - but it was just such a surprise, you see, that - I couldn't think straight and - oh, it's hell, isn't it?"  
  
Remus was staring at Frank blankly. "Ye-es," he began doubtfully. "I dare say it is 'hell'. Now if you wouldn't mind telling me what you're talking about ...?"  
  
Frank sighed. "Yes, I suppose all that didn't really make much sense, did it? The trouble is that I don't really know what I'm talking about. It's crazy. I mean, I never used to feel this way about her. Oh, she was pretty, yes, but ... have you ever felt like, when you look at a girl, you just feel - I don't know, all sort of small and insignificant?"  
  
"No," Remus said slowly. "I don't think I have."  
  
"Well then perhaps you've never felt about a girl like I have - like I do - about Aurora. And that's why I was so cross when I found you there, and of course it was just me being an idiot, I mean I know there was nothing between you ..."  
  
"Oh!" Remus's face cleared at last. "I see. You thought Aurora and I ... No. You couldn't have thought that."  
  
Frank was going very red. "I'm ever so sorry, Remus."  
  
Remus did not reply. He seemed at a loss for words.  
  
"I'm sorry," Frank repeated. "I know I've acted like a fool."  
  
Slowly, Remus began to nod. "All right. We'll just forget it."  
  
"Thanks. That's certainly one mistake I'll never make again," Frank promised. "From now on I promise I'll never not trust you again."  
  
"Yes," said Remus, a little dazed. "Good."  
  
Frank gave one last awkward nod and walked away, joining Damian near the buffet table. From out of nowhere, or so it seemed to Remus, Sirius's voice suddenly spoke.  
  
"Well, was I right?"  
  
"Right about what?"  
  
"The other day in the Leaky Cauldron. I knew Frank was within earshot and I staged that nice little chat about your love life, or rather lack thereof, for his benefit, so he'd know there was nothing between you and Aurora."  
  
"You knew what he'd been thinking?"  
  
"Well, not exactly. Actually, Lily was the one who figured out what the trouble might be. After all, Remus, you had rather been monopolising Aurora lately."  
  
"I wasn't monopolising her," Remus protested heatedly. "If anything it was the other way round. She turned to me after you threw her over ..."  
  
"That may have been the biggest mistake I ever made," Sirius sighed, and it was just possible that the sigh wasn't entirely put on.  
  
Remus looked at his friend. He had been so preoccupied with what Frank had revealed that he hadn't bothered to take note of the alteration in Sirius's appearance. It registered now, though. Sirius was artificially pale, his eyes darkly ringed. He appeared to have made his hair grow longer with some spell and his teeth ...  
  
"Are those real?" Remus asked with an abrupt change from the subject at hand.  
  
"Yes. Pretty nifty bit of transfiguration work, wouldn't you say? There is one disadvantage, though."  
  
"Oh yes?"  
  
"Well, for some reason Mary shies away from them."  
  
"Mary?"  
  
"Mary Crimple."  
  
"What about Florence?"  
  
"Ah, I was coming to that ..."  
  
Sirius began to explain,  
  
"I've got to fill you in on something. You see, I'd asked Mary to the party tonight and she refused. So I asked Flossie Fortescue instead."  
  
"And?"  
  
"Mary changed her mind and said she'd come with me after all. I couldn't tell Flossie I didn't want her to come though, could I?"  
  
"So what did you tell her?"  
  
"Ah ..."  
  
Sirius drew Remus aside conspiratorially and went on in a low voice,  
  
"I told Flossie that we'd be taking Mary along because ..." He coughed. "Because you fancied her."  
  
Remus gaped. "You didn't! Sirius!" He took a step forwards, but Sirius held out a hand to stop him.  
  
"Before you wring my neck, wait until it's worth it, will you? You see, I had to explain to Mary why we were taking Florence, so I told her that it was Flossie you fancied. So now - err - Mary will be doing her best to pair you up with Florence while Flo..."  
  
"Florence will be doing her best to play matchmaker for Mary and me."  
  
"Got it in one. What a brilliant brain you have."  
  
"But I don't fancy either of them!"  
  
"You wouldn't tell them that though, would you?" Sirius pleaded. "They'd kill me if you did. You wouldn't let them kill your old friend. Come on, Moony. Please."  
  
Remus rubbed his eyes and sighed heavily. "What about Alice Spriggs? Do I have to make out I'm in love with her too?"  
  
"Oh no. I just brought her along because I couldn't very well leave her out. She's not my type. I go for beauties, Remus, you know that."  
  
"She's actually quite pretty," Remus commented.  
  
"She's not an entirely hopeless case," Sirius admitted. "Maybe I can hook her up with Wormtail."  
  
"I don't think you should do that. Just leave him be."  
  
"All right. You will play along, though, won't you?"  
  
Remus opened his mouth to speak, but Sirius just clapped him on the shoulder, said "Thanks" and hurried away before Remus could utter another word.  
  
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As John had predicted, the clearing had become very crowded as the guests arrived. Aurora was one of the last, and as could have been predicted, the heads of most of the men present, whatever age, turned her way as she passed. She came straight over to Remus.  
  
"Hello," she said. "Well, well, you do look handsome tonight."  
  
"Hardly. But you look ..."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Beautiful, as always."  
  
"I'm glad you like the costume. It's based on a picture I found of Aphrodite, you know."  
  
"The goddess of love - how very appropriate."  
  
"Pity my charms never worked on you."  
  
Remus sighed. "Least of all tonight. I'm supposed to be exerting all my charm, if I have any, in order to - err – 'woo' both Mary Crimple and Florence Fortescue, as per Sirius's orders."  
  
Aurora made a sympathetic noise with her tongue. "Poor darling. At least they're both good-looking."  
  
Remus winced. "Please don't call me that. I've only just got out of one misunderstanding where you're concerned, I'd rather not end up in another."  
  
"Misunderstanding? About me? How very interesting. Do I have a secret admirer?"  
  
"Is anything a secret to you?"  
  
Aurora looked around her with interest, apparently thoroughly enjoying herself. "I wonder who ..."  
  
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Bridget looked with surprise at her father.  
  
"What is it?" he asked.  
  
She said, "I wasn't sure, to be honest, that you would even come to this party. I certainly never expected that you would actually dress up. Least of all like this."  
  
He had elected to wear family heirlooms that had been stored at the Hall for many long years: the ceremonial dress of his ancestors in red and gold with the lion crest on the chest, the sweeping velvet cloak and the jewel- studded sword of Godric Gryffindor himself. With his grey hair falling down to his shoulders, he looked like a medieval knight sprung straight from the times of the Hogwarts founders.  
  
"I must say it suits you," Bridget admitted. "But isn't it a bit ..."  
  
"Ostentatious? Or are you worried that it will make people recognise me for who I am? Most of those present here know that anyway. And if they don't – well, what harm can come of their learning it?"  
  
"None, I suppose," Bridget sighed.  
  
Her father studied her closely with his iron-grey eyes. He had not seen her for several weeks now.  
  
"You look rather regal yourself," he said after some time. "But you also look very unhappy."  
  
Bridget looked up at him. "I don't know what's the matter with me at the moment," she said, and her voice held a great deal of frustration. "I've faced danger before, I've been afraid before, but it's never got me down like it is now. I feel so horribly unsure of myself, so completely lost. I hate feeling this way. It's not like me at all, but I can't seem to pull myself out of it. It all began so suddenly ..."  
  
"Perhaps that is the problem," Gordon suggested. "You did not realise what your feelings for Malcolm Marley were until it was practically too late."  
  
Bridget flinched. "Don't say that. You make it sound as though he has no chance."  
  
Gordon took a step towards her, raising his arms a little as though to embrace his daughter. She stared at him, her face a mixture of emotions. She looked surprised as well as sad, and even a touch derisive. He stopped and let his arms drop.  
  
"I'm sorry, Bridget," he said quietly. "Sorry for everything."  
  
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The leaves of the trees in the woods seemed to tinkle musically as the wind blew through them, like thousands of tiny bells playing a cheery tune. James looked up at the foliage above him.  
  
"So that's what you've been up to out here, is it? Teaching the trees to play music."  
  
"Yes."  
  
Lily shook her long red hair back over her shoulder. James looked at her. He thought how no one else this evening had picked a costume more suited to them than Lily. With her red hair and those impossibly green eyes, she was utterly dazzling in her mermaid's outfit with the long, tailfin-shaped skirt. She rested a pale, slender hand against the trunk of a tree.  
  
"How wonderful it must be to live right out here, in the middle of nature," she sighed.  
  
"You could call it the middle of nowhere," James pointed out.  
  
"Oh yes, but I like it that way, don't you?"  
  
"Yes," he agreed. "At least I do while you're with me."  
  
Lily turned a radiant smile towards him.  
  
"I think it's so romantic - to live in the middle of nowhere like this, just a happy little family cut off from the rest of the world, and to be able to spend hours in these woods, doing nothing, just listening to the rustling of leaves and watching the moon come out. I think it's quite blissful, don't you?"  
  
"That depends on the circumstances. I don't think Moony ..." He broke off.  
  
Lily shot him a sharp, questioning look, but James did not go on talking. So she said slowly,  
  
"James, can I ask you something? Why do you call Remus 'Moony'?"  
  
James cleared his throat. "Oh, that's just an old nickname."  
  
"I realise that, but there must be a reason for it."  
  
"We just came up with it, that's all. At Hogwarts. We decided to give each other nicknames. Remus became Moony, Sirius Padfoot ..."  
  
"... Peter Wormtail and you Prongs," Lily finished. "Yes, I've figured out that much. What I don't understand is why." She suddenly smiled again. "That seems to be a question I ask a lot lately. Why. I asked Remus that in Hogsmeade the other day."  
  
"You asked him why we call him Moony?" James exclaimed with a start.  
  
"No. I asked him why he feels he and Heather Woodcock aren't suited, even though they seem to like each other so much."  
  
"And did he tell you?"  
  
"No." She tilted her head a little to one side. "You could tell me though, I'm sure."  
  
"Does it matter?" James asked irritably. "Why do you want to know?"  
  
"Curiosity, I suppose."  
  
"Curiosity killed the cat."  
  
"We're all supposed to be working together and trusting each other, and yet I can't help feeling that you're keeping something from me. I don't like that. Call it vanity, if you like, but I don't like having the impression that there's something you don't trust me enough to tell me."  
  
"It isn't that," James objected quickly. "I'd trust you with anything. But this isn't my secret to tell."  
  
"So you admit there is a secret?"  
  
"There's hardly any point in denying it."  
  
"I'll find out some day."  
  
"But not from me!" James cried abruptly. Then he lowered his voice again. "It's not my secret to tell," he repeated. "Much as I would love you to know everything there is to know about me, this is one thing that I can't tell you. Not without asking if he - the others mind."  
  
Lily frowned. "Can't you at least tell me a little bit?"  
  
James shook his head. "No. Even if I only wanted to tell you the part that concerns me, it would involve your finding out the rest as well. I can't do that without making sure it's all right."  
  
She studied his face. It was completely sincere and very grave. Lily sighed.  
  
"Very well, if you feel you can't tell me. But I'll find out one of these days, from one of you. I can be very persuasive, you know."  
  
"Oh, I know," said James with feeling.  
  
Lily came slowly nearer and kissed his cheek. "Sure you won't tell me?" she whispered in his ear.  
  
"Quite sure," he whispered back.  
  
She kissed his lips. "How about now?"  
  
James gave a muffled groan. "Nothing doing."  
  
"How very steadfast of you." Lily pressed her lips against his again and he took her in his arms.  
  
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6 - An Unwelcome Interruption  
  
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Frank took a muffin from the buffet table and placed it on his plate. He turned around, and in so doing nearly lost his muffin as it slid to the very edge of the plate when his hand collided with Aurora's.  
  
"Oh, sorry," they both hastened to say at once.  
  
"No, no, it was my fault ..." they went on in unison.  
  
"Really ..."  
  
They both stopped speaking. Aurora gave a smile.  
  
"I was just coming for some more of that pumpkin punch," she said, nodding towards the large punchbowl in the middle of the table. "Would you mind ...?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
Frank put his plate down hurriedly and ladled some punch into her glass, spilling some of it onto a sponge cake in the process.  
  
"Oh dear."  
  
"Punch drizzle cake, how delicious," Aurora remarked, taking a sip from her glass. "Actually, you know, this tastes quite potent. It makes me suspect our resident vampire has been tampering with it."  
  
"Who? Oh, you mean Sirius?" Frank looked across to where the subject of their discussion appeared to be entertaining the girls from the Auror training group and several members of the Order with some amusing anecdote from last year's Halloween party at Hogwarts.  
  
"Yes. It's a very good disguise, I think. If I didn't know any better, I'd think he really was a vampire." She looked at Frank appraisingly. "And if I didn't know any better, I might even think you really were a chimney sweep."  
  
"Really?" Frank felt the blood rush to his face. "I wasn't sure. Well, never having seen one myself in real life, you know. I'd only seen pictures in Muggle Studies, and I thought it would make a good costume."  
  
"It does. There's only one thing missing really, and that's the soot."  
  
"Soot?"  
  
"Yes. It should be all over your face so only your eyes can be seen. Mind you, that would probably cause you problems if you wanted to ask one of the girls here to dance."  
  
Frank wanted to tell her quickly that she was the only girl he could possibly want to ask to dance with him, if only he had the courage. But he didn't have the courage, so he merely laughed nervously and picked up his muffin. His teeth sank into it, and all of a sudden there was a loud BANG! Several people cried out or gasped and conversation came to an abrupt standstill. Frank's vision was suddenly fogged. He was aware of shapes moving towards him, of someone taking the remains of the muffin from his hand, of someone else chuckling and Mary Crimple's precise voice saying angrily,  
  
"Oh Sirius, it wasn't you, was it? You didn't ..."  
  
"It was just a bit of fun, Mary," Sirius defended himself. "Just a lark ..."  
  
"And what if I'd bitten into it? Can you imagine what it would have done to my dress?"  
  
"But you didn't bite into it, Mary," Florence's voice pointed out tartly. "Frank did."  
  
"Are you all right, Frank?"  
  
Frank saw a hand wave away the cloud of smoke before his eyes. Everyone came into focus at last. Faith Lupin was looking at him anxiously.  
  
"Are you hurt?" she asked.  
  
"Err, no, no, I'm fine," he murmured, still feeling rather dazed. "What was that?"  
  
"An exploding muffin," Sirius announced rather proudly. "I got them at Zonko's. Good, aren't they? They make a great big racket, cause a lot of smoke, but they're completely harmless."  
  
"I thought we'd agreed you weren't going to tamper with the food," Remus reproached him.  
  
"Sorry," he said, not sounding one bit sorry. "I couldn't resist sneaking one in. And anyway, the arrangement was that I wouldn't sabotage anything your mother baked. I didn't."  
  
Frank opened his mouth to say something, but at that moment he felt a terrible tickle up his nose and gave an almighty sneeze.  
  
"Bless you," several people said at once.  
  
"That's just the soot getting up your nose," Sirius added.  
  
"Soot?" Frank passed a finger over his cheek. It came away pitch black. If he hadn't already been black in the face, he would have gone very red now. To think that something so embarrassing had happened to him right in front of Aurora's eyes.  
  
"Well, if you're sure you're all right, perhaps you ought to go indoors and have a quick wash," Faith suggested. "I'll put a towel out for you."  
  
She departed, and the rest of the crowd dispersed. Frank saw Mary Crimple walk rather huffily over to the centaur costume from which two heads were once more protruding, her back turned firmly to Sirius, who jumped when the semi-transparent hand of John Lupin fell on his shoulder. Judging from their expressions, Frank gathered John was not amused over what had just occurred. He suddenly became aware that one person was still standing beside him, where she had been the whole time. He nervously shifted his eyes back to Aurora. She was biting her lip to suppress a smile.  
  
"I bet I look wonderful now," Frank grumbled self-consciously.  
  
"Perfect." Aurora giggled. "Well, I did say all that was missing was the soot in your face. Now you really look like a chimney sweep."  
  
"Hm. More like a fool, I'll bet." His nose twitched again and he sneezed.  
  
"Bless you," said Aurora. "I do think Mrs. Lupin's right, you know. You should wash that stuff off."  
  
"It itches horribly!"  
  
"So I should imagine. I'd get it off quickly before you find you're allergic to it and come out in a rash."  
  
"Oh lord, I do hope not." He turned to go, but then paused and turned back. "Aurora?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"When I'm clean again, can I ask ... would you ... I mean ..."  
  
He never got to finish his question. With a burst of flame that caused Mary Crimple to cry out "Not again, Sirius!" a small sheet of parchment appeared in mid-air, a fiery red feather floating down beside it. It was Remus who caught the note in his hand. He paled as he read it.  
  
"What is it?" Damian asked eagerly.  
  
Remus handed the note to his father. John read it and looked around him at the assembled group.  
  
"I'm sorry, everyone, I'm afraid the party must be postponed. Apparently there's something happening at St. Mungo's. They need help immediately."  
  
"Help? Help against what?" Gordon Gryffindor asked.  
  
"Death Eaters," John explained. "Death Eaters that have got something against muggles being treated there. They're trying to force their way past the staff at reception. It says here that three healers have been wounded so far."  
  
Faith uttered an exclamation and John turned. He had not been aware of her returning from the house.  
  
"We've got to go," he went on. "Alastor, you'll come with us, I know. Dedalus ..."  
  
"Of course."  
  
"I'll get your cloak," Remus said. He strode right past his mother into the house.  
  
Faith watched him go in, then looked towards John. He had turned to Sirius.  
  
"Find James and Lily for us, will you? They're in the woods somewhere."  
  
Sirius nodded and disappeared amongst the trees. John took out his wand, and pointing it at himself lifted the charm. He could not do with being semi-transparent now. Gideon and Oliver were divesting themselves of their costume. Luckily, they had both chosen to wear muggle-style trousers underneath. Dedalus and Damian Diggle also made themselves look as normal as possible, while Frank hurried upstairs to wipe his face, leaving his chimney sweep's broom leaning against the wall of the house. Sirius returned presently with James and Lily in tow. James muttered,  
  
"I'm going to look pretty stupid turning up at St. Mungo's in a toga, aren't I?"  
  
Remus, coming out of the house with John's cloak over his arm, suggested quickly,  
  
"Why don't you slip into something of mine?"  
  
"Good idea."  
  
They went into the house to find a quick change of clothes for James. Soon everyone was once more assembled in the garden, most people still looking a trifle strange owing to the fact that they were still wearing parts of their costumes.  
  
"Well," growled Moody, now minus one eye patch and wooden leg, "Let's not waste any more time hanging about."  
  
"Right," agreed Gideon, "We've got to get a move on."  
  
He and Moody led the way along the path. Faith caught Remus by the arm as he made to follow. Her look was appealing.  
  
"Don't worry," he said. "We'll be back in no time."  
  
"Do be careful, won't you?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
He hugged her, then joined his friends and followed after the others. Faith turned anxiously to John. He smiled and kissed her.  
  
"See you soon, my love."  
  
She watched him leave. It took a moment before she became aware that there was someone standing beside her. It was Peter Pettigrew, and he looked deeply distressed.  
  
"I wish I could help," he murmured. "But they're going to apparate, and I still haven't learned to do it. It makes me feel such a coward."  
  
Faith patted his arm. "At least I'm not left quite on my own this way. You can help me clear the table. Something tells me this party won't be continuing tonight."  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------  
  
A sight of devastation met their eyes when they reached the wizard hospital. Furniture was lying in bits strewn across the floor of the reception, a hole had been blasted in the desk and healers dressed in green sat nursing their own wounds on the few chairs that had survived what had happened. By the wall to their left, two long shapes lay covered with sheets. Aurora approached one of the healers still standing.  
  
"Where are they?" she asked without preamble.  
  
The woman stared at her, her eyes wide with horror. Sirius came up beside Aurora and repeated the question. This time the healer squeaked with fright and fled. Aurora shot Sirius an exasperated look that met his puzzled one. She tapped her teeth with her finger.  
  
"Oh!" he exclaimed, and quickly transfigured his own teeth back to normal.  
  
"Come on, spread out," grunted Moody. "There could be muggles being treated on any floor, or our friends might not be sticking to muggles alone. Prewett, McKinnon, Black, Fortescue, take the ground floor. Diggle ..."  
  
Alastor Moody hurriedly split them all into groups and they hurried to their tasks. On the way up the stairs to the first floor, Moody muttered to John,  
  
"Good thing you were having that party. Handy to have so many Aurors and members of the Order in one place on an occasion like this."  
  
John had no time to reply. The moment they reached the first floor, they saw and heard signs of fighting. Gordon, Bridget, Mary Crimple, John and Remus followed the noises coming from one of the wards while the others proceeded further up the stairs, again leaving a few behind on one floor while the rest continued until the final group reached the fourth floor, allotted to the treatment of spell damage on witches, wizards, muggles and all other living creatures. There were a pair of double doors with windows set into them, and the view through these windows was at present no better than the sight that had met them at reception, but for one significant difference: here, the fighting had not yet stopped.  
  
Healers accustomed to helping rather than harming people were having a hard time of it, attempting to defend themselves and their patients against the handful of Death Eaters that cast powerful spells in all directions and forced their way through the doors of the separate wards.  
  
"In we go," Moody ordered.  
  
He led the way, pushing open the double doors and proceeding at once to issue further orders. The others followed them without hesitation, splitting up once more and moving cautiously through the ward doors. Frank and Damian found themselves in front of an open door marked Janus Thickey Ward and both paused for a moment. They clasped their wands tightly.  
  
"I'll turn left," Frank whispered. "You take the right. On the count of three. One, two ..."  
  
They burst into the ward itself, wands held out in front of them. The first thing Frank saw was a flash of green light that hit a helpless patient lying on a bed beside a window. With a scream, a healer darted towards his patient, but the Death Eater who had cast the spell was quick to turn his wand around and cry,  
  
"Crucio!"  
  
The healer sank to the ground, screaming in pain, while a second Death Eater marched resolutely up to another bed, picked up the chart hanging on the end while the person lying in it cowered in front. With an audible sneer the Death Eater said,  
  
"Ah, muggle-born. Goodbye ..."  
  
He raised his wand, but this time the curse missed.  
  
"Expelliarmus!" Frank had shouted, and his disarming spell knocked the wand out of the Death Eater's hand at the very moment he had spoken the words of the killing curse. The green bolt of light struck the wall just next to the patient's head. She screamed, but was unhurt save for a few scratches caused by falling shards of brick and plaster.  
  
In the same time that it took the two Death Eaters in front of him to register what had gone wrong, Frank correctly judged their next move. Just as the wand holding the healer under the Cruciatus curse was turned his way, he gave a great leap to the side, and though hitting his arm rather badly on a metal trolley had the satisfaction of hearing the Death Eater shout with anger as his spell made a crack in the wall at the opposite end of the ward. By now, however, the Death Eater Frank had disarmed had got back his wand and was aiming it at him.  
  
"Impedimenta!" Frank shouted and brought his wand to bear on its target. But this time he was not so lucky. The two Death Eaters were standing too far apart for him to hit them both at once, and elegant though his life- saving dive had been, it had not deprived the second attacker of his weapon. At the same time as the Death Eater he had targeted crashed into the wall behind him, two spells came at him at once. The flash of green narrowly missed him, shattering the trolley he had hit his arm on moments before into tiny pieces. He ducked, and what looked like purple flame shooting from the other Death Eater's wand that had been aimed at his chest sliced across his left cheek with a sting like a sharp knife. With no time to wipe the blood away, Frank pressed his jaws hard against together, brought his wand around once more and yelled,  
  
"Stupefy!"  
  
To his relief, the spell caught the Death Eater full in the chest, sending him crashing to the floor, and left Frank a moment to breathe and get back his bearings. He turned his face to the healer, still crouching on the floor a few paces away.  
  
"Get them out of here," he muttered urgently at the man. "Anyone you can move, move them while I hold the Death Eater off."  
  
The healer looked terrified, but he nodded. Frank pulled himself up straight and was ready for the Death Eater when his next spell came. It was a stunner and Frank blocked it with ease. He flicked his wand and prepared to strike back, but it was the flick that, as James had discovered before now, was his weakness. It gave his opponent time to react, and the spell that struck Frank was a hard one. He cried out in pain as he was thrown off his feet, but managed to keep a grip on his wand.  
  
"Impedimenta!" he yelled for all he was worth, but his hand was unsteady and the spell missed.  
  
"Expelliarmus!"  
  
Frank's wand flew from his hand. He scrambled after it. The Death Eater laughed.  
  
"Avada Ke..."  
  
"Impedimenta!" a voice cried somewhere above Frank as a shadow sped past him. He flung himself onto his back just as the Death Eater finished his incantation.  
  
"...davra!"  
  
Frank saw the flash of green, he saw the Death Eater stumble back as the Impediment jinx struck, he saw the shape that loomed over him take the impact of the killing curse, saw it sway and fall flat on its back. A wand clattered noisily to the floor beside him. Frank lay as though stunned, staring. He couldn't believe what had just happened. He willed himself to think, to get a grip on the reality, the dangerous reality of his situation, but he couldn't. Even as the healer dragged yet another patient past him with difficulty, Frank found himself unable to move. And then the Death Eater came towards him again. At last, Frank came to his senses. He snatched up his wand and pointed it straight at his attacker.  
  
"Petrificus Totalus!"  
  
But the spell did not strike home. Evidently, the Death Eater had had enough of this fight, for grabbing his companion by the arm he disapparated jut in time for Frank's spell to strike nothing but thin air. Frank's arm dropped to his side again. With an effort, he pulled himself over to the body close by and looked down into the face that stared lifelessly back at him.  
  
"He's dead," he told himself, speaking out loud because he thought, in vain, that that might make him believe what seemed quite incredible. "Damian's dead."  
  
Frank reached out a hand to close his dead friend's eyes, but was arrested mid-action by a piercing scream from the next ward. He knew whom Moody had taken in there with him and at once leapt to his feet, taking both his own wand and Damian's with him. Out in the corridor he was met by two Death Eaters coming his way, apparently running for the double doors behind him. He raised both wands, one in each hand.  
  
"Stupefy!"  
  
To his own amazement, it worked. The Death Eaters fell and he was free to rush through the door of the next ward. The sight that met his eyes very nearly took his breath away. Aurora was standing in the middle of the room, her wand lying on the floor beside her, and two Death Eaters were facing her, neither of them moving. The eyes of the one nearest her seemed to glaze over as Frank watched and he turned slowly, almost mechanically, to face the other. Aurora shut her eyes and screwed up her face and the Death Eater raised his wand arm. The other took a step back.  
  
"What's going on?" the man cried. "What are you doing? Why are you pointing that at me? You ..." He raised his own wand and Aurora's face screwed up even more tightly. She clenched her fists and the Death Eater nearer her opened his mouth.  
  
"Avada Kedravra!" he almost whispered.  
  
The curse struck home and the other fell. Aurora began to tremble from head to foot, her mouth opening and shutting while the Death Eater who had just killed his colleague stood motionless once more, his wand still held out before him.  
  
"Stun him!" Frank heard Moody shout from somewhere to his right. "Get on with it, lad!"  
  
Frank obeyed quickly. The Death Eater took the impact and fell, and in the same instant Aurora groaned as though she had been hit with a stunner herself. She swayed, and darting forward Frank only just caught her in time before she fell. He turned an anxious face to Moody, who was lying on the ground a little way away, leaning on one arm and pressing the other hand against his bleeding leg.  
  
"What happened?" Frank asked. "What was she doing?"  
  
"I'll explain later," Moody said, his customary growl particularly throaty now. "Where's Diggle?"  
  
Frank gulped. "Damian's ... dead, sir."  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------  
  
The Creature-Induced Injuries corridor and the wards leading off it were hardly in any better state than the fourth floor was. Bridget stroked a curl out of her eyes and surveyed the debris at her feet. Strangely enough, she felt a lot more content than she had done for a long time. She was sweating, the cuts on her arms were bleeding, her left eye felt swollen, but for once she was not afraid or unhappy. She felt herself again at last, and marvelled at the fact. It was as though she had needed something to take her out of herself, away from daily routine into immediate danger, to take her mind off her hopes and worries and throw her into an all-out fight for survival. It had been that, all right. She poked with her foot at a beam that had crashed from the ceiling just beside her. It did not budge. She had been lucky, extremely lucky, that it had missed her. Bridget climbed across it and stepped out into the corridor. Here, healers and the members of her group were trying to restore order. Her father came towards her.  
  
"Are you all right, my child?"  
  
She nodded and looked around her. She could see Remus helping Mary Crimple to her feet and many of the healers leading patients back to what remained of their beds. Suddenly she asked,  
  
"Where's John?"  
  
Gordon turned his head in every direction. There was no sign of John. Bridget felt fear returning quickly. She rushed to all the ward doors in turn, calling, until she found him. He was just pushing himself up off the floor in one of the wards, looking somewhat dazed.  
  
"John!" Bridget cried, running to help him up. As she did so, she caught sight of the back of his head. "You're bleeding," she said, dismayed.  
  
John passed a hand over the back of his head. It came back sticky with blood.  
  
"I must have taken a harder knock than I thought."  
  
Bridget guided him to a chair and he sank into it with a short groan. She looked up just as Remus appeared in the doorway, where he stopped, looking startled.  
  
"Dad! Are you ..."  
  
"I'm all right."  
  
"All the same, you'd better get a healer, Remus."  
  
"I don't need a healer ...," John began to protest, only to be overruled at once.  
  
"What happened?" he asked after Remus had departed. "How did we do?"  
  
"Not too badly, all things considered," Gordon opined. "We saved quite a few lives, I should think."  
  
"But not all?"  
  
"No. Not all."  
  
John sighed heavily and Bridget said quickly,  
  
"Well, that could hardly have been expected."  
  
"What about the Death Eaters? Did we get them?"  
  
"Not all of them, I fear," said Gordon. "Several of them managed to disapparate before they could be stunned."  
  
Remus returned at that moment with a healer who looked as though her nerves had been shattered beyond repair. Nevertheless, jumpy though she was, she examined the back of John's head while the others looked on anxiously. While she was applying some kind of ointment that stung nastily to the wound, John winced a little, then smiled at his son.  
  
"Don't look so worried, Remus. I tell you, I'm all right."  
  
"Yes."  
  
Remus sounded doubtful and still looked very serious. He also looked hesitant, as if there was something else he wanted to say.  
  
"What is it?" Bridget asked of Remus at the very moment when Sirius appeared in the doorway. From the looks they exchanged, it was clear that he and Remus had both just had the same piece of bad news.  
  
"You've heard?"  
  
Sirius had addressed Remus, who nodded.  
  
"Just now. One of the healers told me."  
  
"Heard what?" Bridget insisted.  
  
"It seems things got pretty bad up on the fourth floor," Sirius began. "Moody's leg's been hurt badly and Aurora's completely out for the count. It seems she over-strained herself."  
  
Bridget could tell from the look on his face that this was not the worst. Sure enough, he went on,  
  
"I'm afraid it gets worse. Damian ... tried to save Frank from a Death Eater."  
  
"Tried? What happened?"  
  
Sirius said, "Damian saved Frank's life, but ... he's dead."  
  
One of Bridget's hands went to her mouth, the other clasped John's tightly. Gordon shook his head sadly.  
  
"Poor lad," he said quietly. "What a waste." 


	26. Part 26: Future Foreshadowed

**Prequel, Part 26: Future Foreshadowed**

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**1 - Aftermath**

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The social life of Frank Longbottom in the weeks following what the _Daily Prophet _had termed the "_St. Mungo's Massacre_"shrank in upon itself until it was practically non existent. He got up in the mornings, washed and dressed, had a slice of dry toast and a glass of milk in the kitchen before even the house elf was up, and left through the fireplace before his parents rose. He reached the Ministry of Magic earlier than anyone save old Bert from maintenance could boast of. He had Bert let him into Auror Headquarters and went through to the room at the back where he proceeded to begin training at once. He became faster, more powerful and especially more determined than anyone else in the class. He continued to practise through lunch and stayed on after the others left. He would not hear of rest, he would not hear of eating with the others, he barely even spoke to them.

The only person, in fact, who could get more than a curt "good morning" or "good night" out of him these days was old Bert, who knowing next to nothing of the facts of the incident at the hospital, but having heard many rumours, was far enough from guessing the truth as to make Frank feel safe in his presence. "Safe" meaning that there was no need to fear that old Bert would ask him what Damian was really like, whether Frank missed him, how he was coping with his death...

Had he allowed himself to think about it, Frank would have been forced to admit that he was not coping with it at all. He told himself that he was, that it had hardened him, that it made it necessary to work himself to a wreck, but the fact was that concentrating on his training enabled him not to think about how he felt. With every jinx and hex that he practised, he placed another brick in the wall that he had erected around the place in his heart that Damian Diggle had occupied. What he did not realise was that he was erecting that same wall around himself, cutting himself off from his other friends and from his family.

This particular Monday morning should have been no different from any other. Frank had spent the weekend shut away in the attic, poring over books about the Dark Arts, reading up about counter-curses, refusing to come down for tea, and having all his meals brought up to him by the house elf. He had avoided coming back down while he knew his parents were in the house, or before he could be sure of their having gone to bed. But last night his mother had still been up, and he had been forced to look at her for a short moment as they passed in the hall. She had looked worried, and it had not suited her. It suited her to look resolute, to look strict, even to look content at times. But certainly not to look worried. He had known it was on his account, but he had not been able to stop, to talk to her as she so obviously wanted him to. He had spent Sunday night tossing and turning in his bed, seeing his mother's worried face whenever he closed his eyes, or if not that then Damian's, pale and lifeless.

He got up, washed and dressed as usual. He studied his face in the mirror, which volunteered the opinion,

"You look all done in, love. You need a break. How about a trip to the seaside? I've heard Blackpool is…"

He didn't hear what the mirror had heard about Blackpool, for he had already left the room and was on his way downstairs. He continued down another floor and into the kitchen. He went right through it to the larder door and opened it. Taking out a loaf of bread, he went to the table to cut it… and gave an almighty start. Sitting there in the dim light from the hall that came in through the half-open door was his father.

"Good morning, Frank," he said stiffly.

"Good morning," replied Frank hesitantly.

He wondered what was coming now. It was very unlike his father to be up at this hour. Not that he wasn't an early riser, but he didn't usually get up as early as all this. It was also unlike his father to look at him as he was doing now. A kindly smile and a pat on the back were the method he normally employed when wishing his son a good morning, not a stern expression and that stiff tone of voice. Sensing more than a little tension in the air, Frank went to fetch a knife.

"Do you … err … want a slice?" he asked.

His father shook his balding head. Frank cut himself a slice and returned the loaf to the pantry. He used his wand to light the oven and with another flick charmed the slice of bread to float above the flame, all the time aware that his father was watching him. Neither of them said anything until Frank's slice of toast was buttered and sitting on a plate in front of him. Then, at last, his father spoke. His words surprised Frank.

"Your mother and I received a letter last night," he said, "from Alastor Moody."

"Mr. Moody? What did he want? Err - I mean - how is he?" Frank checked himself, not wanting to sound callous. It was, after all, quite a few weeks now since he had seen Moody out and about.

"You'll be finding that out for yourself, I dare say. He wants to see you."

"See me? What, now?"

Frank looked around, half expecting Moody to be standing behind him. But there was no one there. Of course not, he told himself, his father would hardly be lounging around in pyjamas and his checked flannel dressing gown if that were so.

"At your earliest convenience, so he says. I suggest you go to St. Mungo's this morning."

"St. Mungo's?" Frank repeated with a note of panic in his voice.

His father's grey eyes appraised him quickly.

"You can't shy away from the place forever, Frank."

"I'm not shying away from it!"

"Then why do you object to going there to visit Mr. Moody?"

"I don't," Frank murmured untruthfully. "I'm just ... rather ... busy at the moment."

His father's expression told him he was not fooled. With a sigh, Frank gave in.

"All right," he said, "I'll go."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Prongs!" Sirius said impatiently. He gave James a not-too-gentle shake. "Prongs, wake up, will you?"

"Alarm clock rung yet?" came the sleepy response, muffled by thick winter bed clothes.

"No, but ..."

"Then go away." James rolled over so that his face was to the wall.

Sirius shook him again.

"Geroff!" James grumbled. "Go back to sleep."

"I can't sleep," Sirius complained, sitting heavily on the edge of James's bed. "I'm surprised you can."

James sighed and rolled over yet again. He pushed the covers away from his face and studied Sirius's dark profile. Then he asked quietly,

"What makes you think I can?"

Sirius snorted. James said calmly,

"Just because you happen to have shaken me awake right now, that doesn't mean I've been asleep all night. As a matter of fact, I only fell asleep ..." He squinted at the clock. "... about three quarters of an hour ago. Now if you don't mind, I'd like to at least get forty winks before I have to get up."

"Sorry," Sirius murmured. He went back to his own bed and pulled the covers over him. But it was only another minute, at most, before James sat up.

"It's a frightening thought, isn't it? That any minute we may all end up like poor old Damian."

Sirius said proudly, "I'm not scared of dying."

"Aren't you?" James paused, then went on, "I am."

Sirius sat up and looked at him sharply across the room. James nodded slowly.

"It's true. I don't think I'd really thought about it until Halloween, but ... when I heard what had happened up on the fourth floor, it sort of hit me. It's all very well to talk about sacrificing your life for the greater good. It sounds so noble when it happens to strangers, but ... Somehow it's different when it's someone you know. Someone your own age. At the funeral, when we were watching them lower Damian's coffin into the grave, I thought 'What if it's me next time?' And I was scared ..."

With a shudder, Sirius said, "I don't want to think about that kind of thing."

"But you do think about it. We all do. We can't help ourselves. And it's necessary for us to do so, because... well, because our whole life may depend on it. How we think, what we feel, and what we do. Can you honestly say that it doesn't make a difference to you? If you knew you were going to die tomorrow, wouldn't you act differently than if you knew you had - another hundred years, say?"

Sirius thought for a moment, but he shook his head. "No, I don't think I would. I enjoy living. I don't know if I'm much good at explaining it, but ... to me every day is important. I just can't bear to do nothing for a minute, because I'd feel it was a waste, so ... if I did know I was going to die tomorrow, I couldn't do any more than live today as fully as any other day, if you see what I mean."

James nodded. "Yes, I think I do see. But we're not all like you. Take me for instance. There are certain things that I - I want. I know I want them. But if I have another hundred years to live, then it doesn't matter when I get them. Tomorrow, the day after, even in another ten years' time will do. But if I die tomorrow and I haven't had what I wanted, then I might just as well never have lived at all."

"Meaning that, if you knew you were going to die tomorrow, you'd make sure you got Lily Evans to marry you this morning?" Sirius asked with a faint grin.

James blushed a little, but did not object. Sirius continued,

"Yes, I can see that." He sighed. "Poor old Damian. I wonder what he'd have done with his last day if he'd known. And poor old Frank. You know, I think that's what I'm afraid of," he added soberly, not looking at James. "To see my best friend die and not be able to do anything about it."

James smiled. "Don't worry. I've got no plans to kick the cauldron just yet."

Sirius remained gloomy. "Nor did Damian."

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The young members of the Order of the Phoenix were not the only ones on whom the fight at St. Mungo's had left an impression. On Slytherin's Rock, Lord Voldemort stood in front of the full length mirror in his bedroom, fastening the silver buttons on the collar of his black robes. Not for the first time, his mind was dwelling on what his Death Eaters had reported. To him, the death of a boy called Damian Diggle was as insignificant as the death of an annoying fly that one swats without a thought. It was no more or less important than any other death for which he and his followers had been responsible.

What interested - or rather disturbed - him was quite another matter. The presence at St. Mungo's of a man robed in red and gold, wearing the lion crest of Godric Gryffindor. Judging from the descriptions Lord Voldemort had been given, the man had cut an impressive figure, like an avenging knight come from a distant past. It angered Voldemort to think that this man had succeeded in stunning and hexing a good number of his Death Eaters, and it distressed him to think that his guise might not have been mere costume. He thought back to the words of the prophecy that Severus Snape had written to him about, and further still to events that had taken place many years ago.

Could it be, he wondered, that the man at St. Mungo's had actually been Gryffindor's heir? After all these years, was it possible that the old man - and he must be very old by now - had come out of hiding, had given up his hermit-like life and was coming out in the open to challenge him, Lord Voldemort? But what would induce him to do so? From what Voldemort had heard, old Gordon Gryffindor had lost all interest in life after his daughter had turned her back on him, or he on her, whichever way you looked at it. Could it be that she, too, was in some way involved? Voldemort recalled the wedding between Vindictus Lothian and Bridget Gryffindor. Admittedly, she had been a good-looking girl with her dark curls and large brown eyes, her pale skin and that shy smile. So young ... and so naive.

I wonder where the little fool is now, he thought.

The idea that she might have rejoined her father, that both of them might be conspiring together in his ultimate destruction, made him anxious.

There was a knock on the door. Voldemort composed himself, taking another glance at the mirror. He could not afford to appear worried in front of his followers.

"Come in," he called.

The door opened and Paula Lestrange entered. She bowed her head, then held out a sealed piece of parchment to him.

"A letter has arrived for you, master."

He took it, opened it and read it silently. His mouth creased into a crooked smile.

"Good old Vindictus," he murmured, then added out loud, "Tell the house elves to lay on a regal feast for two in the small parlour Saturday night. I am expecting a visitor."

"Yes, master."

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At about the same time, Laura Lovegood was wakened by a sharp tapping on her bedroom window. She got up sleepily to let in an owl which presented her with a letter, then took off into the rainy dark. Laura lit a candle, and sitting down broke the seal. The letter was short and to the point:

_"Am close to finding what you were looking for. Will make contact first thing on Saturday. Will let you know result immediately."_

Laura smiled to herself. Good old Williams. You could always trust him to get a job done, and to be discreet about it too. The last thing she wanted was for Crouch to find out that she was conducting investigations of her own, and especially against a person she knew he had had a dinner engagement with only the other evening. Williams would get results, she knew, and he could be trusted to pass them on only to her, because he didn't like Crouch any more than she did and because, like her, he had admired Malcolm. As she held the letter to the candle's flame and watched it burn, Laura wondered briefly where Malcolm was now and what he was doing.

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**2 - Guilt and Sacrifices**

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It was an eerie feeling to be standing at the reception of St. Mungo's hospital again. The bright lights seemed oddly out of place to Frank, as did the laughter of the staff behind the counter. His eyes swept the scene, taking in the signs of wreckage that still remained - damaged walls and furniture - and the broad-shouldered security wizards stationed at every door. He took a deep breath before he approached the desk and enquired after Alastor Moody. Having followed the healer's instructions to reach the ward in question, it did not take Frank long to locate the man he was looking for. His distinctive growling voice could be heard all the way down the ward.

"I don't want any of your nice healthy juices, thank you. Get me some butterbeer."

Frank approached the bed just as the flustered young healer, having failed to coax her patient into accepting the proffered drink, beat a hasty retreat. Moody looked up at him and grunted.

"Oh, it's you. About time you showed up, don't you think? You're the last of the Auror course, you know. All the others have been round. Crimple and Fortescue even brought me a present."

He waved a gnarled hand at a bunch of carnations that sat in a vase beside his bed. They looked somewhat bedraggled.

"Not the right time of year for flowers really. Not that I'll be sorry if they shrivel up and dry by tomorrow. Never was much of a one for flowers. So, how are you, Longbottom? Though actually, of course, you should be asking me that."

"You're quite right, sir," said Frank, only too happy not to reply to the initial question. "How are you?"

Alastor Moody frowned grimly.

"Better than I could have been, worse than I'd like to be."

"I heard your leg was badly wounded."

Moody made a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a snort. "You could say that. Or you could say that's one knee I'll never be getting arthritis in." The look Frank gave him must have told Moody that he wasn't in possession of the full facts yet. He therefore went on brutally, "That blasted Death Eater nearly took off my leg with one clear sweep. Wound got infected, so the healers had to finish the job."

"What?!" Frank cried.

Moody nodded. "Yup. It's gone. I'll be getting a wooden replacement some day soon."

"That's terrible ..."

"Could've been worse," grunted Moody. "Could have been my neck. Probably would have been, if young Miss Borealis hadn't been there."

"But to lose a limb like that …"

"It's tough, I don't deny it. When something's been a part of you for a long time, you kind of get used to having it around, and when you lose it, you wonder at first how you'll ever get along without it. But you know deep down you will. There's nothing that can happen in this world that you can't learn to live with."

Frank glanced down at Moody awkwardly, sure that he was not at present talking about his leg, but rather hinting at Frank's own situation. Moody, however, looked quite innocent - by his standards. His eyes left Frank's face to look past his shoulder. Frank heard footsteps and felt someone brush past him. He was already looking at the back of an auburn head of hair when the newcomer, leaning forward to speak to Alastor Moody, handed the latter a glass and said softly,

"Please drink this, sir. I know you'd rather have butterbeer, but I'm afraid you'll just have to wait until you're back home for that. Go on now, drink up ..."

"I don't mind drinking what you've brought me," said Moody gruffly. "As long as you'll swear no one but you has touched it. But you're treating our young friend here rather impolitely, don't you think?"

He nodded towards Frank and Aurora - for it was her - turned round.

"Oh, hello Frank. I'm sorry, I didn't see ..."

"That's all right," Frank said quickly.

"No, it isn't. I really do apologise. How are you?"

Frank swallowed hard. "I'm all right," he mumbled.

Aurora quickly rested a hand on his arm, but withdrew it when he flinched.

"I've been meaning to tell you how very sorry I am for what happened," she said. Then she added, "Though to be honest, you haven't made it easy for anyone to tell you anything at all lately. Even at the funeral, you just seemed to disappear all of a sudden..."

"I - I don't really want to talk," Frank said.

"I suppose that's understandable. We all have things we'd rather just forget."

There was a strange, sad note in her voice that caught Frank's attention briefly, but Aurora just said hurriedly,

"Excuse me, I must be getting on. See you soon, I hope."

She left Frank alone again with Moody, who was finishing the last sip of the juice Aurora had brought him.

"Wise girl, that," Moody proclaimed appreciatively. "Very wise indeed. Knows what she's talking about. Heart of gold, too. She's been looking after me well, ever since they let her come back to work. They did that too soon, really, if you ask me. She's got troubles of her own she needs to get over. Still, some people prefer to keep busy ..."

"Troubles?" Frank asked, surprised.

Moody laughed harshly. "You don't suppose you're the only one who's been depressed since what happened here, do you? That girl's been heavy-hearted ever since. I don't know what exactly is on her mind, but I suspect she's carrying some feeling of guilt around with her. She shouldn't, but I think she is. Anyway, that's enough gossip for one day. I haven't got anything else to tell you. You've done your duty by coming to see me at last, now be off with you."

Surprised by this sudden dismissal, and wondering why on earth Moody had insisted on his coming to St. Mungo's in the first place if there was nothing particular he wanted to talk about, Frank left the ward, intending to make his way back to the stairs. He passed the half-open door of a small kind of lounge on the way, and caught sight of Aurora sitting on a chair, rubbing her eyes with one hand. Frank hesitated for a moment. Then his feet, moving almost of their own accord without waiting for a command from him, carried him to the door and he knocked quietly. Aurora was startled. She quickly ran a hand over her face and hitched a smile onto it.

"You've caught me neglecting my duties," she said. "Was there anything you wanted?"

"No, I just thought ..." Frank began. He was struck suddenly by how perfectly miserable she looked. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Wrong? There's nothing wrong."

"Yes there is. You can't tell me you've been crying for nothing."

"I wasn't crying."

Frank did not point out that her eyes were red and her cheeks visibly damp. He just looked at her, unsure of what to do. All of a sudden, Aurora burst into a series of sobs. For the first time in weeks, Frank's own troubles went right out of his head. He came into the room, closed the door behind him, and fumbling in his pocket for a handkerchief handed it to her. Aurora accepted it gratefully and dabbed at her eyes.

"Thank you," she said at last when she had managed to stop herself sobbing. "I don't know what's the matter with me at the moment. I just start crying every now and then for no good reason and then there's nothing I can do to stop it."

"Is there really no reason? Mr. Moody said ..."

"What did he say?"

"He said you have troubles you need to get over."

She sighed. "Don't we all?"

"Care to tell me what yours are?"

Aurora bit her lip and shook her head. Frank waited. Only a few moments ago, he had been the one not wanting to talk. Now here he was on the opposite side, asking to be talked to. Presently, Aurora looked at him again. She gulped heavily, then spoke at last,

"I feel so wicked."

Frank was completely taken aback by her answer. He repeated the last word incredulously. Aurora nodded.

"That day, when we were fighting on the fourth floor, I - I _killed_ a man, Frank."

"Oh, that," Frank exclaimed, glad to think he understood now. "You didn't really kill anyone. It was more an accident, really. The Death Eater was coming towards you, aiming his wand at you. You managed to make him turn round and he fired his curse at his own colleague rather than at you. That it turned out to be a killing curse was nothing to do with you. It was one Death Eater killing another, that's all."

Aurora shook her head again. "You're wrong. I knew what was going to happen. I knew he wanted to kill me, I knew that the next curse he would use would be a killing curse. So I made him turn around - I made him turn around deliberately and - and ..."

She burst into another fit of sobbing. Frank struggled to reassure her.

"There's nothing bad about that. You had to defend yourself. The curse had to come out, and you did what you could to stop it harming anyone ..."

"No, I didn't. I directed it deliberately at that man. If only I had directed it at the wall, at a piece of furniture, anywhere! Maybe it would even have been better not to have changed the direction at all ..."

"No!" Frank told her. "You did what had to be done, that's all. You've nothing to reproach yourself for."

Aurora looked down at the floor. Frank crouched in front of her so that she had no choice but to look at him.

"You had no choice," he said gently but firmly. "It was self-defence. You were all alone against two Death Eaters, naturally you had to use one to eliminate the other if you could. If you hadn't, one or other of them might have killed you, or Mr. Moody, or me when I came into the room."

She stared at him for a moment. Suddenly she gave a curious little laugh.

"You make it sound like I did something wonderful."

"So you did. There aren't many people alive who could have done what you did - you may well have saved at least one life, you know."

"Do you really think so?"

"Yes," he affirmed positively.

Aurora smiled at him sweetly. "You're very kind."

Frank abruptly got to his feet and turned towards the door through which he had entered. His hand was on the doorknob when Aurora asked,

"Do you mind if I tell you something?"

He looked back at her. "What's that?"

"Damian's death was not your fault."

He stiffened and turned away again, starting to open the door.

"Frank!"

He stood stock still.

"I mean what I'm saying. It's only natural under the circumstances, I suppose, that you should feel somehow responsible for it, but you're only causing yourself more pain by doing so."

"I don't want to talk about this," he croaked.

"Sometimes what we want is not the same as what's good for us. You may think that talking about it is too painful, that you'll feel better if you're just left alone, if you can just forget. But you can't forget, can you? You can't forget what happened because you feel it's your fault."

"So it is," Frank said bitterly. "Damian sacrificed his life for me. If I had only fought better, there would have been no need for that. He died to save me."

"Yes, he did," Aurora said gently. "But there are better ways to make his sacrifice count than by spending the rest of your life blaming yourself for it. Don't reproach yourself for being alive, Frank. Be grateful for it. Use the extra time that Damian has given you to remember how he lived, not how he died. And use it to do all the things that he will never have time to do. When Damian died for you, your life became his gift. You owe it to his memory to enjoy it."

Frank turned slowly to look at her. "What a strange way you have of seeing things."

"Maybe it's because I see beneath the flesh, Frank. Because I can feel what other people feel." She paused, then said, "When Damian died, I _knew_ him. I had never taken the time before to think much about him, to wonder what he was like. I regret that now. But in the moment of his death, I felt his soul pass by me on its way to wherever it is that our souls go when we die. And I knew him then better than he knew himself. He didn't want to die. He didn't realise, when he came to your aid, that he was going to die. He didn't know he was giving his life to save yours. But he didn't mind, Frank. The last feeling I got from him before he vanished from reach was - was satisfaction."

"What?" Frank stared at her in disbelief, but Aurora nodded.

"Yes. Damian felt deeply satisfied when he died. And I can tell you the reason too. He was all that Hufflepuffs are known for: loyal, hardworking, truthful - but not brilliant, not extraordinary in any way. He believed himself to be insignificant, that being a hero was only for the brave or ambitious. When he died, he felt important and contented to know that he had done something glorious after all, that he had made a difference. You are that difference, Frank. Because you're still here thanks to him."

Frank was still trying to understand what she was saying. He couldn't fully grasp it. All this talk of souls, of feeling what others felt, of thoughts beyond death, was above him. He tried to puzzle out what the experience that Aurora had had might have been like, but he couldn't. He couldn't even begin to understand. He didn't even know why it made him feel better, he only knew it did. After a very long pause, he said quietly,

"It must be a strange feeling, to find out everything about a person in such a short space of time, without even needing to get to know them. I suppose you could go through life without talking at all, just seeing straight into people's minds."

"I can promise you I have never looked into yours."

"That I can well believe. It would probably be far too dull."

After a pause, Aurora said with a sudden odd little tremor in her voice. "In some cases I find it is far more rewarding to be able to understand without looking into a person's mind. I think - I think that you are someone I could learn to understand like that."

"Oh yes, there's no mystery about me. I shall never understand you though," Frank said heavily.

"Do you think so? There have been times lately when I - I thought you did."

Frank shifted awkwardly, and finally left the room.

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November 22nd. A month and two days to go before Christmas. Not that anyone was feeling about thinking about presents and puddings and the yuletide spirit. John's anxiety increased with every week. Faith did not know why, and she didn't ask. She lay awake at night until he came home and held his hand until he fell asleep. Only then could she find sufficient peace to sleep herself.

John was silently grateful that Faith did not ask questions. If she had, he would have been forced to tell her the truth: that he was worrying more and more every day about Malcolm. Leaning back in his armchair in the living room, John drew something from his inside pocket. It was a letter that had reached him by owl post two nights ago, and it was from Malcolm:

"_Dear John,_

_I'm really beginning to wonder if what I'm trying to do here is of any use. It seems to me sometimes that I'm doing more harm than good. You know that incident near Newcastle last Friday? Well, I was there. I saw it all happen and I felt so completely helpless. And then there was that girl. The poor kid can't have been more than twenty. I'd warned Dumbledore what was going to happen, but he did nothing. Why? Why didn't he stop it? Why did he let me go through with it? What could I do? I keep telling myself that if I hadn't done what I did, she'd be dead now. But that doesn't help. I still hear her screaming whenever I'm alone._

_I don't know where to turn or what to do. I wish I could talk to you. I know if I could, I would find new strength. But as it is, I have very little strength left at all. And yet, if I simply give up and come home, I know I'd only reproach myself the next time anything happened, feeling that perhaps I could have prevented it._

_Then again, am I really preventing any horrors by being here? I don't know. I don't know anything anymore these days, not even who I am. I've even forgotten what I really look like. I'm sorry to burden you with all of this, but somehow writing to you seems to help, just a little. I miss you all._"

John folded the letter up again and returned it to his pocket. His face was grave. He picked up a scrap of parchment, wrote a note on it which he placed on the kitchen table, and went out into the rain that had begun to pour down about half an hour ago. He followed the path from the house until he reached a point that was far away and not protected against apparition, then he disapparated from there to Hogsmeade. Not too long after, there was a knock on the door of Professor Dumbledore's office.

"Come in," he called, then, "Hagrid!" he exclaimed when the gamekeeper entered.

"Mornin', Professor Dumbledore, sir. 'ave you got a moment at all? Ye've got a visitor ..."

"Indeed? Who is it?"

"Mr. Lupin, sir. He's waitin' in Professor Pettigrew's office."

Dumbledore sighed. "Very well. Send him up, will you, Hagrid? "

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**3 - Diasagreements**

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Lily Evans hurried to the telephone as it rang shrilly.

"Hello? - No, this is Lily speaking. - Lily Evans. - Her sister. - Yes. - No? - I see. - Yes, yes she is. - I'm sorry? - Oh, right. - Yes, just a minute."

Lily covered the receiver with her hand and called up the stairs,

"It's for you!"

"Who is it?" Petunia called back.

"Someone called Deborah ..."

Petunia briefly made a noise that sounded rather like she was being strangled in the middle of attempting to sing a soprano solo. She came charging down the stairs as though the upstairs floor was on fire and nearly tripped down the last step. Lily called her by the arm.

"Slow down, Pet, it didn't sound as urgent as all that."

Petunia glared at her. "Give me the receiver, and don't call me by that ridiculous name!"

"But ..."

"Hello?" Petunia had snatched the receiver away from Lily. "Aunt Deborah, how nice to hear from you. - About Saturday? - Oh dear, I hope it's nothing serious. - I see. - Yes, yes, of course, very annoying. - Yes, I quite see that. - No, of course we wouldn't dream of asking you to pay out for a hotel. - Err ... here? - Vernon suggested ...? - I really don't know if that's such a good ... - I'd really rather ... - No, no, we wouldn't want that. - All right. - Yes, yes, lovely. - Yes, see you then. - Of course. - Yes. - Goodbye."

By the time she had replaced the receiver in its proper place, Petunia was looking as white as a sheet and rather shaky. She brushed past Lily as though she were something insignificant, like a hat stand, and charged into the kitchen.

"Why, whatever's the matter with you?" her mother exclaimed.

"That," announced Petunia, "was Vernon's Aunt Deborah. She says that the friends she was planning to stay with for the wedding have rung her up to say their children have got the measles, so naturally she can't stay there. Vernon suggested she should come and stay with us ..."

"Of course she can, I don't see that that's a problem."

"But ... mother ..."

Petunia cast what she seemed to consider a meaningful look over her shoulder. Mrs. Evans's eyes shifted briefly to Lily, standing in the doorway, then back to Petunia. There was a faintly dangerous glow in them.

"What is it, Petunia?"

"Well, how can I have Vernon's aunt staying here? What if she notices something odd?"

"Like what, for instance?" Lily demanded.

Petunia glared at her. "Like you, for instance."

For once, Lily did not feel like standing it. She had been hurt by what she had gleaned from her brief conversation with Vernon's aunt.

"I should think," she said cuttingly, "that the only thing Vernon's relations will find odd about me is the fact that I exist. Tell me, Petunia, have you told any of your wedding guests that you have a sister? Or will I be expected to spend the festivities draped in an Invisibility Cloak so no one will know I'm there?"

Petunia ignored her. "Mother, I can't have Vernon's family finding out ..."

"Your sister asked you a question," her mother interrupted.

Petunia huffed, turned on her heel and marched out of the room and back up the stairs.

"Oh dear," Lily murmured as she heard a door slam.

Her mother hugged her. "Take no notice of your sister, sweetheart. She's just a bit overwrought at the moment."

"She's always overwrought when it comes to me. Sometimes I wish I wasn't a witch."

"Nonsense, my love. It's something to be proud of. Your father and I are."

"I know," Lily sighed. Sometimes she wished her parents weren't so proud of her, too. It might have helped with Petunia.

"Don't you worry," her mother said. "We'll make sure this aunt of Vernon's doesn't find out, if it makes you any happier."

Lily tried to smile, but it didn't really work. She didn't want to ruin her sister's wedding for her by letting everyone discover that she was a witch. Petunia would hate that. But her parents would never allow her to not go to the wedding at all. However, she thought that it might be easiest if she simply stayed away from Vernon's family as much as she possibly could. She decided she would ask Aurora if she could come and stay with her for the weekend.

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Bartemius Crouch Jr. was turning a corner on his way back from the Great Hall after breakfast. His head was bent low over a sheet of parchment he held in his hands and his brow was furrowed. He muttered and grumbled to himself at the words his father had written and was so engrossed that he did not notice anyone coming the other way until the actual moment of collision – and that was despite the fact that one of the people he collided into was Hagrid.

"Oh, sorry," Barty murmured.

Hagrid responded with a brief apology of his own. The man with him said nothing. He looked as though his mind were dwelling somewhere miles away from Hogwarts. The pair passed and Barty's eyes turned back to the letter, but only for a few seconds. Then Fabian Prewett drew level with him.

"I say," he panted breathlessly, "that wasn't Mr. Lupin I just saw, was it?"

"Who?" asked Heather at his shoulder, turning her head quickly to see.

"The chap Barty just bumped into. Yes, I'm sure it is. Wonder what he's doing here. I say, that was an absolutely scrumptious breakfast, wasn't it? Too bad I have to follow it with Double Divination. What have you got next, Heather?"

"Potions."

"Yeuch. Okay, I'll see you two later then. TTFN."

Fabian and Heather left in the directions of their dormitories. Barty hesitated for a moment. Then he crumpled up his father's letter and moved as nonchalantly as possible the way Hagrid and his companion had been heading.

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Severus Snape was in his laboratory. What he was doing there, however, he had no idea. The potion he had been working on for Lord Voldemort, his grand project, was as good as finished. It lacked only one more ingredient, and that was not for Severus to add, but for Voldemort himself to select. The potion book from which the recipe had been taken was packed away, a small vial of the brew sat tidily on a shelf beside other bottles of different shapes and sizes, properly labelled. Severus stood looking around him, wondering what to do with himself now that this task was done. He supposed he could leaf through some other potion book to find himself a new challenge, but somehow he didn't feel like it. He felt - restless. As though he were waiting for something to happen without knowing what that something was. He also felt bored. Just at that moment, there came a timid knock at the door. Severus started. This must be the first time ever that anyone had knocked - had dared to knock - on the door of his private sanctum. Annoyed, he pulled the door open roughly and glared down at the house elf that stood there, scared out of its wits.

"What do you think you're doing here?" Severus demanded.

Mirmy shrank back and began to mumble incoherent apologies.

"Mirmy didn't know what to do, sir. It is the first time this has happened to Mirmy, and Mirmy is sorry but the young lady said Mirmy must come, so Mirmy came, although Mirmy was worried the young master might ..."

"Young lady?" Severus repeated. "What young lady?"

"The young lady in the drawing room, sir."

Severus stared at the house elf. "In our drawing room? How did she get there?"

"Mirmy showed her in there, sir."

"You let her in?! What on earth ... Why didn't you ask first?"

"Mirmy did not dare to disturb the young master. Mirmy wanted the young lady to wait until you comes out, sir, but the young lady would not wait any longer, and she told Mirmy to come and fetch you, so Mirmy has come."

Shaking his head in disbelief at the elf's readiness to obey orders from just any stranger off the street, Severus asked at last,

"Well, did she at least give a name?"

"Yes, sir," the house elf said eagerly, clearly pleased to be able to answer the question positively.

Severus waited for Mirmy to go on, but Mirmy didn't, so he asked,

"And?"

"Sir?"

"What name did she give?"

"Miss Coronis, sir."

In a flash, Severus was rendered speechless. Josephine. In his parents' drawing room! His parents ... He swept the astounded house elf aside and rushed along the passage, across the hall and into the room in question, closing the door behind him.

"Josephine!"

There was a dull clunk as Josephine dropped the serpent-shaped silver paperweight she had been holding on the rug. She picked it up hurriedly, gave it a wipe with the sleeve of the overlarge rainbow-coloured jumper she was wearing and placed it back on the small desk where she had found it.

"Golly gosh, Sevvie, was that jack-in-the-box entrée really necessary?"

"What are you doing here?"

Josephine's brow creased. "How wonderful to find you so overjoyed to see me. It's much more than I'd hoped for."

"I thought we'd parted ways."

"And glad you were to get rid of me, I'll bet. Only I'm afraid it's not that simple. I'm not easy to get rid of. Keep turning up again, like a bad knut."

"Why?"

"Why why?"

"Why - I mean what ...?"

"What?"

Severus, annoyed, shook himself. "Why have you come?" he ejaculated.

"Oh, that. Because I missed you," she said simply. "Haven't you missed me?"

Severus opened his mouth to say he hadn't, and that he thought she had better go straight back where he came from before someone saw her - then for some reason beyond his own comprehension, he shut his mouth again. Josephine smiled sweetly.

"I thought so. Quarrels are such silly things, aren't they? They seem so important at the time, and later on when you look back you wonder what you were thinking. We're all entitled to our own opinions, that doesn't have to affect whether or not we get on."

"Not even when our opinions are diametrically opposite to one another?"

"Can't you talk like a normal human being for once? Diametrically opposite? What kind of an expression is that? Anyway ... no, not even then. I can live with the fact that you think it's great to be a pureblood if you can live with the fact that I don't think it's great at all."

"That's not all though, is it? I'm a ..."

He broke off as the door suddenly opened again, causing them both to jump. His mother stood in the doorway, looking as surprised as they were. Josephine - not surprisingly - was the first to recover. She came over to the door and greeted Severus's mother with a ready smile.

"You must be Sev's mum," she declared happily. "Really, I've been starting to wonder if you exist, since Sevvie never seems to have wanted us to meet."

To Severus's utter amazement, his mother laughed.

"I've thought the same about you ..."

"Josephine - Josie," said Josephine. "I'm ever so pleased to meet you at last, Mrs. Snape."

"Iris," said Severus's mother with a shy smile.

Josephine smiled back. "I like that."

Severus watched them both, still not quite believing what he was witnessing. Before he knew it, they were talking together as if he wasn't even there, and then his mother ended by saying she would leave them alone now, but she hoped Josephine would come round for dinner on Saturday evening, and Josephine accepted. When they were alone again, Josephine flopped down into an armchair and said,

"Why did you never tell me what a lovely woman your mother is, Sev?"

"You think so?"

"Oh, absolutely. She's so sweet. You must be very fond of her."

Severus did not answer. He had no wish to tell Josephine that he had never thought of his mother as 'lovely' or 'sweet'. 'Meek' and 'timid' were more the kind of adjectives he would have employed.

"She certainly seems to have taken a fancy to you," he mused. "I haven't known her to talk so much since ... well ..."

He broke off. The truth was that he could not remember her ever having talked so much in all his life, nor was he aware of ever having heard her laugh before either. He looked down at Josephine. She was sitting with one leg pulled up in front of her, looking towards the window. What a contrast she formed to this room. She stood out like a poppy in a field of daisies. As she sat there, he gradually began to sense a change of mood in her, and by the time she turned her head to look at him again, he was no longer as surprised as he might have been to find her face more serious than was her custom.

"I meant what I said before, Sev," she said quietly. "I can't change my opinions, and I doubt if I can change yours, but I really have missed you. I'd like us to have another shot at it, if you don't mind."

Severus felt the strangest wave of emotion sweep over him that he had ever known. Part of him was telling him plainly that he was being stupid. Josephine was not his kind of girl. She was too vigorous, too frivolous, too colourful, too much of everything. But another part of him was aware that no other girl could ever affect him as she did, and that no matter how disturbing it was to him to feel that way, it was something he didn't want to be without. On the other hand, if she truly disagreed with his ideals to the extent that she had displayed ...

"I'll need to think about it," he said at last.

"All right," said Josephine. "Think about it. I'll be round Saturday evening, after all. You can tell me then."

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**4 - Plans of Action**

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"I'll come straight to the point, if you don't mind, sir," John was saying in Dumbledore's office. "I think it's time Malcolm came back home."

"I see," Dumbledore said thoughtfully. "And is there any particular reason why you have come to this conclusion, or is it just general worry?"

"No, there is a reason. It's this."

John took the letter from his pocket and held it out across the table. Dumbledore read it without displaying any kind of reaction, even when he read his own name.

"I see," he said again when he had finished, and handed the letter back to John.

"This has gone on long enough, in my opinion," said John. "He's obviously been going through hell, and I don't see that there's any sense in putting him through more of it, especially if we aren't going to act upon his warnings."

"But we can't, John. Not every time. If we did, the Death Eaters would be quick to discover who he is really working for. They may discover that anyway, if he makes it a new habit to send you letters. That was a very foolish thing to do."

"I know," John agreed. "And I also know he wouldn't have done it if he was thinking clearly. Sir, I don't know much about spying, but I do know Malcolm. This letter is... wrong. This isn't the man I know writing."

"Are you saying that he did not in fact write the letter?" Dumbledore asked curiously.

John shook his head. "No, it's not that. He wrote it all right. But it shows that he's changed. He has always been an optimist. He's never let anything get him down before, no matter how bad things were, he's always been the one to look on the bright side, even when no one else believed there was such a thing. This letter isn't like that. This letter was written by a man who can see no hope for the future. And it's something else too. A call for help. He obviously doesn't know how to go on, and he's asking me to help him..."

"And you think the right way to do that is to persuade me to summon him back home immediately?"

"He'd listen to you, sir."

Dumbledore shook his head. "I am afraid it cannot be done."

"Why not?"

"For one thing - because I have no way of contacting him," the headmaster said apologetically. "It was arranged that I would never send any message to him because it would be far too easy to trace if it should be intercepted. He sends his messages to the theatre and from there they are passed on to me in ever varying ways ..."

"For you to act upon or not, as you see fit?" John added bitterly.

"Malcolm may be right in blaming me for not acting quickly enough," Dumbledore admitted with a sigh. "Perhaps the outcome at Newcastle would not have been so bad if I had alerted the Aurors sooner. But I considered it ... unwise to act too quickly. Malcolm has been working undercover as a Death Eater for a long time, and the longer he does so, the greater the risk of discovery. If we prepare for every attack that he informs us about so well that no one is harmed, then Voldemort will become suspicious. He will start to wonder if there is a connection between which of his Death Eaters he tells and the swiftness of our reaction. And it will not take him long to find out who is betraying him. Voldemort is no fool."

"I understand," John said slowly. "I see you do share my fears."

"Yes. But there is nothing we can do at this time. To send a message from Hogwarts to Slytherin's Rock would be dangerous in the extreme. We should not attempt it unless we are absolutely certain of there being imminent danger."

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Sitting at her desk in the Department of Mysteries, Lily signed her name to the note she had just written and sealed it up. She wrote Aurora's name on the outside and placed it in her 'out' tray. Next, she pulled a sheaf of parchments towards her and leafed through them. Nothing urgent here. Lily sighed. She was feeling more restless and discontent than she had done for a long time, and she was still brooding over her sister's intense dislike of her. She pushed the papers away from her, and resting her hand on her chin stared hard at the door that connected her little room to the office of Algernon Rookwood. A frown creased her brow as she thought of the discussion she had had with him a few weeks ago. With sudden decision, she rose and went to a shelf, taking from it the register she had been looking at that day. She flicked through the pages, and finally smiled to herself. After all, why not? Rookwood was not here today, he would never know, and there was nothing pressing for her to do here. She closed the book and set it back on the shelf. Then she pulled on a thick winter cloak and made her way to the lift.

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Only a few doors on from where Lily had just made her decision, Remus was sitting at a long mahogany table, reading the agenda for this morning's meeting with a deep frown on his face:

_1 - Progress report on attempts to breed fire-breathing budgerigars_

_2 - Possibility of constructing cages for cave trolls in the Atrium_

_3 - Suggestion of employing vampires as night-watchmen_

"Morning, Remus," said a voice by his right elbow.

He looked up. "Good morning, Gloria."

Gloria Boom - the very same Gloria Boom who had been given the job Peter was supposed to have had when they had first started work - had signed on for the Ministry's "Alternative Methods of Protection" programme about a week ago. Her attitude to the whole affair was quite opposed to Remus's. But then, she didn't have his background. To Gloria, every new experiment, however dangerous, was an adventure. She simply loved throwing ingredients in a cauldron and stepping back to observe the result. In the same manner, she was fascinated by the idea of cross-breeding magical creatures and attempting to tame the untameable. She pulled out the chair next to Remus's and sat down. Leaning over to see what he was reading she said,

"Is that today's agenda? Cave trolls in the Atrium? Hm, I don't know that I think very much of that idea. Vampires sound much more sensible. I mean, trolls are just beasts who'll destroy anything and everything in sight, aren't they? Vampires are part human, so I suppose they could be expected to show a degree of understanding of what they're supposed to be doing, don't you?"

"I am sure they would understand perfectly," said Remus. "The question is whether they would do it."

"Well, why not? I should think they'd be glad to be given a decent job."

"A decent job?" he repeated dryly. "To be used as barely human watchdogs?"

Gloria shrugged her shoulders. "Well, after all, they're not completely human, are they? I wonder if it would be possible to use vampire genes and implant them to normal human beings to create a type of vampire that would only suck blood when required to do so. You know, without the urge to suck the people it's meant to be defending."

Remus considered telling her just what he thought of that kind of talk, but decided against it. He knew Gloria was not unkind, she just didn't understand. Like all witches and wizards, she had been brought up to regard anything not entirely human as little more than an animal. She could not be expected to understand that a "non-wizard part-human" had feelings that went as deep as hers, that it had the needs of what she called a "normal" human being. He changed the subject back to the cave trolls.

"I don't think much of this troll idea. There's no way they can be controlled, they're likely to cause more damage than the intruders they're meant to be fighting."

"Yes," agreed Gloria. "I say, how about cross-breeding a troll with something more human? A creature with the muscles of a troll and the brain of a vampire would be ..."

"Everyone's worst nightmare, I should imagine."

Gloria sighed. "You have such a cynical outlook on these things that I wonder what you're doing working as a part of this group sometimes."

"Mr. Westmore assigned me here."

"To keep an eye on the rest of us and make sure our experiments don't get too much out of hand, eh?" Gloria asked with a grin.

"Perhaps," said Remus, and left it at that.

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Faith was busy darning a set of John's work robes when she heard the knock on the front door. As always these days, the sound startled her. She laid aside her needlework and went quietly to the front door. The knock was repeated.

"Who is it?" she called through the locked door.

"It's Lily," answered the voice of Lily Evans.

Faith unlocked the door. "Hello," she said, surprised. "Come in, won't you? Can I get you anything? A cup of tea?"

"No, thanks. Actually I've come because I thought I might be able to do something for you."

"Oh? Well, you'd better come and sit down."

Faith waited while Lily hung up her cloak, then led her through into the living room and they each took a seat. Now that she was here, Lily felt unsure how to begin. She looked around the room, taking in the rubbed arms of the chairs and the faded look of the curtains as if she were seeing them for the first time. She took a deep breath.

"This is harder than I thought," she said with a little apologetic smile. "I had pictured myself coming in and saying 'now look here, I've had this idea' ... but it's not that simple. You see, it's occurred to me that there's a lot of injustice in the wizarding world and ... I want to do something about it."

"That's a very kind thought," said Faith, "but I'm not sure why it brings you to me ..."

"Well, it's like this. A few weeks ago I was looking through a register of wizard households that have applied to have extra protection measures installed, and I discovered that a lot of people's names had been taken off the list. I asked about it, and was told that that was because those people couldn't ... afford to have any more protection put in by the Ministry. It didn't seem fair to me and I - I decided something should be done about it."

"I see. That is, I still don't know why ..."

"Why I'm here? Because your name was on that list. Perhaps you didn't know, but John applied to have this house protected against all kinds of forced entry."

"No," Faith said slowly. "I didn't know that. I thought he was satisfied that the anti-apparition charm he and Malcolm put on the clearing was sufficient."

Lily shook her head. "No, he wasn't satisfied with that. But the Ministry seems to think he ought to be."

Faith gave a half smile. "They took our name off the list because we can't afford to pay for any extra protection charms to be performed, I suppose," she guessed. "Well, one can't really blame them for that. No one wants to work for nothing."

"But it's so unfair!" Lily cried out. "It would only take a couple of powerful wizards a few minutes to do it, and it could mean the difference between life and death for the households concerned. But the Ministry seems to care more about filling its bank account with gold than ensuring the safety of its people."

"That's not so very unusual, is it? It's simply the way our world works."

"I know. But it's not right, and I want to change it."

"All alone? I hardly think you will be able to, my dear."

"I can try. I'm good at charms, I always was. Professor Flitwick once told me I was one of his best students. Of course, I'm not powerful enough to protect a whole house against intrusion on my own ... but I if I had help, I could try it."

"I'm afraid you won't find me much use," Faith told her. "I was never very good at anything. Sometimes I think I was only accepted at Hogwarts because everyone held out the hope that I might someday display powers like my brother's ... which I never did."

"He's a strong wizard," Lily agreed. "So is John ..."

"John? Ah. I think I'm beginning to understand. You want John to help you with your plan - in exchange for helping him protect this house, is that it?"

"Basically, yes. I still don't know if even the two of us together will be powerful enough, but it's worth a try, don't you think?"

"Yes," Faith said thoughtfully. "But if that is your plan, why didn't you go straight to John himself?"

Lily smiled. "He's a man. Men tend to be proud, especially where money matters and accepting help are concerned. I thought if I spoke to you, maybe you could talk to him later and persuade him. Make it clear that I'm not just doing this to do him a favour, you know."

"I understand. I'll do my best."

"Thanks."

Lily rose to go. Out in the hall, she removed her cloak from the hook and put it back on again. Her gaze fell upon the photographs on the wall, and as she studied them closely without appearing to, another idea came to her. She felt almost wicked tricking Faith like this, but she couldn't resist.

"I know you might not want to hear this," she said as she turned around to say goodbye to Faith. "You probably prefer to just go on as if nothing were wrong, but ... well, I am really sorry about ... everything. If there's ever anything I can do ..."

Faith was surprised again. "I didn't know you knew," she said quietly. "It's kind of you, Lily, but there's nothing anyone can do. We've tried everything we could think of, but there's just no cure."

Cure? The use of that word and what it implied intrigued Lily more than ever. She had a feeling that she was being very unfair, wheedling information out of Faith like this. But what could she do when no one would tell her the truth outright? "It must be terrible for you," she remarked.

"It was to begin with," Faith admitted. "But we've all learnt to live with it. John found it hardest, because he blamed himself. Silly of him, of course. By now we've got used to it, and accepted the fact that there's nothing we can do about it, and it's really so much better that way. And we couldn't be more proud of our son."

"Remus is a dear," Lily said with a smile.

Faith smiled back. "You tell him that, and you'll have given him all the help he needs. He's never complained, you know, but he does feel it terribly - what it's meant to us."

"I imagine he would. Well, I'd best be off," Lily added, feeling that no more information would be forthcoming right now. She had been given enough additional food for thought. On a sudden impulse, she hugged Faith affectionately, then made her departure.

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**5 - The Spy Game**

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Barty Crouch Jr. decided to skip his next lesson. He could always say after that he had had a stomach ache or something. He didn't really even care if he got detention. He had news for the Dark Lord, and he was not going to waste any time in reporting it. His master would be pleased with him. He would praise him. Not like his father, who only ever sneered at his achievements and told him to do better. He might never be good enough for his father, but he was good enough for Lord Voldemort. Yes, in his thoughts, Barty dared to use that name, though he would never speak it. Lord Voldemort, the Dark Lord, master of all, the most powerful wizard of all time. Reaching his dormitory, Barty took a sheet of parchment and his quill out of his bag. He pulled the curtains around his bed just in case, and by the light of his wand wrote down all he had seen and heard. How he had seen Hagrid pass by with Mr. Lupin, how he had followed them both unobtrusively up the stairs and seen Lupin go up to Dumbledore's office. He had written down the exact amount of time that the two had spent in conference, and he had followed the headmaster's visitor back along the crowded passages of Hogwarts afterwards, and managed to find a good position just within earshot when Professor Pettigrew had stopped him on his way out to ask,

"Well, what did he say?"

"He says we must wait and see."

"Wait and see? See what? Whether he becomes incautious enough to get himself killed?"

Lupin had winced. "I sincerely hope it doesn't come to that."

"There has to be more that we can do other than just hope. If only he could take a break ..."

At that point, Lupin had looked around him anxiously and murmured, "Let's talk about this elsewhere, Philippa. I don't want to be overheard."

Barty had attempted to follow them both, but at that point the eternal nuisance Fabian Prewett had reappeared to talk to him, and he had not had the chance. Still, he could not complain. The Dark Lord would be interested to learn that there was something going on that involved at least Dumbledore, Professor Pettigrew, Hagrid and this Mr. Lupin, as well as another man whose name they had not mentioned ...

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Malcolm was at that moment busily engaged in reproaching himself for his foolishness. That letter he had written to John - what a stupid, idiotic thing to do! What good could come of it? None at all, he knew. It would only worry John, and didn't he already have enough on his mind?

Paula Lestrange greeted him in what, for her, was a friendly manner.

"Ah, Tiberius ... I must tell you," she said, taking him through into one of the rooms that led off the entrance hall, "our master is in a good mood today."

"Oh yes?" he said. "Why is that?"

"He got a letter this morning. I think it was from Vindictus Lothian."

Inwardly, Malcolm shuddered at the name. He had not met Bridget's husband yet, but whenever his name was mentioned by the other Death Eaters, it was with a good deal of awe and respect. Lothian, they all knew, was close to Voldemort - as close as anyone could be. He was a powerful wizard and the Dark Lord trusted him more than anyone else. Malcolm remembered all of this and said as lightly as possible,

"I see. Any idea what it said?"

"Not really. But I do know that he's coming."

"Lothian? Coming here?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"On Saturday evening. The Dark Lord seems to expect to have something important to discuss with him. He plans to have dinner served for two in the small parlour."

"I see," Malcolm said again. Then he added, "What's Lothian like? Have you met him?"

"Only in passing. He's an impressive sort of man. Very secretive." She gave a twisted smile. "He's rather like you in that respect."

"Do you find me so secretive?"

"Absolutely. One never does know what's going through your mind."

"I'm sure you wouldn't want to know."

"I'm sure I would."

Malcolm looked at her. He felt a repulsion towards her that was far from new to him. How different she was from her sister. Such a sweet girl, young Pippa. He hoped she would never come up against this black mirror of her own personality. He could not imagine anyone getting the better of Paula Lestrange, not even himself. She was dangerous. Her almost coaxing smile made him feel positively nauseous. He turned away from her and started thinking. So Lothian would be coming on Saturday. He did not know where the man had been of late, but if Voldemort was planning to celebrate his return with a private meal, then surely he must be engaged in something important. What, he wondered, could that be? Did Paula know? He doubted it. And in any case, to ask her might seems suspicious. He would simply have to wait and see ...


	27. Part 27: Professional Hazards

Prequel, Part 27: Professional Hazards 

**1 - A Sense of Foreboding**

Williams had been an auror for nearly thirty years. He doubted there was much he did not know about stealth and how to track people down without attracting too much undue attention. Dressed in muggle trousers and a washed-out jumper and wearing an old greatcoat and a rather worn beret, he strolled through an archway that led to a grubby little courtyard surrounded by run-down blocks of flats. A cat perched atop a turned-over dustbin watched him out of suspicious amber eyes. Williams stopped to take a cigarette and a battered box of matches from the pockets of his coat, and took his time lighting one.

All the while, his eyes were as watchful as those of the cat. He shivered a little. It was uncommonly dark and cold in the courtyard. He wondered what had possessed a person like the one he had come to see to choose this as her residence. A glamorous apartment in the town centre would surely have been far more to her taste. But perhaps it would have caused too much notice. Williams checked his inside pocket to make sure the photograph was still securely tucked inside it. His face was grim. If Miss Lovegood was right, then the Dark Lord's power extended even further than had so far been imagined. True, it had long been known that he had many supporters within the Ministry, but if his influence had really reached such high places ...

His train of thought was interrupted by the opening of a door to his left. Williams bent his head low and walked as casually as he could towards it. His questioning of the locals - conducted in fluent French since he had had the good fortune of having a French grandmother who had consistently refused to converse with her grandson in any other language - had informed him that this was the hour when his target habitually emerged. Sure enough, the opening door revealed a slender woman whose elegance of movement belied the impression of poverty that her cloak was designed to convey. Yes, this was definitely the woman of the photograph.

Williams strolled closer. At that moment, the cold grew suddenly more intense than ever before, the darkness of the courtyard more complete. With his dimmed vision, Williams was able to make out three or four shapes emerging from an archway opposite him. Only one of them was touching the ground.

Aurora Borealis came home from a very long night shift to find Lily sitting at her breakfast table, fully dressed in muggle clothes, with Cheesy the rat nibbling at some crumbs of cheddar on a plate beside her.

"Lily!" she exclaimed, putting her keys down next to the toaster. "What are you doing?"

"Having a cup of tea," Lily answered. "Do you want some, there should still be enough left in the pot."

She half rose from her chair, but Aurora pushed her back onto it with a firm hand and pulled up another for herself. Her rat immediately scurried across the table and dropped onto her lap, but she took no notice of him.

"You're not trying to back out of going to your sister's wedding, by any chance?" she asked Lily bluntly.

Lily shrugged her shoulders. "She doesn't want me there."

"So you're just going to sit here feeling miserable because your sister would rather pretend you don't exist?"

"Who says I'm miserable?"

"Your face!"

"Oh." Lily decided there was hardly any point in arguing further on that subject. "Well, all right then. I am miserable about it. I don't like the fact that Petunia hates me. I want us to be friends, but I don't see that we ever can be, so I'm doing the only thing I can do - making sure she gets the wedding day she wants without me hanging around to embarrass her."

"Don't be silly," Aurora said crossly. "You couldn't embarrass anyone if you tried. You're the sweetest girl anyone could have for a sister, and one day even Petunia will see that, I'm sure."

"I doubt it."

Aurora took Lily's chin in her hand and looked at her earnestly. "Do you want to be there when your sister gets married, or don't you?"

"Of course I do."

"Then what are you waiting for? Go and get that lovely bridesmaid's dress on that you look so pretty in. What about James? Is he coming to pick you up?"

"I told him I wasn't going."

"Well, I shall go and phone him while you're getting dressed ... if that isn't him already," Aurora added as the doorbell rang.

She went to answer it and found her guess to be correct.

"Good morning, Aurora," James said brightly. "I've come to collect the reluctant bridesmaid. I'm relying on you to have talked her out of hiding herself away."

Aurora laughed. "I would hate to disappoint you. She's just getting ready now. Come on in."

She held the door open for him, and skilfully intercepted Cheesy the rat before he could attack the visitor's shiny black shoes.

Peter Pettigrew took a deep breath and walked up the overgrown garden path in front of him. He found that the front door had been left ajar, so he merely knocked on it once and crossed the threshold. Without delay, he felt something like a powerful gust of wind from inside the house which literally lifted him off his feet, carried him back the way he had come and deposited him in a not-too-gentle manner halfway back down the path. Dazed, he shook himself, got back to his feet and began to dust himself down. He heard footsteps coming round the corner and turned. John, carrying an armful of freshly cut firewood, stopped when he saw Peter.

"Hello," he said. "I see you've just made the acquaintance of our new security system."

"Oh, is that what it was?" Peter said nervously.

John nodded. "With Lily's help I've been able to teach the house not to let anyone in whom it doesn't know. Just let me take this wood in and I'll introduce you."

Peter waited while John went into the house and closed the door behind him. After a minute or two he heard John's muffled voice telling him to knock on the door. Peter did so. John opened the door.

"Come on in," he said. "It's quite safe now."

"Really?" Peter asked uncertainly.

"I promise," said John.

Peter stepped in gingerly and found that this time, the house seemed to have no further objections to letting him enter.

"There, you see. Next time you won't need to worry," John explained. "You can climb in through the window if you like, the house won't object. So, what brings you to our door?"

"Actually, I wanted to talk to Remus, if he's got a minute."

"Well, he's upstairs studying at the moment. I'll go and see."

Peter was once more left alone, waiting in the living room. It was not long, however, before Remus himself came down to greet him.

"Good morning, Peter," he said. "This is a surprise."

"Hello," said Peter. "I hope I'm not disturbing you. Your dad said you were studying ..."

Remus sighed. "I don't know why I bother. It's not as though it will ever lead to anything. No matter how much I cram into my brain or how many exams I take, I doubt anyone will ever employ me as a teacher."

"I'm sure you'd be good," said Peter quickly.

Remus smiled. "Thanks. So, how are you doing? How's work?"

"Oh, all right. Mr. Mulciber can be rather strict whenever he wants something done, but actually he rarely does want me to do things, so that's all right."

"A bit odd, though. You said he was quite insistent to have you working for him, didn't you?"

Peter nodded. "He's also being insistent about something else."

"What's that?"

"Well ... y-you remember how I lost my first ever job at the Ministry ...?"

"Yes. Which reminds me. I spoke to Gloria Boom the other day, and she sends her regards."

Peter's cheeks flushed. "Gloria? Oh yes, you said she works with you now, didn't you? W-what's it like, working with her?"

"All right," Remus said non-committally. "We don't always see exactly eye to eye, but she's a nice enough girl. And I don't see eye to eye with most people in that group."

"Is it so very bad?"

"Not yet," Remus said slowly. "But I can't shake the feeling that it will be getting worse before we're done. They're already starting to talk about things that ... I don't like. Ugly things, even inhuman sometimes. They don't realise what they could be doing ..." He smiled. "But you didn't come here to talk about the Ministry's monster plans, did you?"

"No. I wanted to ask you if - if you wouldn't mind ... I could do with some help."

"You know I'll help with anything I can," said Remus at once. "What's the problem?"

"Mr. Mulciber's found out that I can't apparate. He says I should learn it."

"I see." Remus frowned. "That is to say - I don't see. Why should you need to apparate?"

Peter shrugged his shoulders. "He says I can't hope to have much of a career if I don't learn. He says anyone who plans to occupy an important rank within the Ministry at any time should be able to apparate in order to be available at all times. He says you can't be fully reliable without being able to apparate. And ..." - he went a little red - "my parents agree with him."

With a faint smile, Remus remarked, "I wasn't aware you were planning a big career. Peter Pettigrew, Minister for Magic, eh?"

"I know it's ridiculous ..."

"I didn't mean to make fun of you, Peter," Remus said quickly. "But ... I think I've told you before that I believe you ought to make up your own mind what you want, not let others decide for you."

"A-are you saying you won't help me?"

"Of course not. I've already said I will - if it's what _you_ want."

Peter looked down at his feet. "What I want is not to be laughed at because I can't do what everyone else can."

Remus patted his shoulder. "Let's do something about it then, shall we?"

Malcolm sat in a sturdy, high-backed armchair in Travers's house, staring unseeingly at the opposite wall, waiting. He had awoken today in just one of those black moods that had induced him a few days ago to write a letter and post it directly to John without considering the consequences.

Just as he had afterwards cursed himself for having sent that letter, he knew he would be angry with himself tomorrow for what he was doing now. He was being incautious in the extreme. He had spent a whole night as himself. As usual, his alarm clock had alerted him every hour to the fact that it was time to take his next dose of polyjuice potion. But he had ignored it. After all, he had told himself, it was not very likely that anyone would drop in to see him in the middle of the night, and even if they did, he could always take his potion before answering the door. He had therefore decided that it would be soon enough if he took it in the morning.

But now it was morning - well into the morning, as a matter of fact - and still he had not taken his potion. He had planned to take it after his ablutions. His idea had been to take a look in the mirror and remind himself of what his own face looked like, then take the potion after. But it was now getting on for eleven o'clock, and he had so far avoided every mirror in the house. Yes, he had even washed his face with his eyes shut.

"Why?" he asked himself.

He knew the answer. He was afraid. What he did not understand was why he should be afraid. Surely it would be soothing to the nerves to see his own face for once, to remind himself of who he really was. But it had been so long since he had seen that face. What if it proved a shock to him? What if he had become so used to Travers's face looking back at him that his own would seem strange and unreal?

_You're being a fool_, he thought. _A stupid, melodramatic fool._

With a good deal of mental effort, he forced himself up out of the chair and made his way to the bathroom. He stepped inside and went to stand near the mirror, keeping his eyes carefully averted from it. Then, taking a long breath, he prepared to turn ... It was just at that moment that the doorbell rang. For a moment he remained motionless. Then he pulled a flask out of his pocket and took a large gulp from it. He waited, feeling the familiar puckering of the skin, the tingling above the upper lip. The doorbell rang again. Malcolm turned towards the mirror, and Tiberius Travers's face looked back at him. With a wry smile, Malcolm said to his reflection,

"You're a rotten coward, you know."

Then he descended the stairs and answered the door.

Remus had taken Peter out on the moors to practise apparating. Once he had finished placing the firewood he had chopped tidily in the basket by the fireplace, John went into the kitchen. He found Faith there, just removing a fresh loaf from the oven.

"Hm," he said appreciatively, washing his hands in the kitchen sink, "that smells good."

"I hope it will taste all right too," Faith replied.

She placed the loaf on a wooden board and looked down at it thoughtfully. John dried his hands and came to stand beside her. He looked out of the window.

"It's very cold outside," he said after a lapse of some minutes. "The sky's grey, too. I shouldn't be surprised if we get some snow today. It's really taken it's time this year, but we'll probably have a white Christmas after all. That will be nice."

"Christmas," Faith murmured. "I don't think I've ever felt less like Christmas in my entire life."

"I know," said John. "I don't feel like it either. I ... I feel ..."

He made a sudden impatient noise and moved abruptly away. Resting both hands on the table and breathing heavily, he kept his back turned on Faith. She placed her hand on his shoulder from behind.

"What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" He laughed dryly. "Just about everything! I wish ... I wish I could just turn back the time and ... prevent all this from ever happening. If only I had stopped Malcolm ever going into this ..."

"There was no way you could have done that," Faith said. "Once he had made up his mind he was never going to let anyone stop him."

"I should have found a way! Any way! Anything would have been better than this."

"John, darling ..." Faith's tone grew suspicious. "Has something happened? Is there something you haven't told me?"

He shook his head. "No, I - I'm just having one of my more pessimistic days. I don't know why, but today I'm ... worried. More worried than usual. I feel like I'm waiting for something. I know it's mad and there's no cause for it, but ... I can't help feeling that something's gone wrong somewhere."

"If it has, it's not your fault."

"I know, I know. I just ... hope I'm wrong."

Faith took his arm and turned him around gently. She drew his head down onto her shoulder and he held her tightly.

"I'm afraid," he whispered. "My god, I'm so afraid."

**2 - The Day Draws On**

Petunia and Vernon's wedding ceremony had passed just as it should have. Elderly aunts in fluffy pink dresses had dabbed at their eyes with lace handkerchiefs during the vows, the best man had remembered to bring the rings, the bridesmaids had all looked pretty, but done their best not to outshine the bride in her silken white dress, and Lily had endeavoured to go unnoticed. However, her parents had insisted on having her and James on the photos along with them.

Now they were all sitting at lunch. Lily's father had made his speech, as had the best man, Vernon had stood up to offer words of thanks to everyone present, in particular the father of the bride, to whom had fallen the traditional and horrendously expensive duty of paying for the whole thing, and everyone was now partaking of refreshments and champagne. James touched Lily's glass with his own and smiled at her.

"Here's to a wedding without incidents, that surely even your sour-faced sister must approve of. We have behaved ourselves perfectly, now let's have some fun."

Lily smiled and took a sip from her glass. "I'm so glad you're here, James. All these people ... They make me feel rather uneasy. I don't know what Petunia and Vernon have been telling them about me, but some of them keep staring at me when they think I'm not looking as if I were something ... _abnormal_."

"Vernon's great-uncle didn't seem to find you abnormal though, did he? Except perhaps abnormally beautiful." James broke into an imitation of the elderly Dursley in question, speaking oilily and smacking his lips after every other word. "_Charming_," he said, "_Really, quite charming. Mr. Evans, may I congratulate you on having the most charming daughter I have ever set eyes upon?_"

James finished his rendition with a sweeping gesture, bringing Lily's hand to his lips. She chuckled.

"Yes, he was rather complimentary."

"The dirty old boy," James remarked with a grin. "He must be at least a hundred and fifty."

"Hardly," Lily objected. "Muggles don't live that long. Oh."

She covered her mouth with her hand, realising what she had just been saying. James shrugged his shoulders. "Don't worry, no one's listening. They're all too busy congratulating the bride."

Lily glanced across to where Petunia and Vernon were standing. They certainly looked suited to one another, despite the total contrast in build. Both so right and proper, so fittingly solemn on this important day in their lives. Solemn ... Lily did not want her wedding to be solemn. She wanted it to be a happy affair, with everyone talking and dancing, with James pretending to nearly drop her when he carried her over the threshold - but hopefully not doing so, with all their friends around them, hugging them and smiling at them and laughing merrily. She blushed as these thoughts passed through her mind and cast a sidelong glance at James. He was watching her, his head a little to one side.

"I wish I knew what you were thinking," he said quietly. "You looked very happy just then."

"I am happy," she said, squeezing his hand. "Very happy."

She leaned in to kiss him. At just that moment, Petunia Dursley turned her head in that direction. She watched James and Lily together, whispering and laughing. Lily, with her red mane and those hateful green eyes, enchanting as always. And that boy ... so outrageously full of life, so totally different from her Vernon, and so ... so irritatingly charming. Petunia pulled herself together. Freaks, the pair of them. Yes, they belonged together, all right. And the sooner she had nothing more to do with them, the better. She reverted her attention to the old lady standing beside her.

"Thank you so much, Aunt Deborah. Yes, of course we would be only too glad to come and stay with you sometime."

Laura Lovegood tapped her desk with her fingers and glanced at the clock for the thirteenth time in ten minutes. It was past lunchtime. Surely she should have heard from Williams by now. He had promised to make contact first thing this morning. He had promised to let her know at once when he did. But the clock was getting ready to strike two, and still she had not heard from him.

She told herself that there was no need to worry. It was foolish to expect news too early. After all, one had to allow time for him to meet up with his target, to introduce himself and persuade her to talk to him, to take her somewhere where they would not be disturbed ... All that would naturally take time.

How much time, though? Assuming by 'first thing' he had meant seven o'clock - or even eight, to be generous - how long would it take him to talk to the woman? Ten minutes, perhaps. She might protest at first, not want to be involved. Say twenty minutes at most, then. That made it twenty past eight. Then, if wherever they had to go to be undisturbed was a bit out of the way, it might take them about three quarters of an hour, or even an hour to get there. So they would arrive at about twenty past nine. If Williams had sent her a message immediately as he had promised, by owl as usual, it should certainly have reached her long ago. Even if her reckoning was wrong and they had not reached a private place before ten, that did not explain why there was still no message by just before two o'clock. And there was the time difference as well, she reminded herself. Wherever Williams was now, he was an hour ahead of her ...

As he walked past his father's study, Severus Snape could hear the not uncommon sounds of an argument penetrating the door. His mother and father were quarrelling. Or rather, his mother was making timid remarks and his father was rebuffing them vehemently.

"It is of no concern to me what arrangements you have made for this evening," Augustus Snape was bellowing. "I have been summoned to Slytherin's Rock, and that is where I shall be going."

"Of course, of course, but couldn't you go a little later? Josephine wants to meet both Severus's parents. Surely you want to meet the girl."

"Certainly I do, but one does not keep the Dark Lord waiting. I shall stay until she gets here, and I shall expect you to take note of everything this girl says tonight and tell me of it afterwards. I want nothing left out, mind."

"I do think it would be far better if you simply stayed ..."

"No!" her husband said firmly. "I am going to Slytherin's Rock, and that is final."

"Can I get you something to eat?" Malcolm asked his visitor, hoping that the answer would be in the negative.

Luckily, Lucius Malfoy shook his head. "No. I've been occupying your time far too long already. I never meant to stay this long. My wife will be wondering what has become of me. And in any case, I'll see you at Slytherin's Rock this evening, I trust."

"Of course," Malcolm agreed. "I must say I shall be interested to meet Lothian, after all I have heard about him. Paula tells me he is a very impressive sort of man."

"Yes," Lucius said thoughtfully. "I suppose he is rather. But to tell you the truth, I'm ... not as happy about his coming as might be expected."

"You resent the fact that the Dark Lord treats him as an honoured guest, when he actually seems to do very little?"

Lucius gave a crooked smile. "I see I have been showing my hand too plainly this morning."

Malcolm shrugged. "It doesn't matter. I shan't tell anyone. I can see your point. Here we are, doing the Dark Lord's bidding every day while he travels abroad for as long as he chooses, only putting in an appearance on a rare occasion, and getting the royal treatment."

"Ah, well, supposedly he's finding more followers in other countries. Recruiting spies in foreign ministries, and seeking out spies working for the other side."

Stiffening just a little, Malcolm said, "Really? Is he very successful in that, do you know?"

"Sometimes yes, sometimes no, I believe." Lucius laughed. "From what I hear he hasn't been able to find his own wife in eighteen years of searching for her, so I personally don't have too much faith in his abilities."

Malcolm got up from his chair quickly and turned to look out of the window in order to hide his smile. Eighteen years of searching, and Lothian was no nearer to uncovering Bridget's whereabouts than he had been when he started, eh? _Well done, Bridget_, he thought to himself. Aloud he said,

"Well, maybe he's found someone this time. He must have some particular reason for returning to England so suddenly, mustn't he?" Malcolm suggested.

"Not necessarily. As I told you, he and the Dark Lord are old friends."

They were interrupted by a scurrying sound at the door. A small creature had shuffled into the room. An ugly, bare-looking little thing with big, flapping ears shaped like a bat's and eyes resembling golf balls. The Malfoys' house elf was the youngest of its kind that Malcolm had ever seen, and also the most frightened-looking.

"What do you want?" Lucius demanded.

"Dobby's master said he wants to be home by two o'clock, sir. Dobby has seen it is nearly two o'clock now."

"Right. Well, Travers," Lucius said, rising and holding out his hand. "See you this evening."

Malcolm shook it. "See you then," he said.

**3 - A Dangerous Experiment**

"Stop!" Remus called. "Wait!"

Peter turned his head. "What is it? Is it the way I'm standing? Do I need to stand up straighter? Or make myself lighter or something?"

"That's just it. You don't need to do any of those things. All you need to do is relax. You're much too tense."

Peter pulled a despairing face. "It's no good, Remus. I'm taking up hours of your time, and it's never going to work. I'm just no good at apparating. It's too advanced for me."

Remus shook his head. "Let's have a bit of a rest," he suggested.

He led the way up a slope to a mound of rocks, one of the many tors that lay dotted around the moors. He conjured some cushions for them to sit on.

"Mum would murder me if I caught a chill from sitting on cold rocks," he said. "Come on, sit down."

Peter sat obediently. For a while they simply sat looking out over the moors, or what they could see of them. The air was cold and the sky was grey, lending an atmosphere of evening to the wintry afternoon. After a little time, the first flakes of snow began to drift down on them. Remus was breathing the fresh air deeply. Peter shuffled uneasily.

"You're not doing anything wrong, Peter," Remus said at last. "It's just in your head."

"W-what do you mean?"

"I mean that if you keep telling yourself you can't apparate, you never will learn to do it."

Peter shook his head. "I won't learn it because I'm just no earthly good at advanced magic."

"That's not true. You learned to become an animagus, remember. That's far more advanced than apparition."

"I couldn't have done that without help, though."

"Nor did James and Sirius. Admittedly, James and Sirius are exceptionally powerful wizards. But you're just as good as the rest of us. You just have to learn to believe it."

"It's all right for you. You can do anything."

"Not quite. To my mother's great disappointment, I am completely hopeless at darning my own clothes."

"Oh, you know I don't mean that sort of thing. I meant magic. Spells. You've never come across one you couldn't do, have you?"

"There are plenty I have never attempted - and some that I never will," Remus added darkly. "And I know there are things Sirius and James can do that are far beyond my skills."

"You're clever, though. That's as good as being powerful. I'm neither. I wish ... I wish I was like you."

"No," Remus said quietly. "No, you don't."

Startled, Peter looked at him. "Oh. I - I didn't mean ..."

"I know you didn't." Remus smiled wearily. "We all have our troubles. You have to learn something you don't really want to, Sirius is desperately looking for something to do with himself now that James is preoccupied with Lily ... even Gloria ..."

"G-Gloria? Gloria Boom?" Peter stammered.

"She's got engaged to Lance Lovegood, but it seems her parents aren't too happy about it. They think he's not got much of a future professionally, and they want their daughter to be well cared-for. One can't blame them for that, I suppose, but these days ... You'd think people wouldn't worry too much about that sort of thing. We should all make the most of the time we've got."

"Yes. Yes, you're quite right."

"James seems to have made up his mind that that's the best thing to be done, too," Remus went on. "He told me the other day that he intends to ask Lily to marry him."

"Really?" Peter exclaimed. "When?"

"I don't know. Very soon, I think. Maybe even today, at her sister's wedding. I certainly don't think he needs to worry about her answer."

He fell silent. Peter got the impression that he was thinking deeply about something. After a little while he asked,

"What are you thinking about, Remus?"

Remus sighed. "James wants Lily to know the truth," he said. "He wants to tell her he's an animagus. I can understand that, of course. The only problem is that it means he'll have to tell her why he did it. Or rather … I will."

"You mean you're going to tell her you're ..."

"Yes," Remus said quickly. "He offered to tell her himself, but I said no. It seemed cowardly, somehow, to let him do it."

"Well, I suppose it is about time she knew."

"I suppose so."

There was a silence again, then Peter said, "I don't think you need to worry about it, Remus. I'm quite sure Lily likes you."

"I think she does, at the moment. Whether she still will when I've told her, though, is another matter. Well, it's no use worrying about it." He sighed and looked around him. "See that tree over there, Peter?"

Peter followed his gaze. "Yes."

"Apparate over to it."

"W-what? Now?"

"Yes, before you have time to think about it. Go on."

Peter screwed up his eyes. He vanished instantly from Remus's side, then reappeared, looking positively startled, right where Remus had told him to. Remus smiled.

By half past two, Laura Lovegood had worked herself up into a terrible state of anxiety. She was no longer able to think straight any more. She kept picturing to herself scenes of Williams lying dead in a pool of blood, or else simply killed in the blink of an eye with an unforgivable curse. Or maybe even alive, being tortured for information. Laura clasped her hands, trying to stop them from shaking. She was not afraid of what Williams could tell any Death Eater who might question him. If he gave her away, if they came after her, she could take what was coming to her. But it pained her to imagine what they might be doing to him in order to get that information. She began to consider what she could do. Maybe if she went to Paris now, herself, she could find him before it was too late ...

Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a large eagle owl carrying a letter which it dropped on one of the desks. She rushed over at once, joining the other aurors who had gathered round to see who it was addressed to. It was Gideon Prewett who picked it up.

"It's for Crouch," he announced.

He duly went and took the letter to the head of the department. Laura returned to her desk, disappointed. It was not long, however, before Mr. Crouch himself appeared, holding the letter in his hand. Everyone could see from the look on his face that the news it contained was bad. Mr. Crouch began with a question.

"Can any of you tell me what Williams was doing in Paris?" he asked.

Laura's heart sank. She felt suddenly very sick. But she shook her head along with everyone else.

"What's happened?" Gideon asked.

Crouch said concisely, "This letter is from the French Ministry of Magic. Monsieur Renard, their head of law enforcement, writes that a man was found in the men's lavatory actually within the Ministry. A couple of the French aurors recognised him immediately as Williams."

"Is he ... dead, sir?" one of the others asked.

"No," said Mr. Crouch. "He is not dead. Though perhaps it would be better if he were."

"What did happen to him?" Laura enquired cautiously.

Crouch informed her coldly, "He appears to have suffered a Dementor's Kiss."

There was a stunned silence, at the end of which Crouch issued orders.

"I want to know exactly what happened. I want to know why Williams was in Paris in the first place, where he stayed, what he did, who he spoke to and, above all, how he came into contact with a Dementor. Laura!"

"Yes?"

"Get Moody here, quickly. I want him to arrange something for me."

Laura contacted Mr. Moody via the floo network immediately. He was there mere minutes later, and at once took her by the arm and led her into his office, taking care to lock the door behind them.

"Now then," he said briskly. "Out with it, girl. What _was _Williams doing in Paris?"

Laura shot him a miserable look. "It's my fault," she told him. "I sent him there. He went to find someone for me, someone I wanted to talk to. It was about the incident we had here, the day the Death Eaters came. I wanted to know what exactly happened and who was involved in making sure Wallis got away. I had my suspicions, but Peter Pettigrew could remember nothing. However, I knew there were three more witnesses. A young married couple, and a woman - the bride's sister. All three have since gone into hiding. I can't say I blame them. It's likely the Death Eaters would want to prevent any of them making the kind of statement I wanted to get. I spoke to Williams. He said he'd find the woman - Miss Dulac - and ..."

"Miss Dulac? Désirée Dulac, the actress?" Moody queried.

"Yes. Williams found her, all right. He wrote to me the other day, saying he would be making contact this morning, but I had no news from him. And now this ..."

She sank into a chair. "It's all my fault," she repeated.

"Have you told Crouch any of this?"

"No. If he knew I've been acting on my own ..."

"Quite. I wonder what he wanted me for, though. We all know we're hardly the best of friends. That will be him now."

Sure enough, the knock on the door that had come during his last sentence turned out to be Bartemius Crouch himself.

"Ah, Moody. Here you are. Let me get straight to the point. I want to know what happened this morning in Paris, and I want to try every means we have of finding out, starting with Williams himself."

"If he's received the Dementor's Kiss, there's nothing you'll be getting out of him," Moody said coldly.

"Not I," Crouch said. "No. I can't get anything out of him. But I think you know someone who might ..."

Moody returned the other man's stare darkly.

"Even with legilimency," he said, "there's little hope of finding out anything. Once the Kiss has been administered ..."

"We don't know the exact effect of the Kiss. We know it robs a man of his soul, but does it truly erase everything from his mind? There might still be something stored there, something he himself can no longer access, but that someone else could find."

"You're asking a very young girl to take a very great risk."

Crouch shook his head. "I won't be asking her. You will."

Moody did not reply. He merely strode past Crouch and out into the Auror Headquarters, looking menacing and very thoughtful. The other aurors around him spoke in hushed voices. It was clear that this was not the time to address Alastor Moody, unless one wanted one's head bitten off. Only Frank Longbottom, hurrying in through the door a couple of minutes later, dared to address him.

"I just got your message, sir," he said. "I'm sorry to hear about Williams, of course. But I don't quite see what I can do."

"Come with me," said Moody.

"Where are we going?" Frank asked, obediently following Moody out into the hallway. "Are we going to see Williams?"

"Not yet. He's in Paris. That's where we'll be going after."

"After what?"

"After we have paid a visit to our friend, Miss Borealis."

Frank slowed his pace thoughtfully for a few seconds before catching up with Moody as he stepped into the crowded lift.

"Sir, I hope this doesn't mean you're suggesting ...," he began, but got no further.

"Not here," Moody ordered.

"Are we safe enough from being overheard yet?" Frank asked.

He and Moody were climbing the stairs in the block of flats where Aurora lived.

"I expect so," Moody replied. "But there is still no need for you to speak. I know what it is you want to say."

"I hope you also agree with me."

"Up to a point, yes."

"Up to a point? Sir, Williams has been robbed of his soul. I'm aware that I know less than nothing about this kind of thing, but it seems to me that to enter the mind of someone who has no soul is one of the most pointless things one could possibly attempt in matters of legilimency. Not only pointless, but very likely dangerous as well! I don't know what this could lead to, I don't know if you do, but I do know that I have a very bad feeling about it."

"A bad feeling?"

"Yes. Right here." Frank indicated his stomach.

Moody frowned deeply. "Gut instinct, eh? It can be useful sometimes. But at other times it can be both useful and necessary to take risks."

"Just as long as you're not risking your own life," Frank grumbled to himself.

Moody looked at him so sharply that Frank went red. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean that. It's just ..."

"You're desperately trying to protect this girl, I know. But remember, Longbottom, she hasn't asked you to do so. She may not want you to."

"Sometimes what we want is not the same as what's good for us," Frank said quietly, remembering Aurora's words to him. Then he went on, "You may be right. But I know she won't protect herself, so ..."

Surprisingly, Moody smiled crookedly. "That," he informed Frank, "is why I asked you to come along in the first place. My job is to persuade Miss Borealis to take risks. Yours is to see to it that she comes through it unharmed."

"How?" Frank asked bluntly. "How can I protect her from something I don't understand?"

"I have no idea. But I'm sure you'll find a way."

It was just then that they reached Aurora's open door. She was standing there in her dressing gown, waiting for them. She shook Moody's hand and smiled a greeting at Frank. Frank frowned back, cast a quick glance at the old auror, and said that he would wait outside. Aurora turned a surprised face to Moody, who closed the door.

"What was that all about?"

"Mr. Longbottom does not approve of what I am about to ask of you. I feel it is my duty to tell you that he has what he calls a 'bad feeling' about it. Nevertheless, you are our only hope of finding out what exactly happened to one of our men in Paris this morning. Are you willing to take another risk for us?"

"What kind of risk?"

Moody explained it to her. Aurora listened, showing no reaction except for the increasing pallor of her cheeks. When he had finished speaking, she thought for a while. At last she said,

"I'll come with you to Paris, of course. Since you think I'm the only one who has a chance of finding out what occurred, and since you seem to consider it important that we do find out, I don't see how I can refuse."

"You can easily refuse if you want to. You're not an auror. You're under no obligation to do this."

"There's such a thing as public duty, isn't there?"

"Does anyone worry much about that these days?"

"I suppose ... The thing is, of course, that if anything has happened and we find out too late because I didn't do all I could to help ... I'd feel responsible. But ... what exactly is there to find out?"

Moody said thoughtfully, "The Death Eaters might have captured the witness Williams went to see. Williams might have witnessed her capture, he might even have heard where they were taking her. Or he might not have suffered the Kiss until much later, he may know - or rather, he may _have known _whether or not she died instantly or if she passed on any information to our enemies. Quite frankly, I would be happiest if I knew they had killed her on the spot."

"If they did capture her ..."

"If they did capture her, then we must try and find her before they get any information out of her. If they find out what she knows ... I didn't tell you her name, did I?"

"No."

"Miss Dulac," Moody said. "Désirée Dulac."

"Oh!" Aurora exclaimed. "But that means ... if they get anything out of her ..."

Moody nodded.

**4 - An Afternoon in Paris**

Frank and Aurora were standing in the rooms of the Auror Headquarters in Paris. Mr. Moody had gone into one of the offices with Monsieur Renard and they were waiting outside. Every now and then, French aurors passing by cast inquisitive glances at them, but no one addressed them. Aurora had been silent ever since they arrived here. She was still wearing her thick winter cloak.

"Aren't you a bit warm in that cloak?" Frank asked after a while.

Aurora jumped as though she had forgotten there was anyone else in the room with her. She shook her head.

"No," she said quietly. "Actually, I'm feeling a bit chilly."

Frank turned his head to look at her. She was very pale.

"You look quite ill," he said.

Aurora shook her head. "I'm all right. It's just nerves."

"Maybe it would be better if you refused this time. I don't know if Mr. Moody told you, but ..."

"He did. Yes. He told me you have a bad feeling about it. So do I."

"Then don't do it," Frank suggested quickly. "You can still refuse. I'll go in and tell Moody you've changed your mind, and I'll take you straight back home."

Aurora looked up at him and smiled faintly. "No, Frank. I'm going through with this."

He gave a heavy sigh. Aurora turned her face away again. Her voice had sounded determined, but she looked very frightened. Frank felt himself wanting to put his arm around her, to comfort her. He thought about it. Would she mind? Maybe. On the other hand, maybe she would appreciate it. He waited a minute or two, then took a step towards her. But Moody and the French head of department reappeared just at that moment, and Frank drew back.

Monsieur Renard was a sturdily built man of about forty. He had the look of an outdoor man about him - a weather-beaten face and thin, windswept hair, keen eyes and a brisk manner of walking. He addressed himself to Aurora. He had a strong French accent, and it seemed to Frank that speaking English did not come very easily to him. He often paused to search for a word, which appeared to irritate him, as it impeded his customary briskness.

"Monsieur Moody 'as described to me your talent most extraordinary, Mademoiselle Borealis. It is very courageous of you to take this risk. I 'ope that you will 'ave success. If there is anything I can do for you, please, 'esitate not to ask ..."

"Thank you," Aurora replied. "I would only like to get this over with as quickly as possible.

"Naturally, naturally. If you will follow me ..."

"Mother?"

Severus Snape tapped on the half open door of the drawing room. His mother looked up, startled, from a piece of parchment that lay on the writing desk in front of her.

"Severus," she said in her usual, timid voice. "What can I do for you?"

"Nothing. I was actually thinking that ..." He hesitated, finding the words he was trying to say difficult to utter and extremely unfamiliar. "I was thinking I might be able to do something for you."

Iris Snape looked surprised. "For me?"

"I overheard you and Father earlier, and I realise that your - discussion - was on my account."

"Ah," said his mother, beginning to understand. "You feel that because it is your girlfriend who is coming to dinner this evening, it is your fault that your father and I had a row."

"I wish you wouldn't use that word!" Severus said hotly.

"Row?"

"No, not that one."

His mother smiled. "I see. Very well, I'll just refer to her as Josie then, for simplicity's sake. In any case, whatever we call her, I see no need for you to worry about it. Your father and I have had plenty of arguments before."

"I know, but as this is on my account ..."

"Severus, you needn't try to hide your feelings from me. I am well aware that you're not normally so concerned about our quarrelling. You're really looking for excuses, aren't you? You don't want Josie to come. You never wanted me to meet her in the first place. Why not?"

Severus shifted irritably, but did not reply, so she went on.

"You didn't want her to meet your parents. And you didn't want us to meet her. You believe that Josie's world and our world are better kept separate."

"I ... yes," Severus admitted. "I'm surprised you understand."

"Are you? You shouldn't be. I'm your mother, Severus. I know you better than you think. And I'm very sorry that I'm such a disappointment to you."

He opened his mouth to protest, but found he couldn't. Iris's smile turned sad. Her voice dropped to a whisper.

"I've known that for a long time. Very well, so you are ashamed of me. I'm too timid, you'd like your mother to be a woman of character, someone to look up to ... but I don't think that a mother like that would do you any good with Josie, my dear. Josie seems to me to be a thoroughly sweet creature. She's so full of life and energy. I like her, I really do. Your father may not ... that could be a problem. But you must believe one thing, Severus: However timid I may be, however your father may frighten me, I will stand up to him on this matter."

"What if I don't want you to? What if 'this matter', as you call it, is no matter to me at all? Josephine is not my type."

"And that's just why she's so good for you. Believe me, she is."

Once again, Severus tried to argue, and once again he closed his mouth immediately after opening it. Irritating though his mother was, she knew him well enough - perhaps that was part of the reason why she irritated him. No, he told himself, it wasn't that. It was because she was always frightened, because she never stood up for herself. Would she really stand up for him? He looked down at her doubtfully.

Frank, Moody and Renard had remained by the door while Aurora went and sat on the chair across the desk from where Williams was sitting. He was staring in front of him with unseeing eyes. His expression was completely bland, his hands rested on his knees with no apparent purpose. He neither moved nor made a murmur when the four people entered the room, nor when Aurora asked,

"Can he do anything? Anything at all?"

"If one places the food in 'is mouth, 'e will eat it. 'is reactions are mechanical. It is that 'is body knows what to do, but 'e does not know why 'e does it."

Aurora nodded. She focused her attention entirely on the man facing her, allowing herself to imagine the kind of man he must have been before this had happened to him. He looked as if he had been just as vigorous as Monsieur Renard himself. Quite a good-looking man, in a rugged sort of way. She wondered if he had had a family, and tried to picture him as he might have once been. Then she began slowly to reach out with her mind. She could see pictures almost at once, but she knew just as quickly that they were the wrong ones. She could see the thoughts of three different people. She let them pass before her eyes for a few moments before turning to look at Moody.

"Sir, much as I appreciate your concern, if anything happens to me, I hardly think strangling Mr. Crouch with your own two hands will make it any better."

Moody looked taken aback. He was not the only one. Frank and Renard both stared at her as well. Aurora advised,

"If this is going to work, I think I will have to be alone in the room with Williams. You have far too vivid imaginations."

Renard and Moody agreed quickly. Frank hesitated. The corners of Aurora's mouth twitched upward.

"Go," she said gently. "I promise I'll call you if I need anything."

They left her alone with Williams. Once again, Aurora focussed her attention on him. It took a long time before she could find anything at all. At last, she felt something. It was as though she were physically moving, though without the help of her body. Before her eyes something began to appear. At first it was just a black speck in the distance, but gradually it became larger, and she could see that it was like the gaping mouth of a tunnel. She was heading straight for it with ever-increasing rapidity, and before she quite knew what had happened she was inside it. Only now, it was no longer a tunnel. It was like a cave. A big, black, empty hollow with no roof or walls, no floor or windows, no air, no light, no sound. Emptiness. A great void, no longer a cave even but just sheer nothingness, like floating in space without stars or planets. Black, black all around her, whichever way she turned. She could neither see, nor hear, nor feel. She groped about in the dark, but her fingers found nothing. Panic seized her. This was the end. She would never escape now. This was oblivion. No life, no death, no thought, no comfort. Nothing. Nothing at all. And no way out. No way out.

No, wait ... what was that? Surely, she had seen something. Or was it her imagination? She strained her eyes, willing herself to see something, anything. And she did. She saw something long and thin, like a rope standing perpendicularly in the middle of the void. The top end of it twitched. It flicked eagerly from side to side. The movement struck her as strangely graceful. The surface of the rope, or whatever it was, looked like it was covered in fur. It couldn't be a rope then. A tail. Yes, that was it. A cat's tail. She could see the rest of it now. The body crouching down gracefully, the tail settling itself atop a rounded black surface. A dustbin? Yes, a turned-over dustbin. The cat turned its head. Amber eyes looked her way.

Aurora's hand slipped inside the pockets of the coat she discovered she was wearing. Her fingers found something. A cigarette, a box of matches ... she saw the lick of flame before her eyes. She shivered. It was dark and cold. Somewhere to her left a door opened. Aurora moved closer to it. Someone appeared. A woman. Aurora shivered again. Why was it so cold? And why were the images around her fading again? And what was that? What were those shapes coming her way? What was that - that thing gliding towards her? Its hands, blackened and scabbed, reached for its hood...

Frank interrupted his pacing with a jolt so sudden that Moody looked up sharply.

"What's up?" he said. "Finally walked a hole in your shoe?"

"Something's wrong," Frank answered with certainty. "Sir, this is taking far too long. If Aurora was going to find anything, she should be done by now."

"It may be hard for her to get into his mind at all, if there's any of it left."

Frank strode towards the door. "Let's find out then."

"Monsieur Longbottom, I do not think it is wise to interrupt ..."

"Well, I think we ought to," Frank insisted, brushing the Frenchman aside with sudden vehemence.

"Frank, you don't know what damage we might cause by interrupting now."

"I know it will be worse if we don't!" Frank insisted, and pulled the door open without waiting any longer. Then he uttered a cry. "Aurora!"

Moody followed Frank into the room quickly and grabbed him by the shoulders before he could go any further. He surveyed the scene. Aurora had slid from her chair. Her arms were hanging limply at her sides and her head had fallen on one shoulder. Williams, on the other hand, was suddenly alive again. He had risen from his chair and was looking straight at Moody and Frank, his bland expression replaced with one of terror.

"I'm ... trapped," he said in a frightened voice that didn't suit his manly figure at all. "Sir, I - I can't go back."

Moody did some quick thinking. He released Frank, who by now had in any case gone from urgent action to horrified paralysis, and quickly walked towards the desk. But he did not go to Williams. He went to Aurora. He took her by the hand and spoke urgently, again to her and not to Williams.

"You've got to fight it," he said. "Concentrate, girl. Concentrate on who you are. Concentrate on your own thoughts, concentrate on _your _feelings, not his. Come on, girl. Fight."

Williams screamed as though in great pain. At the same time, Aurora's body convulsed. Her voice came weekly.

"I can't, I can't, it's too strong."

"Aurora!" Frank cried, springing back into action. He joined Moody, not understanding what was going on, just acting as Moody had done without stopping to think about anything except that he must, somehow, get her back. "You can do it, I know you can. You can do anything. Please, Aurora," he begged. "Please don't give up."

She opened her eyes and looked at him. Her hand gripped his tightly, she convulsed again and then relaxed, her hand felt cold and lifeless.

"No," Frank whispered. "No, please ..."

Williams gave another scream. Aurora jerked for a minute or two, then lay quite still. Moody felt her pulse.

"I think she's back with us," he said. He clapped Frank on the shoulder. "Hold on to her."

Moody then went to take a closer look at Williams. The auror had sunk back into his original seat and was as motionless as he had been when they had first seen him. Frank, still crouching on the ground with Aurora in his arms, asked shakenly,

"Sir, w-what happened? What was going on here?"

"I'm not entirely sure," Moody replied. "It won't be possible to say for certain until Miss Borealis wakes up."

"You are certain that she will?" Renard enquired doubtfully.

Moody looked down at Frank and, after a pause, said gravely, "If she's not, I'll have somebody's blood for it."

"Whose?" Frank demanded impatiently. "Wasn't the whole point of this supposed to be for Aurora to tell us who was responsible for the attack on Williams? And now we're no further than we were before, all that's happened is that we - we very nearly lost her!"

"There is still a chance that she may have found out something. We can only wait and see. Meanwhile - Renard, I assume you've got plenty of chocolate stored away somewhere?"

"I do not know. I would 'ave to check."

"This is Paris!" Moody exclaimed. "I thought all you Frenchmen ever did was drink chocolate out of bowls and eat frogspawn."

"Frog's legs," Renard corrected, retreating towards the door. "I will see what I can do."

Moody watched him leave the room. He then turned his attention back to Frank. With a sigh he said,

"I'm sorry. Looks like we all should have paid more attention to your gut instinct. I promise you I won't ignore it next time."

"Next time?" Frank repeated bitterly. "There won't be a next time. Even if she comes through this all right, I intend to see to it that nothing like this ever happens again."

The older auror patted him on the shoulder. "You're right, lad. As soon as we find out what we need to know, I'll see to it that she's taken to St. Mungo's as quickly as possible. Don't worry, I'll make sure she's well looked after..."

"That sounds like you want to get rid of me. I'm not going!"

"Frank," Moody began soothingly, "hear me out. I want you to do something for me that I consider important. I'm sure you will know if our young friend here has any relations...?"

"Yes," Frank replied, surprised. "Yes, she - she has an aunt."

"Good. I want you to find her. Explain to her briefly what's happened and bring her straight along to the hospital."

"All right, but ... why the rush?"

"Because the enemy has eyes and ears everywhere, that's why. I have to take Aurora to St. Mungo's to let the healers make sure she's all right, but when I do, a lot of people are going to find out some of what happened to her. And from that moment on, the Death Eaters' attention is likely to be on this girl, and on anyone connected with her."

**5 - Mr. Moody's Summons**

"Don't they make a lovely couple?" Mrs. Evans sighed into her husband's ear.

Mr. Evans frowned. "Do you think so? To tell you the truth, Rose, I find nothing about Vernon Dursley that I could call lovely."

His wife nudged him playfully. "I wasn't talking about Petunia and Vernon, Ted. I meant Lily and James."

"Oh." His face cleared, and he turned it towards the dance floor, where the two young people in question were engaged in a waltz. "Yes. Of course, Lily would make any man look good."

"James is such a nice boy," Rose went on. "So easy-going. And really quite a lark."

"A lark indeed," Ted Evans chuckled. "Bit of a rascal too in his school days, from all we've heard."

"It's not such a bad thing for a young lad to while the time away tormenting teachers. It makes school life less dull."

"There's certainly nothing dull about James Potter," Ted agreed. "Yes, a thoroughly nice chap."

James, of course, heard none of this praise. He did, however, notice Lily's parents looking their way, and he waved to them. Then he bent forward and whispered to Lily.

"Your mum and dad are keeping a close watch on us. I think they're worried I might carry you off."

Lily blushed. "Oh yes?"

James nodded. Then he added, "I could, you know. We could easily sneak out of the back door while everyone's busy watching the happy couple dancing. Then we could disapparate to some lonely romantic spot and gaze at the stars."

"Isn't it a bit early in the day for stars?"

"Snowflakes, then," James went on, undeterred. "We'll gaze at the snowflakes until it grows dark, and we can't tell them from the stars any more."

Lily tilted her head back slightly so that she could look at him. "Are you serious?"

"You bet I am!"

"In that case ... I'll just get my coat."

It had taken Frank a hurried enquiry or two at the Ministry to find out where Aurora's aunt lived. As he remembered it, she had mentioned visiting her aunt in London. Well, the only witch by the name of Borealis registered as living in that town at the present was Aurora herself. Miss Enid Borealis had apparently been residing for the past eleven years or so in a place called Tipton on the Moor. It was there that Frank had consequently apparated, choosing a site a little way outside of the village, where a small brook flowed under the willow trees. He guessed that this was likely to be a highly frequented spot in the spring, when flowers bloomed along the banks and the trees were hung with fresh green foliage. Now, the water was frozen over and the trees were bare save for the snow that had nestled along their branches and around their roots. Turning up the collar of his winter cloak and pulling his gloves on a little tighter, Frank made his way to the snow-covered path and trudged along it, across a bridge and onto the village square.

Here, a snowball fight was in full swing. The local boys appeared to have divided into teams and were pelting each other with snowballs of all shapes and sizes while the girls stood or sat around the edge of the 'battlefield', giggling and cheering and occasionally shouting out warnings to their favourite participants. It was when one of the girls, who had a particularly shrill voice and wore a hideous bright orange hat with a pom pom on the top, yelled out, "That's right, get him, Bobby!", that it happened. Bobby, startled by the girlish shriek, missed a throw that would have been right on target and sent his snowball spinning several feet wide of its goal. Frank sprang to the side, which was lucky, for the cold, wet mass narrowly missed his left ear.

"D'you 'ave ter keep doin' that?" Bobby shouted at the shrill-voiced girl, who merely burst into a fit of giggles. "Sorry, mister," Bobby went on, addressing Frank. "That ball was a dead cert, it was. Goin' straight at Mickey Toms's 'ead."

Frank acknowledged the apology. "No harm done," he said. "Now your fight's been interrupted anyway though, I wonder if you could help me. I'm looking for a Miss Enid Borealis. Do you know her?"

"Old Miss B?" The girl in the orange hat exclaimed shrilly.

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Take no notice of Gladdy, mister. Course we know Miss B. She lives up that lane there, last 'ouse before the stile. Can't miss it. She won't let no strangers in, though. 'ave you met 'er before?"

"No," Frank replied truthfully.

"Well, best o' luck then," Bobby said cheerfully, returning to his position in the snowball fight. "See ya!" he called with a wave, then bent to gather some fresh snow.

Frank proceeded as indicated. He found the little cottage easily enough. It was not only the last house in the lane, but one of very few, each practically hidden behind high, untidy hedges, with tiny windows under their low roofs and barely enough garden around them in which to swing a cat round. The front gate of the last cottage before the stile hung slightly crooked on its hinges and creaked noisily when he pushed it open. Frank followed the garden path to the wooden front door and applied his hand to the painted iron knocker. There was no reply. He gave it a few minutes, then knocked again. Still nothing. He wondered whether maybe Miss Borealis had gone out, but standing back a little he could see a light flickering behind one of the upstairs windows. Surely she wouldn't have left the house and left a candle burning. Once more he knocked, and once more no answer was forthcoming. Frank was just wondering what to try next when a hearty male voice behind him called out,

"Hello! Can I help you?"

He turned around to find the local vicar standing just outside the gate, his white collar just visible under his black winter coat. Frank went up to him, holding out his hand.

"Frank Longbottom," he introduced himself. "I've come to see Miss Borealis, but she doesn't seem to be in. Either that, or she's just not answering the door for some reason. There seems to be a light on."

"Oh, I dare say she is in," the vicar said brightly. "She doesn't go out very often, nor does she have many visitors."

"A boy called Bobby said I might have difficulties being let in..."

"You've not been to see her before?"

Frank shook his head. "No. But I really must see her now. It's rather urgent."

"Well, she's very particular about who she'll see these days. Some people think she has developed a touch of persecution mania, but I may tell you I don't believe that. I can't think what is the matter with her, but she certainly seems genuinely frightened lately. She talks a lot about the evil in the world, and seems to think it will force its way into her house if she opens the door to a stranger. What is it you want to see her about?"

"It's to do with her niece," Frank said. "Aurora."

"Little Miss Rora?" the vicar exclaimed. "Ah, well, that should be different. If you have a message from Miss Rora, I'm sure the dear lady will see you."

The vicar came up to the door with Frank and rapped on it loudly, adding to it a loud call of "Miss Enid! Are you in!"

There was a pause, then the sound of footsteps on the other side of the door.

"Is that you, vicar?" asked a voice, muffled by the door.

"Yes," the vicar replied. "I've got a visitor here for you. A Mr. Longbottom. He's got a message for you from Miss Rora."

They heard the sound of several bolts being drawn and the rattling of a safety chain. Finally the door opened a fraction and a woman's face appeared. The face was not quite what Frank had expected. Not that he had ever made a mental picture of Aurora's aunt, but if he had done, he was quite sure it would not have looked like this. For one thing, she looked nothing like her niece. And he could see why the children referred to her as "old". Though she was probably no more than sixty, at most, her hair was almost entirely white, and she had an air about her that he automatically associated with elderly spinsters in sturdy footwear and tweed skirts with neat little hats on their heads and knitting needles tucked precariously amongst the sofa cushions. She blinked near-sightedly at her visitors. The vicar gave a genial smile.

"How do you do, Miss Enid? Allow me to present Mr. Longbottom, a friend of your niece's. Mr. Longbottom - Miss Borealis."

Frank thanked the vicar and faced the anxiously appraising glance of Aurora's aunt.

"Do you really know my niece?" she asked. Her voice was high-pitched and a little breathless.

"We were at Ho... school together," he told her, quickly stopping himself from saying 'Hogwarts'.

"Oh! In that case, I ... erm ... I suppose you had better come in. Unless we could talk here," she added hopefully.

"I'm afraid it had better be in private," Frank said.

"I'll leave you to it then," the vicar said cheerfully, and departed down the garden path.

Enid Borealis eyed Frank a moment longer, then drew aside to let him in. The hallway inside the cottage was every bit as cramped as the outside had made it seem. The doorways were low, but the living room that he was now led into immediately struck Frank as being extremely comfortable and easy to feel at home in. It was full of stuff, of course. Chintz armchairs, oak tables with hand-crafted lace coverings, baskets full of artificial daffodils and tulips and as many photographs as would fit on the available surfaces. Frank's eye at once fell on one of a little girl with auburn plaits sitting on a sofa between what were obviously her parents. They were all three waving at him.

"When was this taken?" he asked.

"Oh, many years ago. My niece must have been six or seven."

"Not long before the fire, then?"

"You know about that?" Aunt Enid queried, surprised. When Frank nodded, she gave a sigh that sounded definitely relieved. "Oh," she said, beginning again with her favourite word, "That's all right then. That proves you really are a friend of Aurora's."

"I thought it might," Frank said.

Enid Borealis shot him a quick, shy smile. "You must forgive my mistrust, Mr. ... err ..."

"Frank."

Aunt Enid smiled again. "Frank. I'm sure you're aware of how things are in the world. The muggles around here don't understand, of course, they think I'm paranoid - they probably always thought I was a bit scatty anyway - I suppose I am really - but I can't help it, you know. Roald - my brother, you know - was always the clever one. There was never a doubt in his mind as to what he wanted, and the thing was that he had such charm, he always managed to get his own way. And why not, when you think about it? After all, he didn't have long to enjoy it, did he? If one had only known... I'm sorry... Where was I?"

Frank, whose mouth had inadvertently begun to drop open, shook himself slightly. "I'm not quite sure," he said, rather bemused. "I'm afraid you've lost me."

"Oh dear, I'm so sorry," said Miss Borealis. "I'm afraid I do get easily sidetracked. Let me see..." She ran a hand across her brow perplexedly. At last she said, "Oh yes, the muggles!"

"Muggles?"

"Yes, yes. I was saying that they don't understand the danger they're in. They're afraid of things like harsh winters, and whether Farmer Brown's old cow will give enough milk to feed the cats, or whether they'll have to ask Old MacDonald instead, who sells his milk much dearer, because he uses all the modern equipment - I'm not at all sure I trust all these new-fangled ideas about farming machinery, do you?"

"I know next to nothing about farming," Frank said, struggling to keep up with her thought processes. "But I do see what you mean about the muggles not knowing the danger."

"Yes. You wonder if all this new technology does more harm than good, don't you? Will you have tea or coffee, by the way? Or maybe you'd prefer some orange squash...?"

"No thank you," Frank put in quickly, rushing the words in the hope that it would prevent any further interruptions on his host's part. "I really don't have the time. I came here for a very particular reason, Miss Borealis. As the vicar said, I do have something to tell you, and I'm anxious to do so quickly and get back to London."

"Oh. Oh yes. Yes, of course. Do sit down, Mr. ..."

"Frank," he reminded her.

"Frank, yes. Do sit down."

Frank sat obediently, though he was feeling increasingly impatient. Miss Borealis sat down too, and looked at him expectantly. Now that it had come to it, however, and he must tell her what he had come to tell her, he found it hard to speak. He made an effort.

"I'm not sure," he began, "how much you know about Aurora's ... special ability."

"Special ability?"

"Her powers as a legilimens."

"Oh, I see what you mean. Yes, she was always rather gifted in that way. Even as a child, she used to know at once what people thought of her. And when we moved here - I didn't like the idea of having her come and live with me in London. Such a big city, and she wasn't used to the noise. And naturally we couldn't have lived in my brother's house, even if it had been renovated. It would have been too painful for her."

"Err ... quite," said Frank. "Anyway, I don't know if Aurora ever told you, but she has used her powers of legilimency before now to help in the fight against Voldemort."

Enid Borealis almost left her seat with fright. She gave an anxious flutter and sat down, then begged in a half-whisper,

"Please, don't use that name. It sends the shivers down my spine, it does. To think what that man has been doing to people. Someone ought to do something about it."

"I quite agree," Frank went on quickly. "Some people are doing something about it. Aurora too. That's why today, she went to ... examine a man who had been ... attacked," he explained, choosing his words slowly and carefully. "Only I'm afraid things didn't go quite according to plan."

"What do you mean?" Miss Borealis breathed. His mention of Voldemort's name had evidently shaken her up, and after his last sentence she was listening attentively, her pale grey eyes fixed on him almost unblinkingly.

"There was a bit of a problem. Mr. Moody, my superior, has taken Aurora to St. Mungo's."

The aunt's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh my ... What happened? Is she all right?"

"I don't quite understand what happened myself, I'm afraid," Frank said. "When I left, Aurora was still unconscious. I hope that, by the time we get back to St. Mungo's, they'll be able to tell us."

"St. Mungo's. Yes. Yes, I must go there at once."

She got up and wandered from the room in a worried dither. Frank followed her into the hall and found her standing aimlessly in the middle of it.

"You'll want a coat," he advised.

"Oh. I-in there."

She pointed a shaky hand at a cupboard. Frank opened it, took out a coat that looked warm, and helped her on with it. Before they went out of the house, he said quietly,

"I should try not to worry too much, Miss Borealis. Mr. Moody seemed to think that she'd be all right once the healers were looking after her."

"What do you think?" she asked, looking up at him.

Frank swallowed hard. "I hope he's right," he said.

"Is it just my impression, or do you know Hogsmeade like the back of your hand?" Lily asked James as he led the way up a hill she had never noticed before.

"Better," he answered with a grin. "The four of us made good use of our time at Hogwarts."

"As I remember it," Lily said, panting a little with the effort of keeping up with James on an overgrown uphill path wearing a long bridesmaid's gown under a heavy cloak, "the four of you were never hard to find on a Hogsmeade weekend. There were only two places where one had to look: Zonko's or the Three Broomsticks. So when did you have time to explore the rest of the village?"

James held out his hand to help her up a steeper bit. "At night," he answered, lowering his voice mysteriously, "when all the castle was asleep and only Mrs. Norris prowled the corridors on her errand to catch students out of bed."

Lily laughed, shaking her head. "You really were a bunch of ..."

"Marauders?" James suggested. "That's what we called ourselves. It was all quite harmless, really. We found out a lot about the castle and grounds on our night time adventures - and about Hogsmeade too."

"Maybe. But if you were so clever, couldn't you have found an easier path to wherever it is we're going? Or, alternatively, couldn't we simply have apparated straight there?"

"And miss all the fun? It's all the better for having earned the view. There," he said, taking her by the shoulders and turning her around.

Lily gasped. Though she had been aware that the climb had been strenuous, it had not seemed steep, merely long. She had not realised that they were so far above the village. The view was simply magical. Hogsmeade lay before them in its picturesque winter coat of sparkling snow, its shops and cottages like gingerbread houses coated in sweet icing sugar.

"Well?" said James. "Was it worth it?"

"Oh James, it's beautiful. It's just like one of those old-fashioned Christmas cards with robins on them, and ponies with bells hanging from their reigns."

"Not forgetting people in fur collars wearing earmuffs and singing Christmas carols."

"Exactly," Lily sighed. "James?" she added, as he turned around and went on walking. "Where are you going? I thought ..."

"We're not quite there yet," he informed her. "Come on, just a little further."

Lily tore herself away from the sight of Hogsmeade in the snow with reluctance and followed James further up the hill. At last they came to a halt at a point where the ground was perfectly even and rocks shielded them from the cold wind.

"Here we are," James announced triumphantly.

Lily looked around her. It was a desolate spot with only a few trees, and a sort of mound in the centre.

"This is what we came to see?" Lily queried.

James nodded, unperturbed. "Yes. Of course, it's a much prettier spot at night, especially in the summer. It looks quite impressive when there's a full moon. Right now ..." He walked over to the mound and began scraping the snow from it. "... this is just a big stone with a few odd scratches on it. But when the full moon shines, they reflect its light and it really looks quite amazing. I wanted to bring you here once before, if you remember. It was night time then. Anyway ..."

He stood back and motioned to Lily to come forward and look at the mound he had uncovered. She did so. It was indeed a stone, and what he had referred to as 'a few odd scratches', she recognised immediately as runes of a very ancient and unique kind. She uttered an excited exclamation and bent down to read them.

"_Below this slab of stone lie buried the remains of the man Alaric, who gave his life in defence of his love, Angharad the Innocent, proclaimed a witch and sentenced to death by order of..._"

Here, Lily broke off and looked at James. "How sad," she exclaimed.

"That's what I thought when I first read it - or rather, when Remus read it to me, since I never took Ancient Runes. But the story continues. Angharad was accused of being a witch, but she wasn't. Alaric, on the other hand, was a wizard. He loved her so much that he died to save her. He didn't try to fight her accusers, he didn't even defend himself when they attacked. All he did was offer them his life for hers. They killed him, and then they tried to kill her. But they couldn't do it. Whatever they did, however hard they tried - she always managed to survive. In the end, Angharad died of old age, and the people buried her here too, and wrote these runes on the stone that marks their grave, as a reminder of the most powerful magic of all. Eventually it got neglected. By the time we found it, the stone was practically overgrown with ivy. But one night when we were up here, Sirius spotted something reflecting the moonlight, and we cleared the ivy away and found this. I've been wanting to show it to you for ages."

"Why?"

James looked into her eyes. "Because it means something to me. I don't know why, but the moment I learned what those runes say, I knew it mattered somehow. I knew I had to show it to you, and to tell you, right here, that ... I love you. And I would sooner die than let anyone hurt you."

"James..."

Lily drew closer to him, but though he took her hand he still kept his distance.

"I'm not quite finished yet. Lily, with all that's happened lately ... with all that may yet happen ... I want you to know that there's nothing more important to me than you. And I want ..."

As luck, or rather bad luck, would have it, not only did a great burst of flame along with a fiery red feather appearing out of nowhere choose that precise moment to announce a summons to a meeting of the Order of the Phoenix, but it most inconveniently chose to do so directly in the middle of where James and Lily were standing, causing them both to leap back several paces. James, exasperated, grabbed the folded note that Fawkes had dropped out of the air and shook it open. His anger dispersed quickly as he read,

"_Come to St. Mungo's at once. A.B. has warned of possible threat situation. Do not delay. Moody_"

"St. Mungo's?" Lily repeated. "Surely the Death Eaters wouldn't attack there again, not now that they've taken extra security precautions."

"If it was an attack, Moody would say so," James said. "This must be something else. In any case, it sounds urgent."

"Yes, very."

"We'd better go then."

Lily nodded. But before either of them disapparated, she took James's hand once more and said quickly, "I love you too, James."

**6 - Meeting at St. Mungo's**

Moody had not summoned the entire Order to St. Mungo's, for he was aware that even a small gathering was risky in such a public place. Lily and James found Peter waiting for them at the reception desk. He was hopping from one leg to the other, looking nervous and concerned. Relief showed plainly on his face at the sight of James. Lily, however, spoke before he could.

"Peter, what's going on? Did you get a note from Mr. Moody too?"

"Yes. I was with Remus, and we both came here immediately. His dad's here too."

"Why did Moody want us to come here, of all places?"

"He said it's because of Aurora. That's all I know. He told me to wait here and tell you where to meet him."

"And where's that?" James asked.

"The h-healers' lounge on the fourth floor."

The three of them proceeded there at once. Moody himself was already there, as were Pippa Pettigrew, Remus and his father, Bridget and Sirius and professors Dumbledore and McGonagall. It was only a small group, but the room was nevertheless pretty full. Lily sat down on one of the sofas beside Bridget. John was sitting on Bridget's other side.

"There you are," said Moody impatiently. "Good. Now we only need to wait for the star of the show - ah, here she is now."

They all turned their heads. Lily exclaimed,

"Rory! Whatever..."

Moody silenced her with a wave of his hand. Everyone in the room was staring at Aurora. She was walking very uncertainly, and immediately accepted Moody's arm. He helped her to the second sofa in the room and she sank down onto it. She looked exhausted. Remus, who had got up to make room for her, completed the question Lily had been about to ask.

"What happened? What's going on here?"

Moody began, "I received information today that an auror by the name of Williams had been attacked by Dementors in Paris. He received the Dementor's Kiss. Crouch wanted to know what he was doing in Paris in the first place. I was told the truth by someone whom I will not name at this stage. Williams was looking for an informer. Why is not really all that important. What is important is that we had to know whether or not he'd found the woman, and what happened to her. That's where Miss Borealis comes in."

Once again, everyone looked at Aurora. She looked back at them all in turn, but without interest. Her eyes were vacant, her face showed nothing but weariness.

"Aurora here," Moody went on, "agreed to do what she could to discover what happened - at great risk to herself."

"You tried to enter the mind of someone who had suffered the Kiss?"

James had addressed Aurora directly, and she nodded in reply. Sirius whistled sharply.

"That wasn't just a risk, that was practically suicidal!" he remarked, clearly impressed.

"That's what young Longbottom thought," Moody told them. "He felt all along it could be disastrous, and he was very nearly proved right. The Dementor's Kiss is a powerfully evil thing, and if the contact between their two minds had been maintained any longer, Miss Borealis would not be sitting here now. Her soul very nearly left her body. In fact, it did do so, for a short moment. She became trapped inside the body of the auror, Williams, and it took some fight for her to get back out again. But it wasn't all for nothing. She did manage to find out something. Aurora ..."

Aurora looked at Moody, fully aware he wanted her to speak, but not yet ready to do so. She looked around her again vaguely, not seeming to see the faces of the people that stared back at her. She turned her gaze back on Moody and asked in a weak, uncertain voice, "Where is Frank?"

"He's gone to get your aunt, so she can be here with you when this meeting is over," Moody replied, speaking far more gently than usual. "I'm sure he won't be long."

This seemed to satisfy Aurora. She took a deep breath and began,

"At first I - I didn't seem to be getting anywhere. There was nothing in Williams's mind to see. It was just empty. I've never known any place so - so black and bare. I can't describe how it felt. It was dark and ... there was nothing there. Nothing at all. I thought I was going to die. And yet - that's not really what it felt like at all. I can't describe how it felt, I - I just panicked."

"It sounds horrid," Lily said sympathetically.

"It was. I was terrified. But then I began to see ... I was in some sort of courtyard, lighting a cigarette. I was Williams, you see. I had come to find _her_, the woman on the photograph. I don't know what photograph, I just know that that's what I was doing. She had gone into hiding. But I had found out where she was, and I was going to talk to her today. She came out of the building and then - then everything went cold. I could see something coming towards me. A Dementor. It lowered its hood and - and ..."

Her eyes took on a glazed, faraway look. She could obviously see the Dementor before her mind's eye, even now. She stared for a moment in horror, then suddenly she gave a shriek and turned her face the other way. Lily rushed across the room and knelt beside her, taking her by the hand. Aurora trembled.

"Do we have to continue this now?" Lily asked of Moody. "Can't it wait until she's had some time to get over it?"

It was Dumbledore who replied, "I am sure that if it could wait, we would not all be here now. Am I right, Alastor?"

Moody nodded. To Aurora he said,

"Go on, girl. Not much more now. A couple of minutes and it'll be over. Then you can go and lie down and stop thinking about it."

With an effort, Aurora pulled herself together. She said,

"I could see the - the Dementor's mouth. It was coming closer. I couldn't stop it. And all the time I knew I'd failed. I was supposed to get the witness to a safe place, and now ... they'd got her. I could see that they'd got her, but they didn't kill her. They left her alive, they wanted to know something from her, they started working on her even before I felt the mouth touch me, I could hear her screaming ... And then - then I was me again, but I was stuck, I was trapped, I couldn't get back out of Williams's mind, and I panicked, I thought it was the end, I was never going to get out, and I was so cold. I still am. So cold..."

She closed her fingers so tightly around Lily's hand that her nails dug into the other girl's flesh. Moody approached her calmly.

"It's all right," he said. "Here, eat this like a good girl." He handed her a piece of chocolate, which Lily helped her eat. "You two," Moody addressed Lily and Remus, who were nearest. "Help her get back to her bed, she's done more than enough for one day. Mind someone's with her until her aunt gets here."

Remus and Lily nodded. They helped Aurora to her feet and led her out of the room. Sirius closed the door behind them. Then he exploded.

"Was any of that really necessary? Did you have to put her through it? Just to confirm what you knew anyway, that Williams was administered the Kiss! And that some woman got herself kidnapped and probably killed by now?"

"Sirius," Bridget said soothingly, giving him a warning look.

"Who was this woman?" Philippa Pettigrew asked. "The one Williams went to see?"

"A witness to a crime that took place at the Ministry of Magic. Your brother here was a witness to that same crime, but has no memory of it, or so I understand."

Peter jumped visibly. "M-me?"

"I am speaking of the murder of Mr. Legis, your late employer."

"You mean all this is connected to that murder?" Pippa asked anxiously. "Then Peter ..."

"I don't think there's any immediate danger to him," Moody opined. "I don't think this attack had anything whatsoever to do with Legis. This was only about the woman Williams went to see. Not about anything she'd witnessed, but about other knowledge she had. She was in the habit of working as a spy in exchange for money. She received money from the Order of the Phoenix at one point - a thousand galleons, to be exact."

"What!" John was on his feet in less than a second. "Do you mean to say that that woman, the one Williams went to find and that Aurora saw being tortured for information in what's left of Williams's memory, that she was ..."

"The same woman who provided Malcolm with all the information he needed to take on the role of one of Voldemort's Death Eaters," Moody finished for him. "Yes."

"Oh my god," John murmured.

He sat back down again and stared dazedly at the floor. When he looked up, he found that Remus had re-entered the room. The look on the latter's face was enough to show that he had caught the gist of what was going on. James looked round at his mother. Bridget was sitting upright, hands clasped in her lap. Her face was very pale, but she said nothing.

"That's it then," Sirius said quickly. "This is the end of Malcolm's spying activities. He's got to get out of there, fast."

"You're quite right," McGonagall agreed sharply. She turned to Professor Dumbledore. "You must call him back."

Dumbledore gave her a curious look through his half-moon spectacles. His bright blue eyes seemed to convey both understanding and determination.

"It is not as simple as you think," he said quietly. "If we send a message to Malcolm now and the enemy is on his guard, it might be intercepted before it ever reaches Slytherin's Rock. In which case our young friend might be discovered sooner than otherwise. With luck, the Death Eaters may not yet have discovered that there is a spy among them. I would not wish to alert them to the fact by sending him a warning."

"But ... Albus ...," McGonagall spluttered incredulously. "If this woman knows as much as Alastor says, then Mr. Marley is no longer safe in any case. As soon as she tells the Death Eaters what she knows, they'll kill him. There must be something we can do."

"There is nothing we can do that would not put more lives at stake, Minerva. And that is something Malcolm himself would not want."

"You're kidding me!" Lily exclaimed when the boys told her what she had missed.

Frank had arrived with Aurora's aunt and Lily had left her in their care, eager to find out what had been decided. She had dragged James, Sirius, Peter and Remus off to the café to question them and was outraged that, apparently, nothing had been decided. Sirius was no less so.

"I'd never have believed it of Dumbledore," he affirmed, then quoted, "_I think it is best if we wait for news from Malcolm himself_. What nonsense! If that woman has spilt the beans, Malcolm's body will be found on some rock faster than you can say 'got ya'."

Peter flinched visibly. James ran his fingers through his hair. Remus was sitting at the table with the rest of them, but he hadn't said a word since they had sat down. Sirius went on,

"McGonagall's right, there's got to be something we can do."

"I don't see that we can," Peter said. "Not on our own. It's like Dumbledore said, anything we try would be risking more lives. It's too dangerous."

"Too dangerous? I don't see that anything can be too dangerous to try when it's a matter of this importance. What about you, James?"

James sighed. "I'd like to agree with you, Sirius. But I'm afraid Peter may be right. This is too big for us to take on alone. It would be stupid to send Malcolm an owl, and we can hardly go to ... what was that place Dumbledore mentioned?"

"S-Slytherin's Rock," Peter provided, shuddering.

"Yes, Slytherin's Rock. Well, we can hardly go there all by ourselves, knock on the front door and ask to see Malcolm. If one could get there secretly, spy out the land ... but I don't see how that's possible. The name sounds to me like it's an island, so the only way to get there would be by boat or by swimming. I'm not a very good swimmer myself. Besides, the water would be freezing cold! And a boat would be spotted in minutes."

Sirius, to his surprise, suddenly grinned, clapping him on the shoulder. "Right you are, Prongs," he said. "Before anything was attempted, one would have to know the lay of the land. If we did know that, I'm sure we'd have plenty of people on our side who'd be willing to risk trying to get to Malcolm, whatever Dumbledore says. The only thing that's stopping them right now is that they've no idea what they're looking at. If one of us could find out what this Slytherin's Rock is like ..." He got to his feet abruptly. "I think it's time I took a little excursion."

"Sirius, what are you talking about?" Lily demanded. "You won't find the layout of that place in a library book or tourist guide. And James is right, there's no way any of us could get there. We'd be seen."

"Maybe," Sirius said mysteriously. "But maybe that wouldn't matter much - for one of us."

He gave another grin and strode out of the room. Lily stared at James.

"What was all that about?"

"I don't know," he said. "I can't imagine ... Wait ..." He suddenly went very pale. "Oh no..." He jumped up and rushed out of the room after his friend.

Lily rounded on Peter, but he looked as puzzled as she was. She turned to Remus.

"Have you got any idea what Sirius is up to?" she asked. Then, when he did not answer, she said his name loudly.

Remus gave a start and looked up. "What?" he asked, looking as if he hadn't really been present throughout the entire conversation, and had no idea what they had all been saying. "I'm sorry," he said. "I wasn't listening properly."

The anger faded from Lily's face. "I'm sorry," she said gently. "I was being rather thoughtless, carrying on like that in front of you."

"You must be very worried," Peter remarked.

Remus glanced at him, then he met Lily's searching eyes. He avoided them quickly, got up and turned away. "Worried doesn't even begin to cover it," he said.

Peter stared at his friend's back. He had rarely known him to move so abruptly. Lily shot him a quick smile and got to her feet also.

"Remus," she said softly, placing her hand on his shoulder. "It's only natural to be afraid and upset. You needn't pretend you're not, not in front of us."

"Uncle Malcolm wouldn't be afraid. I've never known him to be afraid of anything."

"Oh, I'm sure he would be," Lily objected. "However brave a man may be, there's always something he fears. And if he were here right now, he'd know that your fear only shows how much you care about him. He wouldn't want you to worry, but he'd be proud all the same."

"Don't!" Remus said, his voice quavering now. "Don't talk as if - as if he's already ..."

"I'm sorry," Lily said quickly. "I didn't mean to do that. And it's not what I believe, either. If you want to know what I really think: I believe your uncle is a very strong man, and whatever we may fear now and whatever lies in store for him, I think he's a survivor. I really don't believe we'll lose him just yet. In fact, I think he's more likely to outlive us all."

Very slowly, Remus turned around. "Are you just saying that to cheer me up? Because I don't want to hear comforts you don't really believe in. I'd rather hear the truth."

Lily thought for a moment, then she looked straight into his eyes and said firmly, "I do believe it. Lord Voldemort will find he's in for a few surprises if he goes up against Malcolm Marley. I wouldn't like to be in his shoes."

Remus smiled weakly. "You're right. I've never known anyone better at fighting the Dark Arts - except Professor Darkhardt himself."

Lily returned his smile. "Nor have I, she said." She stroked his arm gently. "Try not to worry too much."

James came rushing back at that moment, looking anxious and somewhat frustrated. He dropped onto a chair beside Peter.

"What is it?" Peter asked him. "What's Sirius up to?"

"He says he knows someone who can find out what's going on at Slytherin's Rock without arousing too much attention," James announced.

"Who?" Remus asked.

James looked up at him and said with a heavy sigh. "Padfoot."

Peter and Remus both went even paler than before.

"No," Remus said. "He can't. James, we can't let him..."

"Do you think I didn't try to stop him?" James cried out impatiently, jumping up again. "He's a lot stronger than I am. I doubt even you could stop Sirius, even when you're ..."

He stopped himself just in time. Lily was staring at him in some confusion.

"Would someone mind telling me what on earth is going on?" she demanded.

She looked from James to Peter, but both of them only glanced straight past her at Remus. Lily turned to him too, but he immediately pulled away from her and strode quickly from the room.

Severus spent the evening in his room, trying to force himself to concentrate on the big black Potions book in his lap, but looking up every now and then to see that the minute hand of the clock on his bedside cabinet had barely moved at all. And yet, he could not help but give a start when the doorbell rang, as if surprised that it should be doing so so soon. Swallowing heavily, he placed a green leather bookmark on the page, closed the book, walked over to his desk and spent some moments arranging it there far more neatly than would have been necessary.

He left his room silently and went into the bathroom to check his appearance. He felt a strong reluctance to go downstairs. His father had not yet left for Slytherin's Rock, the atmosphere between his parents was extremely tense, and Josephine ... Surely, allowing Josephine to enter any house that had his father in it was a recipe for nothing short of disaster. His father, Severus felt sure, would take one look at the girl's unkempt hair, her exaggerated makeup and the odd combination of clothes she tended to wear and not give her time to explain that her father was descended from the sorceress Medea and her mother's blood was of the purest.

However, there was nothing for it. He could not avoid the situation he had so long attempted to prevent from ever occurring. The ringing of the bell heralded Josephine's arrival, his father was in the house, doom was sure to ensue at any moment and he, Severus Snape, must force himself to go downstairs and face the music. Swallowing hard and pursing his lips together, her turned sharply and strode to the top of the stairs. He began to descend them as slowly and noiselessly as he could, wanting to get a good look at the state of things before entering into the middle of them.

But what he saw was by no means what he had expected. At first glance, he would not even have recognised the girl standing in the hall below if she had passed him in the street. But since she was standing here, in his house, it couldn't be anyone but Josephine. She looked different though, very different. Her strawberry-blonde hair had been brushed and fastened with hair slides, her face was utterly devoid of garish makeup, showing only the faintest traces of pastel eye shadow and lipstick and she was wearing a long dress - not green and red and all colours of the rainbow, but dark blue from top to bottom but for a lighter shaded band of material around her slim waist. Mirmy was scuttling out of sight with a winter cloak held high over her head and Severus could see his mother, looking paler than ever in her black evening gown, extending both hands in greeting.

"Josephine," he heard her say as he drew nearer, "I'm so glad you've come. Allow me to introduce my husband. Augustus, this is..."

"Josephine Coronis," said Josephine's voice from the mouth of that unfamiliar figure in the hall, holding out her hand.

Augustus Snape performed a courteous bow over it and stood back to survey the girl with entirely unveiled scepticism.

"Coronis?" he repeated. "Greek?" he asked.

"Yes. My father is Callias Coronis."

"Ah. I have, of course, heard of him. His latest book on medieval developments in Arithmancy is one of the most soundly researched I have read in a long time."

Catching a glimpse of the look in Josephine's eyes, Severus prepared himself for some kind of statement in the nature of "and deadly dull too", but Josephine surprised him once more.

"My father would never publish a book if he wasn't a hundred and one percent sure of his facts."

Augustus bowed his head in acknowledgement. "I'm sure you're right, Miss Josephine. Now, if you'll excuse me. I'm afraid I won't be dining with you tonight, I have urgent business to attend to."

He made more elaborate apologies, accepted his cloak and hat from the returned Mirmy, bowed once more over Josephine's hand and departed. Severus breathed a secret sigh of relief and made his appearance at last.

"Sevvie!" Josephine exclaimed at once. "There you are! I was beginning to think you were chickening out of the all-important encounter - which, of course, you've already done, and most efficiently too."

"I - err - I was coming down the stairs when I saw Father leave."

"Of course you were."

Josephine grinned, then performed a vigorous twirl. "Well, what do you think of me?"

"I don't know what to think," Severus confessed. "You never cease to amaze me."

"You do seem to look very different to when we last saw you," remarked his mother.

"Ah, yes. I'm told that first impressions mean a lot to some people. It was too late to create a good first impression on you, I know, but I thought I might have a go at impressing your husband. I'm not sure if I succeeded or not."

"We'll know that when he's done some thorough research into your family background."

"Oh." Josephine looked momentarily taken aback. She recovered quickly, however. "Well, if he stumbles across any skeletons in the family cupboard, I do hope he'll tell me all about them!"

The view from the gallery windows on Slytherin's Rock was gloomy to the point of being sinister that night. Thick snowflakes were falling to the ground with a silence that was more eerie than peaceful. Malcolm watched them fall from the murky darkness of the sky above to the rugged black rocks below. Waves that he knew to be freezing cold were crashing against the shore, where not a single living thing was to be seen. No, he realised, that was not entirely true. Something was moving down there, just where the rocks met the sea. A black shape in a sea of black. He saw it for just a second, then lost sight of it. He strained his eyes for a while until he began to think he must have imagined it. The sound of a booming knock on the heavy front door distracted him and he turned away from the window, heading towards the stairs. He saw Lucius Malfoy propel his house elf out of the way with a sharp kick and help Lestrange open the door. He could also see Paula, a little to one side, and he saw the figures that entered. There were two of them, both men, each wearing thick coats against the cold and hoods over their heads. They carried between them what looked like a bundle of cloth, but couldn't be. It appeared to be a human body ... Whatever it was, after a quick exchange of words it was handed over to Lestrange and Malfoy, who headed towards the dungeon staircase. Paula closed the door and the two men divested themselves of their cloaks. One Malcolm recognised as Augustus Snape. The other...

The other was a tall man. His hair was as black as the night sky except where it had begun to go grey in places, his nose was long, his eyes overshadowed by heavy brows. He had a strong jaw and, all in all, an aggressively attractive face - the kind of face that was hard yet held your eyes. Malcolm felt his right hand clench so tightly around the banisters beside him that his knuckles stood out white. A sudden wave of nausea threatened to make him stumble for a moment. He drew back hastily into the shadows and leaned heavily against the cold stone wall. He had recognised that face. He had recognised it at once and could see it clearly now before his eyes, as though Lothian were face to face with him rather than a floor below. Something began to boil inside him, something that was stronger than anything he had ever felt before, and something that had been totally alien to him until this moment. Had he used the word 'hate' before today? What a fool he had been. He hadn't known what it was to hate until right now. Just the sight of that man made Malcolm want to throw caution to the winds and leap on him, fastening his hands around his throat and killing him there and then.

_Don't be a fool_, he told himself. _It's all in the past. Bridget is safe from him now, that's all that matters._

But it was not so simple to make himself believe what he was telling himself. He thought of Bridget, of her sweetness and the touch of her lips against his, and of that man down in the entrance hall, the man of whom she had lived in terror for so long, and he could not overcome the heat inside him. But he must, he couldn't face Lothian like this. He could hear them coming now, up the stairs, coming his way. With an abrupt movement, he pushed himself away from the wall and hurried away along the corridor as quickly as he could, but he was not quick enough.

"Tiberius!" Paula's voice arrested him.

He stopped reluctantly, hitched a mildly enquiring look on his face in the hopes that it would not look too forced, and that it concealed what was going on inside him, and turned around. Paula Lestrange and the visitor reached him all too quickly. Paula proceeded with the introductions.

"I don't believe you two have met. Mr. Lothian, this is Tiberius Travers. Tiberius - Vindictus Lothian."

Malcolm overcame his repulsion with difficulty and shook hands with the other man.

"I've heard a lot about you, of course," he said.

"Not too much, I hope."

Lothian gave a harsh laugh, revealing two rows of almost abnormally white teeth in a smile that Malcolm grudgingly acknowledged to himself as having a certain appeal.

"From what I've been told, I gather you have been a friend of the Dark Lord for longer than anyone else can boast of," Malcolm ploughed on, trying to keep his fists from clenching, suppressing the urge to throw himself at the man.

"I should most definitely think so," said Lothian. "He and I were at school together." He laughed again. "He was also my best man, believe it or not."

This was too much. Malcolm was unable to completely keep back an audible reaction this time, and quickly faked a coughing fit in the hopes that it would not be remarked.

"Sorry," he muttered between coughs. "Something in my throat. If you'll excuse me ..."

He beat a hasty retreat down the stairs, making sure to cough now and then as he went. He hurried down a corridor, pushed a door open at random, entered the room and let the door slam shut behind him.

"Damn!" he ejaculated, slamming his fists into the top of a nearby chest of drawers. "Why the hell did she have to call me back? God, I didn't know it was possible to hate anyone so much!"

He struck the furniture once more, then turned on his heels in shock as he heard a noise like a squeak behind him. Cowering in a corner was none other than Lucius Malfoy's house elf. The creature gazed at him out of petrified eyes the size of golf balls for a moment, then made a dash for the door. Malcolm, however, was quicker and slammed the palm of his hand against it to keep it shut.

"What are you doing in here?" he asked.

The house elf almost jumped out of his pink skin. "N-n-nothing, sir, nothing. D-d-dobby is meaning no harm, sir. If sir will j-j-j-just let D-d-dobby gooooo."

Malcolm looked at him curiously. "Are you hiding from someone?" he asked shrewdly.

The house elf nodded miserably, then ran over to the chest of drawers, pulled one open, placed his ear in the opening and pushed the drawer shut with all his might. He squealed in pain.

"Shhhhhh!" Malcolm exclaimed, hurrying over and catching the elf firmly by both arms before he could repeat the action. The little fellow shivered with fright.

"P-p-please sir, don't hurt Dobby, don't do anything bad to Dobby, Dobby is afraid, sir, Dobby doesn't want to die, sir."

"Quiet!" Malcolm ordered. "I've no wish to hurt you, and I'm certainly not going to kill you. What would that accomplish?"

"Dobby doesn't know, sir. Dobby only knows many have died, sir. Like Nobby."

"Who?"

"Nobby, sir. Dobby's brother. He was taken down into the dungeons, sir, and he never came back."

"The dungeons ..." Malcolm repeated thoughtfully.

Dobby, misinterpreting his reaction, began to struggle. "No, sir, please, sir, don't kill Dobby, sir. Have mercy!"

"I've told you I'm not going to hurt you," Malcolm assured him, shaking him firmly. "I'd just like to know what it was that your master and Lestrange carried down to the dungeons."

"S-sir is not going to punish Dobby for hiding in here?"

"Not if you promise not to tell anyone what I was doing in here."

"Dobby promises, sir."

"Good. All right, I'm going to let you go now, but I don't want you to start making loud noises by hitting yourself, all right? What is it?" he added, noticing how Dobby's eyes, seemingly bigger than ever, were staring at him in disbelief.

"Y-y-you is different, sir. You does not talk to Dobby like the others do. You is not like them."

"Don't kid yourself," Malcolm said bitterly. "I've done some things lately you wouldn't believe. I wouldn't believe them myself if I went back in the past and told myself I was going to do them."

Dobby shook himself. "You is not making sense, sir."

"Probably not." Malcolm smiled wryly. He went on, speaking more to himself than to Dobby, "It's funny what pride and pig-headedness can do to a man. The others were right. I was biting off more than I could chew when I made this choice. The sensible thing to do would be to clear out now, while I still know who I am. But will I do it? No. Because I said I would do this job for as long as I can, and I'm too damn proud and stubborn to admit everyone else was right."

"Dobby does not understand, sir."

"It's better that you don't. Run along, now. Go on."

He ushered the house elf out of the room, then closed the door again. After a brief rest against the chest of drawers, he took out a hip flask and looked at it unhappily. Finally, shrugging his shoulders, he took a sip and shuddered.

**7 - Padfoot's Excursion**

Josephine finished off every last bite of her lemon meringue, folded her napkin beside her plate and leaned back contentedly.

"That was a jolly nice meal," she pronounced.

Severus tried to hide the upward curl of his lip by taking a sip from his glass. It was rather an amusing picture, he reflected. Josephine sitting there in that conventional outfit, on an uncomfortable, very old wooden chair in the austere dining room. His eyes swept the room briefly. They were arrested in surprise when they took in his mother. What was it about tonight? Why were all the women in his life - not that there were many - so different from what he was used to? Here was Josephine, disguised as a quiet, ordinary and presentable girl while his mother ... well, he didn't really have the words to describe the change that had come over her. In his own mind, the only expression he could find was that she had let her hair down, not just in the literal sense.

She was smiling. Her eyes were sparkling with laughter as she and Josephine chatted easily, her cheeks had pink spots on them. It was hard to imagine that this laughing, constantly talking woman was his own timid, quiet, mousy mother. As he sat watching her and Josephine talk, he began to feel strangely warm inside. It was as though this was a glimpse of a different kind of life where people didn't care about the political questions of the day, where they were unaware that elsewhere in the world people were fighting or plotting to kill each other - it was, he thought, the kind of life that would have suited his mother. He wondered for the first time ever whether she had ever had a chance to lead such a life. Probably not. Presumably she had not been allowed to decide how she would spend her life. If she had ... What would it have meant to him? If one took away the influence of his father, the oppressiveness of having to live up to expectations, to a family name and a family cause, would that life have suited him?

After they had finished their dessert and Josephine said that she could not manage another morsel of the cheese and biscuits, Severus's mother suggested he show the girl around the house. He did so, feeling rather like a guide giving a tour of a stately home, pointing out the different parts of the house, describing the people pictured in the portraits upstairs in his father's gallery. Josephine looked around at them all, all the Snapes of generations past, watching her out of beady, suspicious eyes. She seemed uncomfortable in their presence.

"Isn't there anywhere more private in this house?" she asked when Severus was halfway through telling her about how his great-great-great-great-grandfather, Septimus Snape, had supposedly been the first wizard to use a bezoar as a cure for poisoning.

Severus hesitated. "There is ... my laboratory, I suppose."

"Laboratory? That sounds interesting. Where is it?"

He paused again before answering, "I don't normally let anyone into my laboratory. It's private."

"Why? Don't want people to know about all the love potions you've been experimenting on, is that it?" the girl asked with a grin. "You can show _me_, Sev. I promise I won't steal your recipes."

Severus looked at her thoughtfully, then finally he nodded.

Josephine looked around interestedly at all the shelves full of vials and bottles, the heavy, dusty books and the tubes and cauldrons.

"My word, you do seem to get busy down here," she remarked. She heaved herself up onto a table and pointed over to one of the shelves. "What's in all those little bottles?" she asked.

"Potions," Severus replied shortly.

Josephine raised her eyebrows in mock surprise. "Potions? You don't say! What are they for though, Sevvie? What's that blue one there?"

He looked to where she was pointing. "A revitalising solution, brewed according to a very old recipe. It's based on an ancient remedy used by house elves."

"Revitalising? So what does it do, exactly? Make you feel all fit and energetic?"

"Basically, yes. It clears the mind and strengthens the body."

"Hm. Not bad. And what's that next to it? The icky green stuff in that vial."

Severus stared at it for a long moment before replying quickly, "It's just an experiment. I don't even know if it works yet."

"What's it supposed to do?" Josephine asked eagerly.

She got down off the table and walked over to the shelf. Standing on tiptoe, she was just able to reach the vial and take it down.

"_The Brew of Eternity_," she read off the label. "What's this do then? Make the drinker immortal or something?" She took out the stopper to sniff it, but Severus shot out a hand to stop her.

"Put it back," he said sharply.

Josephine raised her eyebrows at him. "There's no need to shout, Sev. I'm only showing an interest in your hobby. You seem to spend a lot of time at it."

He nodded. "I spend most of my time in here."

"I can't see why." Josephine sighed. "It's a bit dreary in here, isn't it? Mind you, I suppose it's better than being watched by those ugly old portraits upstairs. But why don't you at least let in a bit of light?"

She replaced the vial on the shelf, much to Severus's relief, and went over to the door. With an effort because it was so stiff, Josephine opened it and a cold wintry wind blew in. She stepped outside.

"Now this is more like it," she said over her shoulder. "Come out here, Sev."

"What for? There's nothing much out there."

"Oh yes, there is." Josephine took a deep breath. "There's fresh air out here. It's gorgeous."

Very slowly, Severus approached the open door. The cold was biting, but he had to admit that there was something refreshing about the night air after being shut in the dusty laboratory. Snow was falling silently to the ground, and Josephine had closed her eyes and turned her face up to the sky, allowing the flakes to settle on her lashes. She giggled.

"It tickles," she explained. "Come. Come here, Sev, you try it."

Reluctantly, he came right out into the night. Josephine reached out and took his hand, dragging him further out into the garden until he was standing right beside her. She opened her eyes and looked up at him. Severus was almost startled to find that her eyes no longer struck him as they had once done: too large and of no clearly definable colour. True, they were not blue or brown or grey, but all the colours of the rainbow, sparkling up at him in the moonlight like a pair of big multi-coloured gemstones. Josephine smiled up at him.

"Well," she said. "This is it. We've had a lovely evening - or at least I have. Now we come to the serious part. Do I chalk it all up to experience and go on my way, because we're just too unlike for this to work? Or do you think we might be able to ... you know ..."

"Josephine," he said slowly, reluctant to broach the subject. "The argument we had ... I meant what I said, and I can't change my opinions."

"Can't you?" Josephine frowned. "I hope that's not true. I hope that, in time, you'll realise you're making a mistake."

Severus drew away from her. "Never," he said firmly. "So don't think you can ever change my mind!"

Josephine sighed. "We'll see. Perhaps. That depends."

"On what?"

"On whether you want me to leave now and never come back - or not."

Severus studied her for a moment. At last he shook his head. "No, I don't want you to leave."

Josephine smiled. Unusually for her, it was neither an amused nor a cheerful smile, but one tinged with doubt and sadness.

The black shape that Malcolm had been able to make out from the gallery window moved slowly and silently across the rocks, shaking itself as it went and sending drops of freezing cold water flying in all directions. It slipped on the icy ground and wondered, not for the first time since setting out to swim from the shore to Slytherin's Rock, what on earth had possessed it to do so.

_You should have listened to James, you idiot_, Sirius, in the guise of a shaggy black dog, told himself as he shivered with cold. _It's December, damn it, not the middle of summer_.

Any human, he thought, probably would have frozen to death in that water. Well, he might yet, once he returned home and transformed back into his human form. Of course, the wise thing to do would have been to turn back the minute his paw had touched the water and admit what he planned to do just couldn't be done in this kind of weather. But it was not just stubbornness that had egged him on, but also anxiety at what Aurora had told them and frustration over Dumbledore's refusal to take immediate action. And now here he was, unable to stop shivering but determined that he would at least take a good look around the island, if nothing else. He crept up to the walls of the fortress and began walking around it, examining every nook and cranny, peering into every barred dungeon window that he passed, and seeing absolutely nothing.

All was dark down here, only much higher up, in the turrets and corridors of the building, could he see flickering lights, but there was no way he could get any closer to see what was going on behind the windows. He crept a little further along the wall, and at last, for the first time, felt that maybe, after all, this excursion had been worthwhile. There was an opening! It was not large, just wide enough for a man to squeeze through, but there it was: a hole in the wall where some bricks were missing. Crouching down on all fours, he sniffed at it. There seemed to be no fresh smells, no indication that anyone had gone near the hole at any time. Sirius looked around him. No one was watching. The rocks were dark and deserted. He moved closer to the hole. Should he risk it? Should he crawl through and find out what was on the other side, maybe even see if he could find Malcolm himself? It would feel good to be able to go back and tell the others he had actually spoken to Malcolm. He extended a paw towards the hole, but at that moment, a staircase directly opposite him was suddenly illuminated by candle light, and he drew back.

Aurora, exhausted after her ordeal, did not realise where Frank was taking them until they reached the great gates of Gryffindor Hall and they creaked open to allow them to enter. She paused before stepping onto the gravel path to look at Frank.

"What are we doing here?" she asked him.

"Professor Dumbledore and Mr. Moody thought it best for you to spend tonight somewhere completely safe."

"Safe?" gasped Miss Borealis. "But surely, she's not in any danger, is she?"

"We hope not, but it can't hurt to make sure. There's nowhere safer than Gryffindor Hall in the whole country except Hogwarts."

"Gryffindor Hall? Is that what this place is? But that's impossible. I read about it as a girl, it was said to be an ancient mansion that no one could ever find, it was even thought that it never existed except in legend," Aunt Enid rattled on.

"Well, it does exist," Frank assured her. "This path leads right up to it."

Miss Borealis looked both baffled and impressed. Aurora still had rather a forlorn look about her. She took Frank's arm and leaned on it. He could feel that she was still very shaky. Her voice shook, too.

"I don't care where I spend the night," she said weakly. "As long as I don't have to go much further."

Frank supported her up the long, winding path, Aunt Enid following behind, marvelling every step of the way. At last the reached the magnificent doors, which were opened even as they climbed the steps. Gordon Gryffindor, looking particularly impressive in a sweeping blood-red dressing gown that bore more resemblance to a ceremonial cloak, welcomed them personally, startling Aurora's aunt quite a lot. He was courteous and soothing to her, however, and she soon warmed to him. They took Aurora up to one of the smaller and cosier spare bedrooms, where candles burnt on the dresser and a cheery fire had been lit. Gordon and Frank waited outside while Aunt Enid helped her niece to change into a night dress that had apparently belonged to the late mistress of the hall. The round face emerged from the room presently, and she announced to the two men that Aurora was lying down and had better be left to sleep now. But Aurora's voice interrupted from the background,

"No, Aunt Enid. Please ... I don't want to sleep yet."

"But you must be worn out," Gordon remarked kindly. "I really think it would be best if you got some rest."

Aurora shook her head. "I can't. I want to, but I just can't. Every time I close my eyes, I see the Dementor's mouth, and then ... nothing. It's like being blind, only worse, because it's like I'm being suffocated at the same time, and it's so cold ... I can't go to sleep like that."

"You'll just have to try and think of something else, dear, something nice," her aunt suggested.

Aurora said nothing more, but her red-rimmed eyes sought Frank's and bored into them, as though she were willing him, at least, to understand. He nodded.

"You don't want to be alone just yet, do you? Do you want someone to stay with you until you fall asleep?"

She nodded gratefully. Frank addressed her aunt. "Miss Borealis, I know it's late, but..."

"Frank," Aurora interrupted suddenly. He looked over to see her holding out her hand to him. Frank crossed the room and took her hand. Aurora's fingers closed tightly around it. "Thank you," she whispered. "For everything you've done today."

He smiled. "You're welcome." He made to leave, but her hand was still clasping his and she didn't let go. "What's the matter?" he asked her, turning back.

"I was wondering ... if you might ... do me one more favour?"

"Anything you want," he agreed readily. Her next words were the last he had unexpected.

"Will you stay with me?" she said pleadingly.

"Aurora ..."

"Just until I fall asleep. Please."

"Don't you think it would be better if your aunt took care of you?"

"No. I don't want a nursemaid, I don't want someone to fuss over me, I just want ... company. If you could just stay for a little while and talk to me ..."

"I'm not a good talker."

"That doesn't matter. Please, Frank. Please."

Her grip on his hand tightened. Half sighing, half smiling, Frank sat down on the edge of her bed. Gordon and Miss Borealis hovered in the doorway a moment, then the old wizard led the aunt away, pulling the door shut behind them. Frank looked down at Aurora.

"Well, what do you want to talk about?"

"I'm too tired to talk myself. I - I just want to hear your voice."

"Why?" he wondered aloud.

For the first time, a smile crept into Aurora's face. "Because I like it. It makes me feel calm, and that's what I need. Just talk to me, Frank. About anything you can think of. Tell me a story if you like."

"I don't know many stories," he began doubtfully. He cast about in his memory and eventually said, a note of embarrassment in his voice, "All right, I've thought of something. You'll probably just laugh at me and think it's very silly though, but you can't say I didn't warn you."

"Go on," Aurora prompted.

Frank began, "Well, this is a story my Uncle Algie used to tell me when I was a little boy. Half of it probably never really happened, but anyway ..."

He started, first haltingly, then with increasing enthusiasm and less awkwardness, to tell of how his Uncle Algie, while looking for a rare species of plant in the African jungle, had fought off whole tribes of natives, nearly lost his leg twice to crocodiles and narrowly escaped being crushed by giant snakes or bitten by enormous tarantulas the size of baby elephants. Aurora listened, snuggling down deeper and deeper into her pillows, her hand still resting in Frank's and her eyelids slowly drooping.

"And after he had pierced the dragon's heart with a native spear," Frank was saying, "Uncle Algie climbed right to the top of the golden statue of the three-headed god and hacked away at the second eye from the left in the face of the central head. The stone broke away and there, sure enough, was the vial that the medicine man had told him about. Uncle Algie opened it with his teeth and drank every last drop of the potion that saved his life," he concluded.

Frank ran his tongue over his lips. He hadn't realised how long he had been talking, or how dry his mouth and throat were. He looked down at Aurora, her head sunk deep into the pillow, her eyes closed, the pink lips slightly parted. He was just wondering how long he had been talking to himself when she said sleepily,

"I like that story."

Slightly startled to find her awake, Frank nevertheless answered her. "I always liked it too, but I don't think I ever really believed a word of it. Uncle Algie's stories are like that - good fun, but hard to believe."

Aurora smiled, her eyes still closed. "I wish I could meet your Uncle Algie."

"Do you?" he asked. "Really?"

She nodded sleepily. Frank thought for a moment, then said,

"Aurora ... if you like ... I mean ... it's nearly Christmas, and every year, my mother un-invites Uncle Algie for Christmas dinner, but he invariably turns up, usually with some new unbelievable story to tell ... If you and your aunt aren't ... if you'd like ..."

Aurora half opened her eyes. "Are you un-inviting us for Christmas dinner too?"

He couldn't help but grin. "Yes, I suppose I am. Will you stay away?"

Closing her eyes once more, Aurora murmured into her pillow, "Wouldn't dream of it."

Frank beamed secretly, safely aware that she couldn't see. He watched her for a while, and listened to her breathing becoming more and more regular. It was quite some time before he extricated his hand from hers and walked to the door. He looked back and sighed.

"Sweet dreams," he whispered, and left the room.

**8 - The Truth Will Out**

Malcolm was sitting at the table in the dining hall with Leonard Lestrange and his brother Rabastan, Lucius Malfoy, Augustus Snape and Evan Rosier. Rabastan had the _Daily Prophet_ open beside him on the table, and was reading it while he ate. He gave a snort.

"I think it's time we did something about the _Prophet_," he said. "They don't give us a very good write-up.

"Oh?" said his brother. "Why, what do they say?"

"They're calling us monsters and murderers," Rabastan replied. "They insult the Dark Lord, too."

"Show me." Leonard reached across the table for the paper and read it. "Someone's asking for trouble there." He laid aside his fork and held the paper with both hands. "Listen," he said, and began to read, "_Daily Prophet reporters at the scene of the latest Death Eater attack in Newcastle-upon-Tyne spoke to Miss Gemma Crowe, Auror-in-Training at the Ministry of Magic, who said that, in her opinion, 'You-Know-Who is a dangerous lunatic, and the world won't be safe until he and all his followers have been sent to Azkaban'. Muggles who had witnessed the incident were heard to refer to it as the worst nightmare imaginable, before having their memories wiped by..._" Leonard stopped reading here and handed the paper back to his brother. "So, that's what they think of us, is it? You know, I think we ought to teach these people a lesson. The lesson that you don't speak out against the Dark Lord and go unpunished. Lucius ..."

"Yes?"

"You know a good few people at the Ministry. Ever heard of this Crowe girl?"

"As a matter of fact, she was a couple of years below me at Hogwarts. In Gryffindor." He managed to make the mere mention of Gemma's house sound like an insult.

"Mudblood?" Augustus Snape asked.

"I've no idea," Lucius confessed. "I never took that much notice of her."

"Well, she's made sure notice is taken of her now," Rosier said grimly. "And she won't like the outcome."

"She won't live to like or not like it," Leonard corrected with a smile. "Eh, Tiberius?" he added to Malcolm.

Malcolm forced a smile and quickly made to cut himself another piece of meat, so as not to have to say anything. But at that moment, the door opened, and Paula entered. She did not, however, return to her seat at the table, which she had left when Malfoy's house elf had come for her on Voldemort's orders. She looked across the room, straight at Malcolm.

"Tiberius, have you got a minute?" she asked. "Our master wants to see you."

"Me? What for?" he asked.

She shrugged. "He didn't say. I think he wants to ask you to do something for him."

"Now? Well, all right." Malcolm folded his napkin, excused himself and joined her at the door. "Where is he?"

"Still in the small parlour upstairs," she informed him, allowing him to pass.

Malcolm climbed the stairs slowly. He was aware that Voldemort would not be alone in the parlour. He had announced his intention of dining there together with Vindictus Lothian, the one person in the world Malcolm felt less like seeing than Voldemort himself. Nevertheless, he went along the passageway to the door of the small parlour, briefly checked his watch to see how long he had before he would need to sneak off and take another dose of potion, found that it was just ten past ten and he still had another fifty minutes, then knocked on the door.

"Come in," said Voldemort's voice.

Malcolm entered. The Dark Lord was sitting in a high-backed armchair by the narrow window, while Lothian set a goblet of wine down on the small table in front of him before sitting down himself, and taking a sip of his own wine. The dining table had not yet been cleared. The remains of two dinners still stood there.

"Ah, Tiberius, there you are. I understand you have met Vindictus ..."

Malcolm nodded, trying not to look at Lothian without making it to apparent.

"I haven't seen Vindictus for a long time," Voldemort went on. "He's been abroad, you know. To Paris. Have you ever been to Paris, Tiberius?"

"No," said Malcolm.

"You should go there some time," Voldemort advised. "I remember going there the year after I had left Hogwarts. It had always interested me, you see, ever since I read about the French Revolution as a boy. The guillotine, the deaths ... you understand?"

"Naturally," Malcolm lied.

"I went to the theatre, too. I can't remember the name of the play, but I do recall that the actress playing the lead role held the audience absolutely spellbound. She was not a very good actress, as I remember it, but there was something about her ..."

Voldemort took a sip from his goblet, nodded appreciatively, and set the glass back down on the table.

"Delicious wine," he said, then continued, "Where was I? Ah yes, French actresses ... My friend Vindictus here came across a very good one on his visit to Paris, did you not?"

"Yes, master," Lothian agreed at once. "She was very good indeed. But she did not perform on a stage," he added. "She was playing the part of an insignificant woman living in one of the poorer quarters of the town. No one would have guessed, to look at her, that she was not only well-bred, but highly intelligent too. Or that she had a secret occupation as a spy."

His words came out coldly and with an obvious purpose to them, which was far from lost on Malcolm. He hoped fervently that the fears building up inside him were wrong, and the woman this hateful man was speaking about was not the one that had immediately sprung to his mind. He tried to look mildly interested and a little bored, rather than anxious and on edge. Voldemort looked up at him, smiling a queer, crooked smile.

"No," he said slowly, "you are not mistaken. Vindictus does mean exactly who you think he does. A man I met and befriended in Paris when I was there years ago was good enough to point out to me a month ago that he had reason to suspect someone in his town was secretly working against me, all the while pretending to be on no particular side but her own. She made just one mistake. She trusted a man she was sure could not but be on the side of my enemies, little knowing that his loyalty was to me. Unfortunately, she discovered her error before Vindictus got to Paris, and went into hiding. But she could not hide forever. Vindictus found her, and he apprehended her. She was a very cautious woman. Memory charms had been used on her to make sure she would know nothing about her own spying activities. But I have yet to come across a memory charm that cannot be broken by a sufficiently powerful wizard."

Voldemort began to rise from his seat and Lothian followed suit. Still smiling, Voldemort continued,

"Vindictus discovered quite quickly that Miss Dulac had helped someone to infiltrate my inner circle. It was a little harder to discover how and in what guise her contact had done so. That is why she was brought here today. You saw her arrive, I believe. The memory charms, you will be sorry to hear, were no match for my powers. Just before dinner, all was revealed. I am sorry to say that her brain did not survive the ordeal. I am sure it would have been a great pleasure to see her witness the total failure of her plans. As it is, she understands next to nothing now of what is happening around her. But you do, don't you? Yes, you understand that the best-laid plans of actresses and would-be heroes can go horribly, fatally wrong. Don't you ... Mr. Marley?"

Malcolm acted. Ever since Voldemort had begun smiling at him in that cruel, crooked manner, his mind had been working frantically to think of a way out. He had not come up with a sensible, cocksure plan, so he had to settle for the desperate, fast action option. Drawing his wand, he yelled "_Reducto_!" almost before the other two men in the room knew it, and without stopping to see them thrown back, he bolted out of the door and chased along the corridor at top speed. He didn't even take the time to be shocked that Snape and Rosier had apparently been on guard outside the door all the time. It was only the element of surprise that allowed him to get past them unscathed. He grabbed the banisters and swung himself round the corner onto the broad staircase, tearing down it without taking any notice of the four men that were now in pursuit. He had just reached the bottom step when Paula shouted, "_Incendio_!"

Flames sprang up along the floor in front of him, six feet high and as hot as hell itself. He skidded to a halt so abruptly that he almost fell. Whirling round, he could see Snape, Rosier, Voldemort and Lothian at the top of the stairs. There was no way he could escape that way, but Paula had given him an idea. "_Incendio_!" he echoed, setting fire to the stairs behind him. His four pursuers stopped where they were, but he knew he had merely bought himself a couple of seconds of time. He leapt across the banisters and landed unsteadily on the stone floor of the entrance hall. A quick shield charm warded off the stunner Leonard had aimed at him, and Malcolm just had time to wonder why on earth the man hadn't simply made it a killing curse, which would have been unblockable, when he felt something slice across his back like the sharp blade of a sword.

With a cry of pain, he swung round and threw Rabastan off his feet with a well-aimed body bind. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the flames on the stairs go out. Voldemort and Lothian were coming. Now that he was in this frenzied state, Malcolm's hatred boiled up again. He spun round, intent on hitting Lothian with something painful, if it was the last thing he did ... but instead, he himself was the one who writhed with pain as Lestrange, angered at his younger brother's swift defeat, shouted "_Crucio_!" with unveiled satisfaction in his voice. Malcolm's wand cluttered to the floor. He tried not to scream, but couldn't help himself. At the edge of his consciousness, he was aware that someone had picked up his wand. Then Voldemort signalled to Lestrange and the pain stopped abruptly. Malcolm, now kneeling on the floor, gasped for breath.

"How very foolish," said Voldemort, towering over him. "You didn't really think you stood a chance of escaping, did you? Any one of us could have killed you at any moment."

"Then why the hell didn't you?" Malcolm croaked, looking up with difficulty.

Voldemort's smile broadened. "You would have liked that, wouldn't you? A hero's death at the hands of Lord Voldemort or his most trusted Death Eaters. I'm sure your friends would have sung your praises for years to come ... or shall we say, for as long as they have left on this earth. I'm sorry to disappoint you, but it is not going to be that way. I can think of something much more useful to do with you."

"If it's information you want, forget it," Malcolm spat. "Nothing you can do to me would ever induce me to tell you anything."

"I'm sure that's not true," Voldemort said calmly. "In any case, we shall never know. I do not want to know any of what is stored in your pitiful brain, Mr. Marley. I want only one thing from you."

"What do you want?"

"Life," Voldemort replied. Then he nodded to his Death Eaters, turned around, and began to climb the stairs.

Sirius, stood dripping ice cold water on the landing while fumbling for his door key. His shaking hands were still trying to turn it when the door was yanked open from the inside.

"Sirius!" Bridget half gasped, half shouted. "Where on earth have you been? It's two o'clock in the morning! I've been absolutely frantic with worry ... what's happened to you?" she added, noticing how wet he was.

Sirius shoved her aside and staggered into the hallway. James stepped out of the kitchen and caught his breath at the sight of Sirius. He reached out a hand to steady him. "So you did it," he said, half angry, half frightened. "You really went and did it. You'll catch your death ..."

"Never mind that now," Sirius breathed. "I made it, James. I got there. You've g-g-got to tell ..." he began, barely able to talk for shivering, "tell the others there is a way in. I ... found ... an opening."

Sirius swayed and fell against the wall. James glanced at his mother. She was staring at him, her eyes wide with shock.

"We'd better run him a hot bath," James said, and heaved Sirius back on his feet. "Come on, mate. Let's warm you up."

The sun rose slowly in the distance. Malcolm watched it through the slit like window of the tower room, absent-mindedly stroking his chin. It was his chin again now, not Travers's. No more polyjuice potion for him. No more pretending. No more forcing himself to do things he hated doing. He was himself again, and would be until ... until what? If Voldemort didn't want information from him, what did he want? There was only really one thing he could be entirely sure of. Whatever Voldemort wanted with him, once he had got it, he would be dead. Malcolm realised slowly, quite detachedly, that he was not as afraid of death as he had expected to be. He did not want to die, but certainly, he was not afraid. His only regret was in knowing how his death would affect others. John had, after all, been right. No life was totally individual.

Yes, Malcolm regretted the grief his death would cause, but on the other hand, he could not deny that it secretly gave him comfort to know that, whatever happened, he would not be forgotten, that there were people who would love him even after death, just as he had gone on loving his parents. With something of a shock, he realised he had not thought about his parents much in recent years. But now he was suddenly remembering them, remembering his childhood, running around in the woods with John playing at outlaws, coming home with scrapes and grazed knees, having his mother fuss over him with creams and ointments and kisses that embarrassed him.

He smiled. Many more images flooded his mind: Faith, his baby sister, watching him and John out of those big, brown eyes of hers; his father teaching him how to make paper aeroplanes, and staring in amazement when Malcolm's, instead of dropping back to the ground after a brief flight, had soared up into the sky; the Sorting ceremony at Hogwarts; being called into headmaster Dippet's office time and again for one mischief or another, all of which he had been entirely guilty of; more girls than he could remember the names of flocking around him at school; John being made head boy; Faith crying on the train the first year they had travelled to Hogwarts without John; leaving Hogwarts and going into Auror training; John announcing that he and Faith were to be married; holding his godson in his arms for the first time ...

How strange it was, he thought, that looking back one only recalled the happy memories. The bad ones were just shadows, still there at the edge of his thoughts, but by no means as clear as the others, nowhere near as real. And the most real of them all ... Bridget, her face stained with tears, looking up at him and begging him not to go. Such a bitter-sweet moment. If only he had heeded her! But there was no point in dwelling on what might have been. John and Faith would take care of Bridget, he knew that. He hoped they would all be all right.

Footsteps on the stairs outside brought him back from his reverie. He turned around just as Paula Lestrange came into the small chamber. She paused in the doorway to study him closely.

"So this is what you really look like," she remarked coldly.

"I hope you're not disappointed," Malcolm replied in a similar tone.

She shrugged her shoulders. "It's of no consequence to me what you look like, since you'll be dead soon anyway."

"I must say Voldemort couldn't have picked a more suitable person to play the part of the angel of death."

His words took her aback. "You dare to say that name!" she exclaimed. "Don't you understand your position?"

"What difference does it make? I hardly think it likely that he'll let me go if I show him more respect. If I am to die, I'll do so telling him what I think of him. I'm not pretending any longer. I shan't give him the satisfaction of seeing me intimidated."

Paula smiled sardonically. "We shall see about that, Mr. Marley. Now, if you wouldn't mind ..."

She stood back and motioned for him to pass her. Malcolm stared at her coldly a moment longer, then went out onto the landing.


	28. Part 28: Time to Act

**Prequel, Part 28: Time to Act**

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**1 - The Morning After**

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Bridget rose very early on Sunday morning. James had succeeded in persuading her not to ask questions of him or Sirius the night before, and she had agreed to wait until morning, but she had barely slept a wink all night. She went into the kitchen and put the kettle on. She had not yet poured the tea out when James joined her. He did not look as though he had slept much either. In a would-be normal voice, Bridget asked if he would like some tea too. James agreed. He watched her pour out two mugs and followed her to the dining table next door. Only once they had sat down did Bridget say,

"Well?"

The one word unsettled James. He turned his mug between his hands a few times.

"I tried to stop him going," he said defensively. "But you know what Sirius is like once he makes up his mind to do something."

"But how did he do it, James? How did he find out where this 'Slytherin's Rock' place is, and how on earth did he get there and back without getting himself caught?"

"I don't know how he found the place. As for how he got there, I think he must have swum ashore."

"Through freezing cold water? It was so bitter cold last night, it's a wonder the sea hadn't frozen over. And I suppose it didn't occur to him to think how worried I'd be!"

"I'm sorry I worried you," Sirius himself suddenly said from the open doorway. "I only wanted to help."

"Help! Sirius, don't you think I've got enough to worry about without you running off like that?" Bridget cried angrily, rounding on him. "You might have been caught. You might have been _killed_! How do you think that would have helped?"

Sirius looked down at his feet and shifted awkwardly. "I'm sorry," he repeated in a more subdued voice.

"How did you find out where to go?" James asked.

Avoiding Bridget's eyes, Sirius replied, "I ... err ... well, first I thought of trying the Restricted Section in the Hogwarts library, but then I decided that if anyone would know where Slytherin's Rock is, your grandfather would, so ..."

"You went and asked him? And he told you?" James exclaimed.

Sirius shook his head. "No. You know you told me about the secret entrance that time ... and about the password ..."

James's jaw dropped. "You sneaked in? You went in through the secret door and ..."

"Yep. Luckily the house elves were all asleep. Your grandfather was up, though. He seemed to be waiting for someone. I managed to sneak by when he went into the bathroom, and I got to the library unnoticed. I thought it was going to take me ages to find out where to look, even, but I was lucky again. There was an old map lying on the desk. Your grandfather must have been looking at it. Slytherin's Rock was on there. I couldn't believe my luck. I had a bit of a job getting out again, though. I'd just come out of the library when I heard people coming up the stairs, so I had to hide in a broom cupboard until they'd gone by. Actually, I could have sworn I heard Frank's voice ... Anyway, I nipped out again when they'd gone far enough, and went straight to Slytherin's Rock. I swam across the water and ..."

"How?" Bridget asked sharply. "It was icy cold. No human being could have swum in the sea last night."

Sirius continued to avoid her eyes. He and James exchanged guilty looks. Finally, James sighed.

"Mum, we've got to tell you something. Only you'll have to promise not to tell anyone else about it. All right?"

Bridget looked doubtfully at her son, but he remained firm.

"Please, Mum. I can't tell you unless you promise."

"All right," she said after a while. "I promise."

And James told her. All about how he, Peter and Sirius had learnt to become animagi at Hogwarts so that they could keep Remus company when he transformed. He told her how they had planned and schemed, how it had taken them ages to do it properly, and how they had been rewarded by discovering that their company really did help their friend. He did not, however, tell her that they had left the Shrieking Shack on several occasions, that they had used their skills as animagi to break even more rules, or that they had taken a werewolf to Hogsmeade with them at night. It took Bridget a while to recover from the information he gave her. She stared at James, at Sirius, then at James again.

"You - you did all this ... and I never knew? Why? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Oh, come on, Bridget! You wouldn't have let us go on with it if you'd known. It was illegal, and pretty dangerous too," Sirius remarked, not without pride.

Bridget looked up at him. She looked about to tell him off some more, but then she softened. Sirius looked pale. His hair was sticking to his forehead as though he had been sweating a good deal during the night, and the grey eyes that looked back at her were heavy-lidded. Bridget got up, came over to him and felt his forehead and cheeks.

"Go back to bed," she said gently. "Go on, I don't want you to be ill on top of everything. James ..."

"Yes, Mum?"

"Go and tell John that Sirius thinks he's found a way to get into Slytherin's Rock."

"It's on the north side of the building. You have to ..." Sirius began, but Bridget interrupted him.

"You can tell him that yourself. I'm sure he'll come round at once."

"Mum, you won't tell him ... will you?"

Bridget sighed. "Not if I can help it, James."

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Malcolm opened his eyes to find he was lying on some kind of makeshift bunk, looking straight up at a grey stone ceiling. He shivered. It was cold here ... wherever 'here' was. He turned his head to one side. There was a small medieval fireplace there, but the grate was empty. Two slit-like windows on either side of it, little more than archery holes, explained where the cold air he could feel was coming from. He looked to his other side. There was a little oak table here, and a big, solid door. What was this place? He screwed up his eyes, trying to remember. He recalled Lothian's face, and Voldemort's cruel, mocking smile. He remembered running down the stairs, breathless. Flames, flames all around. A pain in his back ... That was still there, he realised. He ran his hand across the place where it stung, and felt a bandage under his shirt. That was odd. He could not remember anyone putting a bandage on him. He did, however, seem to remember this room, if only vaguely. He had been here before. It had been night time when they had put him in here. But they had let him out again, hadn't they? Paula Lestrange had come when the sun was just starting to rise, and she had let him out. But what had happened after that?

A loud noise like the crack of a whip made him jump, then wince immediately at the pain in his back. A second later, Dobby the house elf was standing right beside the bed, his big round eyes looking straight into Malcolm's face. He was holding a goblet in his skinny hand.

"Sir is awake?" Dobby asked in a whisper.

"Yes," said Malcolm, and was surprised to find that, though he had not meant to whisper, his voice was barely louder than the elf's.

Dobby held out the goblet to him. "Sir must drink this," he said urgently, still keeping his voice very low.

"What is it?" Malcolm enquired, studying the goblet suspiciously. It seemed to contain some kind of dark blue liquid that looked very uninviting.

"It will make you feel better, sir."

Malcolm raised an eyebrow. "But I feel fine."

Dobby shook his head. "Sir must drink this," he repeated. "Quickly, before they come back."

Wondering what had got into the house elf, Malcolm pushed himself into an upright position. He almost sank straight back down, however. His head was suddenly swimming, the room seemed to vanish into a kind of fog. His arms felt shaky, his whole body unsteady.

"What the ..." he began, but Dobby was now pushing the goblet between his fingers.

"Sir must drink quickly," Dobby begged.

Malcolm obeyed him. The blue liquid, whatever it was, tasted as cold as ice. Dobby's promise had not been a vain one. Almost as soon as he had taken the first sip, Malcolm felt himself becoming calmer, his head clearer. By the time he had drained the goblet, he was almost back to normal again, and memories flooded back into his mind. As they washed over him, he almost dropped the goblet, overwhelmed by what had happened.

"My god ..." he murmured. "So that's what he meant. Oh hell!"

He thrust the goblet back at the startled house elf and rose abruptly. He went over to the window slits and looked out. There was a sheer drop outside, right down to the jagged rocks now covered in a thick layer of ice and snow. Even if he had been able to get through the opening, which was in itself impossible, there was nowhere to go that way. Malcolm examined the fireplace next. It was the ancient kind that had no chimney. The smoke would at one time have been allowed to escape through a hole in the ceiling of the room, but that had evidently been bricked up. It might provide a weak spot in the brickwork - but where would that get him? If he could get to the roof above this room, where would he go from there? Malcolm turned his attention to the door. The wood was as thick and solid as he had guessed before. The key was in the lock on the outside. He checked the gap at the bottom. Nothing doing there, it was much too narrow for the key to fit through, even if he were able to find something with which to poke it out of its lock. Malcolm turned to Dobby at last.

"You've got to help me," he told the house elf, making him jump.

"D-d-dobby has done all he c-c-can," the elf stammered, indicating the goblet.

"No, Dobby, you've got to help me get out of here," Malcolm insisted. He grasped both of Dobby's arms above the elbows and the house elf nearly shrieked with fright. "Please. I can't stay here. I can't allow them to go through with what they're doing. Surely you understand as well as I do that Voldemort can't be allowed to do this."

Dobby pulled himself free and covered his face with his bony hands, shivering with fright. "S-s-ir must not say the name, or He will come for b-b-b-both of us."

"Do you want to be afraid like this for the rest of your life?" Malcolm demanded. "Dobby, if he goes through with this, it's not just my life that's at stake. Don't you understand? If the process is completed, Voldemort can never die!"

This time, Dobby really did squeal. He backed away against the wall, staring at Malcolm out of wide, terrified eyes. Sensing what was about to happen, Malcolm grabbed his arm once more.

"No, Dobby, don't go. Please, you're the only one who can help me. If you won't let me out of here, at least ... at least take a message to Professor Dumbledore at Hogwarts. Tell him what's happened. He'll do something, I know he will. You've got to warn him for me, Dobby. And another thing," he added, suddenly remembering the others' talk at dinner the night before. "There's a girl working for the aurors at the Ministry of Magic. Her name is Gemma Crowe. Tell Dumbledore the Death Eaters are likely to be coming after her. Promise me, Dobby. Promise me you'll help me."

Dobby looked about to start crying. He was trembling all over, clutching the goblet to him. He seemed unable to open his mouth. Malcolm could hear footsteps approaching the other side of the door. He shook the house elf urgently and stared hard at him. Dobby returned his gaze with one of utmost misery, then disappeared with a crack.

"Damn," Malcolm breathed. He rose quickly, and by the time the door opened, he was standing looking out of one of the windows again, as though he had been there all the time.

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At about the same time, in his office at Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore was pacing the floor. Unbeknownst to even those of his staff closest to him, he had been doing so all night. It was not, after all, easy to make a decision such as he had made yesterday, the decision to do next to nothing, but wait for events to decide his course. There was a knock at the door and he interrupted his pacing, facing it and saying evenly,

"Come in."

He was not surprised to see Minerva McGonagall, Rubeus Hagrid and Pippa Pettigrew file into the room. All three faces looked anxious, and in Professor McGonagall's case, somewhat angry.

"Good morning," Dumbledore said pleasantly. "And what can I do for the three of you?"

"We've come to offer our help," said Pippa. "If there's anything we can do, anything at all ..."

"That's right," Hagrid agreed, his beetle black eyes eager and determined. "We understand you don't want ter ask anyone ter take risks, Professor, but ... well, we can't all sit around doing nothin' while - while ..."

"Mr. Marley needs our help," Pippa went on. "I know we have no evidence as yet that he's been caught, but from what we do know, it seems to me that it's only a matter of time. The longer we wait to be sure, the greater the danger that we'll be too late when we finally do act."

Professor Dumbledore sighed. He looked from one to the other of them. His blue eyes settled on his deputy headmistress.

"Have you nothing to add, Professor?" he enquired mildly.

"You know my views already," said Professor McGonagall. "When one ventures readily into the lion's den ... It was always clear that we would come to this point eventually and now, as Miss Pettigrew has so rightly said, it is only a matter of time until we hear definitely of Mr. Marley's capture ... or death."

"Not all such missions must end in disaster, Minerva," Dumbledore said gently.

"In my experience ...," she began, but Dumbledore raised a hand to interrupt her.

"One more day," he said firmly. "That is how long I am prepared to wait for definite news before acting. Incidentally ..." - he checked his watch - "I have not been entirely inactive. I have sent Fawkes to investigate Slytherin's Rock from above, and I asked Alastor to ensure that the real Tiberius Travers will not be able to escape his holding cell at the Ministry of Magic. He tells me he has sent extra guards to watch the cell door, and he has assured me that they are entirely trustworthy and will sound the alarm the minute they detect anyone seeming to show an interest in their prisoner."

Just as he finished speaking, there was a flash of bright red flame just over the perch in the corner, and Fawkes the phoenix materialised. Dumbledore smiled.

"And here is our messenger now. There is still a little more information to discover, a few more sources to question, but by this evening we will have discovered all there is to discover, and it will be time for us to summon one more meeting of the Order to decide what we intend to do about the current crisis."

"This evening?" McGonagall exclaimed. "Don't you think ...?"

"This evening, Minerva. We will choose a course of action then."

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**2 - The Death Eaters' Revenge**

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Bridget had been quite right in thinking that John would not hesitate to come round once James went to him with her summons. She was a little surprised, however, that he had brought not only Remus, but also Faith with him. All three of them looked every bit as worried as Bridget was feeling, and she was sure that Faith must have been crying, judging by the redness of her eyes.

"What's all this about then, Bridget?" John asked. It was clear that he was struggling to keep his voice even and as matter-of-fact as possible. "James told us that Sirius thinks he's found a way into Slytherin's Rock."

"That's right," said Sirius himself, appearing in the doorway of his and James's bedroom. He was still wearing pyjamas and a dressing gown, and looking feverish.

"I thought I told you to stay in bed," Bridget admonished him.

Sirius ignored her. "I managed to find out where this Slytherin's Rock is last night, and I went there."

Remus exchanged a quick glance with James, then said quietly, "You actually went into that place?"

"Well, I went to the island. I didn't actually go into the fortress. I might have done, but then it looked like someone was coming, so I beat it. Besides, I was feeling somewhat nippy by then."

"I'm not surprised," John said. "It was a cold night. How did you get to the island in the first place? Wasn't it a bit risky to take a boat?"

"I didn't take a boat," Sirius said. "I swam."

"Swam?" Faith exclaimed. "But the water must have been freezing!"

"It was pretty cold, yes. Anyway, the point isn't how I got to Slytherin's Rock, it's that I made it, and I found an opening on the north side of the wall. It's really close to the ground, and only just about wide enough for one man to squeeze through at a time. But it's clearly not been noticed by anyone inside the fortress. It's not been blocked up, after all. In fact, no one's been near it for ages."

"Are you sure about that?" John queried.

"Positive," Sirius affirmed. "No human being has gone near that hole for years."

"Except you, of course," John said very slowly.

"Quite," said Sirius.

John was studying him closely. He seemed to suspect that Sirius had not quite told him the whole story, but in the end he decided to let it go.

"Well, if you're right and there really is an opening there, I'd say that's our best chance."

"Best chance of what?" Faith asked.

"Going in and getting Malcolm out," James said without hesitation. "We know where we can get in, and we can get out the same way once we've found Malcolm - or some easier way, if we can find one. He'll probably know a way himself."

"We?" John repeated. He shook his head. "No. You're not going, James."

James stared at him, looking both hurt and angry. "Oh yes, I am! You're not keeping me out of this just because I'm still 'too young' or 'too inexperienced' in your opinion. I'm training as an auror, and even Moody will admit I'm good ..."

"I don't doubt that," John said placatingly. "Nevertheless, I think it's better if you stay behind this time." His eyes flickered briefly to Bridget, then back to James, who now seemed to understand.

"I'd rather go with you," he said more calmly.

John smiled. "I'm sure you all would, given half a chance. But on the whole I think it best that we risk as few lives as possible in this."

"You can't go on your own!" Bridget protested.

John was about to reply, but a flame sprang up right in front of them just at that moment, and a single fiery red feather floated in mid-air, along with a small sheet of parchment. Remus caught it and read it.

"It looks like no one will be going just yet," he said. "Professor Dumbledore advises us most strongly not to do anything rash, and wants us to come and meet him at Gryffindor Hall at five o'clock."

"As late as that?" Sirius cried. "How much more time is he going to waste?"

"Perhaps he has a plan," John said thoughtfully. "In any case, it can't hurt to listen to what he has to say. It would be stupid to go to Slytherin's Rock in broad daylight anyway. I suggest we all go back to our house for now - I'm sure we still have some pepper-up potion somewhere for you, Sirius. And we'll all go to Gryffindor Hall later and see what Professor Dumbledore suggests."

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Enid Borealis was seated in a very comfortable armchair in the bedroom where her niece was sleeping, knitting away at a hideously multi-coloured shawl. She murmured quietly to herself,

"Now how many more rows of red do I need? Is it ten, or twenty? Or was it ... oh dear, oh dear. I really should write it down. I think ..."

"Let me see," Aurora's voice said suddenly.

Her aunt jumped a few inches off her seat, then sank back down onto it, patting her chest with one hand.

"Rora, my dear. You gave me quite a start. I thought you were still asleep."

"What, with you rattling away all the time?" Aurora teased.

"Oh, did I wake you up? My dear, I'm so sorry, I didn't even realise I was talking."

"It's all right," Aurora assured her, propping herself up with a pillow. "I think it's about time I woke up anyway. What time is it, by the way?"

"Oh, I don't know."

"Have you got a watch?"

"No. Oh, but yours is right there, on the dressing table. I took it off you when I popped in to see you before I went to bed last night. Really, that Mr. Gryffindor - or should one call him 'lord', do you think? - well, anyway, he was ever so gracious to me last night. The room he's had prepared for me! I wouldn't have believed people still live in houses that have such rooms if I hadn't seen it with my own two eyes. It must take days to clean this place ..."

"You were going to look at my watch for me," Aurora interrupted her.

"Your watch?"

"Yes. To see what the time is."

"Oh," uttered Aunt Enid. "Yes, dear, of course. It went right out of my head." Leaving her knitting on the chair, she went over to the dressing table and picked up Aurora's watch. "It's nearly ten past twelve," she announced.

"As late as that?" Aurora exclaimed, sitting up straighter. "I shouldn't still be lying here then, I should be up, doing something. Have you heard anything at all?"

"Heard? You mean from that young man - Frank?"

"Well, no, not specifically. I was just wondering if anything had happened."

"Happened? Why? Should anything have happened?"

"Things never seem to stop happening these days."

"You mean ... bad things?" Aunt Enid asked. "Yes, bad things do seem to keep happening. That's why I'm so glad we're here. I get the feeling nothing bad can happen while we're here."

"Not to us," Aurora agreed thoughtfully. "I should say that within these walls is one of the safest places to be at the moment. Nothing bad can happen here. But outside ..."

"Don't think about that now, dear," said Aunt Enid. "I still don't understand what happened to you yesterday, but you really looked quite ill. You still look a bit peaky now. You should try having something to eat. I had the most wonderful breakfast this morning - eggs, bacon, tomato, mushrooms ..."

"Yes, yes, I get the picture," Aurora said quickly. The thought of having anything fried for breakfast somehow made her feel sick this morning. "I don't think I could manage anything more than some dry toast today."

As if in answer to her words, there was a loud crack. Aurora's aunt jumped again and Wonky, the very old house elf, appeared in the middle of the room. He was carrying a tray containing a rack of toast, a selection of jams, butter and a large mug of steaming cocoa.

"Is you ready for breakfast, Miss?" he asked Aurora, and climbed up onto the bed without waiting for an answer, placing the tray on her lap. "Master said you would not be wanting full English breakfast. Wonky hopes this is suiting you."

"Thank you," she replied. "It looks just right."

Wonky left them and Aurora began helping herself to toast. She finished by drinking her mug of cocoa, which immediately made her feel much better. Her aunt was just relieving her of the tray when there was a knock on the door, and their host entered.

"I hope I'm not intruding," he said politely.

Aunt Enid at once became both deferential and slightly flustered.

"Not at all," she assured him. "My niece has just finished having her breakfast."

"I hope it was to your satisfaction."

Aurora nodded. "Yes, thank you. And thanks for having us to stay. It's really very kind of you."

"Not at all," he said courteously. "It was the least I could do. From what I hear, you took a very great risk yesterday for the Order."

"The Order?" Aunt Enid repeated. "What Order?"

"The Order of the Phoenix," Gordon replied. "A group of people dedicated to fighting Lord Voldemort."

The mention of the name made Enid Borealis jump for the third time.

"Frank told me yesterday that my niece was involved in acting against ... You-Know-Who. I have to say I'm not happy about it. Not at all happy."

"Someone's got to do it, Auntie," Aurora told her. "It's no good if everyone just hides away indoors, hoping he'll go away of his own accord, because he won't. Risks have to be taken."

"You're quite right," Gordon said. "But I think everyone agrees that you have taken quite enough for a while. What you need now is time to rest and recover. That is why you're here. I should say the only safer place you could possibly be at the moment is Hogwarts."

"Oh yes, I was saying just a little while ago that I'm sure we're nice and safe here," Aunt Enid agreed happily.

"I don't want to be kept out of things, though," Aurora said quickly. "I want to know what's going on."

"I dare say you do," said Gordon. "But for now I have nothing to tell. I'm sure you will be receiving visitors later on today who will be able to tell you everything you need to know."

"Will young Frank be coming at all?" Aunt Enid asked.

The old wizard smiled. "I'm sure he will."

"Oh good. I haven't thanked him properly yet for coming to take me to St. Mungo's, and bringing us here afterwards. He really was most kind and sympathetic."

Still smiling, Gordon gave a short bow and excused himself. When he had left the room, Aunt Enid sat down on the edge of Aurora's bed and patted her hand.

"Such nice people, these friends of yours," she said appreciatively.

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Vindictus Lothian had not seen the Dark Lord since they had returned from a chamber far below in the dungeons while a few of the others had taken Malcolm Marley back up to the tower room. He was curious to know whether the first dose of the potion he had taken at that time would show any effects, and also a little anxious. Despite its hopeful-sounding name, the Brew of Eternity struck him as the most vile creation he had ever heard of. Not only was it made of the blood of house elves, unicorn horn and other ingredients he had no wish to know of, but Voldemort had told him last night, quite gleefully, that now, at last, he had found his final ingredient - the life force of a wizard.

Lothian was not a squeamish man. He did not recoil from brutality, from the slaughter of the innocent or the taking of a human life ... yet to drink something made up of such components struck even him as wrong, unnatural. He wondered, not for the first time, whether the effect on the drinker might not be harmful rather than helpful.

With these thoughts in his mind, he paused outside the door to Voldemort's chamber, drew a deep breath and then knocked.

"Come in!"

He entered. Lord Voldemort was sitting in a chair by the fire, a sheet of parchment in his hand. He waved Lothian to a seat opposite him, not looking up. Lothian sat in silence, waiting to be spoken to before saying anything himself. Presently Voldemort finished his perusal of what he held in his hand and murmured quietly,

"I would never have believed it possible."

"What's that?" Lothian enquired.

In reply, Voldemort waved the parchment he was holding.

"This. It's from a loyal servant in Paris. He tells me that our enemies may have information we were certain was safe from them. They have ..." - he paused, apparently searching for the right word - "... _questioned _the auror you came across in the courtyard."

"Questioned him?" Lothian exclaimed. "But that's impossible. He couldn't give any information. I had the Dementors administer the Kiss."

Voldemort nodded. "Oh yes, you did, and one would have thought that there was an end to it. But apparently not. It seems that some of our enemies possess powers even I could not have guessed at, and yet ... and yet perhaps I should have guessed at them. I was warned, after all. I should have taken the reports of the fight at St. Mungo's more seriously ..."

"St. Mungo's?" Lothian queried uncertainly. "What has that got to do with the auror?"

"Nothing immediate. But after the attack on St. Mungo's I was told that there had been one person there, a girl fighting on the other side, with powers I had never heard of before. From what I was told, it appears she was able to grasp the Imperius curse directed at her by one of my followers, turn it on another and make him kill his own ally. I confess I was impressed when I heard of it, even, I admit, a little worried. But I thought no more of it. More pressing matters came up, you see. But now ..."

He looked down at the letter again.

"This same girl," he murmured, "yes, the same girl, it must be her, there cannot be more with powers like these. She was able to enter the mind of that auror, and although his soul had left him, though his brain is dead, she appears to have found the last remnants of a memory ..."

Lothian drew in his breath sharply. "How much was she able to discover?"

"I don't know. My man states that Alastor Moody, the auror who had taken her there, sent him for some chocolate, which he brought, then sent him and everyone else out of the room. She may have seen barely anything at all, or she may have seen a lot. She may have seen you."

The Death Eater shrugged his shoulders. "If she did, what does it matter?"

"If she did, it means two things. One: the other side know that we have the Frenchwoman, and they will realise it is only a matter of time before she reveals the identity of their spy to us. Therefore they will be facing a choice now, to foolishly attempt a rescue or to leave him to die. Two: This girl must be killed. If she can turn my followers against each other with the her mind, if she can retrieve information even from those who are soulless, then she is powerful, too powerful to be left alive. Yes ... I want her killed. Mulciber can see to that. He is skilled in matters of the mind, she will not be able to turn him so quickly."

"Mulciber isn't here. He's already set out for the Ministry."

"Ah. What about Dolohov?"

"He went with the others to take care of another girl - the trainee auror who insulted you in the newspaper."

Voldemort gave a cold smile. "I see. In that case, this had better be your task, I think. Take someone with you, find out where this girl lives and kill her."

He passed the parchment across to Lothian, who read it through quickly.

"_Aurora Borealis_," he read out loud. "I'll see to it at once.

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**3 - A Series of Attacks**

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There was nothing to show at the Auror Headquarters in the Ministry of Magic that today was in any way different from any other day. It was a Sunday, and consequently there were not very many people about. However, Laura Lovegood was there as usual. She could not remember when she had last taken an entire weekend off work. Staying at home, even for a day, always made her feels restless and dissatisfied, she could not concentrate on Christmas shopping, baking or decorating the house for Christmas when there was work to be done. Her brother had long given up complaining that she was never at home, in fact she rather fancied he hardly minded any more, not now that Gloria Boom had accepted his proposal. He was probably hardly ever at home himself. That would certainly explain the layers of dust that had accumulated lately.

Laura finished reading yet another report of a Death Eater attack. It had happened near Newcastle. They had struck an area they had known would be full of people on a Friday afternoon, a shopping area where young families had been happily about buying Christmas presents, where carol singers had stood on corners proclaiming the festive season, the season of joy, of peace ... Instead they had received pain and death. The Death Eaters had killed and tortured, just for the fun of it, so it seemed. There was no particular target, no reason apparent. And yet now ten people were dead - muggle men and women, even children - and many more were at St. Mungo's, suffering from the after effects of terrible torture.

She placed the report in a folder with many others of its kind and got up to fetch a cup of coffee, and was just returning to her desk when she almost collided with a fellow auror passing by. She had begun to murmur a quick apology before she realised ...

"Forbes?" she said. "What are you doing here? I thought you were downstairs, with Baxter and Robinson and Brown."

"Well, that I was, Miss Lovegood," the man replied. "But then Mr. Crouch came along and ordered Brown and me back up here. He says we're needed more here than down there, and Baxter and Robinson can manage alone."

"But Mr. Moody said ..."

Bartemius Crouch himself interrupted her, startling her as she had not heard him come up from behind.

"Mr. Moody," he said coldly, "does not run this department. I do. And I cannot afford to waste four of my best people by having them sit around outside cellar doors playing chess, when we never know when the next attack will occur or where."

"I'm sure Mr. Moody wouldn't have assigned them there if it hadn't been necessary," Laura opined. "He must have had a very good reason."

"Possibly. But until such time as Alastor Moody condescends to let me into his secrets and explain his reasons to me, I have no intention of letting him assign my staff where he chooses. I also do not appreciate having my decisions questioned, least of all with phrases such as 'Mr. Moody says'. I hope I make myself clear."

"Very clear," Laura replied quietly.

"Good."

Crouch scowled at them both and marched off, back to his office.

"Wonder what's got into him?" Forbes mused.

"A combination of things, ranging from jealousy to stupidity, I should say," Laura murmured in reply.

"Miss Lovegood! Let him hear you speak like that and he'll throw you out on your ear, just like he did with Marley."

Laura flinched involuntarily at the name, so much so that Forbes noticed it.

"Is everything all right, Miss Lovegood? You look upset about something."

Laura glanced at the door through which Crouch had disappeared. After some quick thinking, she said,

"I just feel a little bit queasy today, that's all."

"Ah," said Forbes sympathetically. "You've probably not been eating properly. All these attacks can ruin the appetite, and if you don't eat, it makes you feel a bit giddy."

"Yes." She forced a smile. "You're quite right. I'll probably feel much better if I have a bite to eat. I think I'll go and get myself something now."

"Good idea," Forbes agreed heartily.

Remembering to fetch her bag to keep up the pretence, and casting one more glance in the direction of her superior's closed door, Laura departed. But she did not go for some food. She went straight to the lift, stepped inside, and did not get off again until it had reached the very bottom floor. Here, stepping into the corridor, she was startled to find herself face to face with Mr. Mulciber.

"Oh," she exclaimed. "Hello."

"How do you do, Miss Lovegood." He smiled, a smile that did not extend to his eyes. "I hope you have a pleasant day."

He walked right past her into the lift. Laura remained rooted to the spot for a moment, then she forced herself to walk down the corridor. She felt certain, somehow, that his eyes were still on her. But when she turned back, just before she began to descend the stairs, he appeared to be looking at his watch, and the lift was beginning to move. Laura breathed a sigh of relief, and went down towards the courtrooms.

Crouch had not been entirely wrong in everything he had said. Baxter and Robinson were indeed playing chess, and judging by the perplexed look on the older auror's face, young Robinson was winning as usual. Laura smiled to herself. They seemed quite engrossed in their game, yet when she stepped up beside them, Robinson greeted her at once without looking up.

"Good morning, Miss Lovegood."

He had a slightly superior, arrogant voice which Laura knew did not really express his nature. Once you got to know him a bit better, Robinson was quite a pleasant young man. He was certainly attractive. Tall and lean, fair-haired and blue-eyed, he had often been sent on assignments involving touchy female witnesses. He had a knack of breaking their defences within minutes of meeting them. A gallant word, a flash of that white-toothed smile, and they would tell him anything.

Baxter was quite a contrast. He was burly and short, at least twice the age of Robinson and practically bald. He gave the impression of being somewhat slow in everything he did, but Laura had seen him switch to quite astounding swiftness when the occasion demanded it. Now, his entire concentration appeared to be focused on the chessboard in front of him, but Laura was not fooled. His left hand was not on the table, but under it, and she would have accepted any bet that it was clasped firmly around his wand.

"How's it going?" Laura enquired.

"I'm winning," Robinson declared brightly. "Baxter here doesn't stand a chance. It's really quite disappointing, having such a weak opponent. Perhaps you'd like to play a round with me? I'm sure we won't be much longer."

"That's what you think," grumbled Baxter gruffly. "I've been going easy on you so far, my boy. But enough's enough. Knight to ..."

"You don't want to do that."

"Why not?"

"Because that pawn is just waiting for your knight to take him, so that my rook can take your knight."

"Hm."

Baxter began scratching his chin. Robinson looked up at Laura and gave her one of his smiles.

"You see? I could really do with a partner whose tactics are a bit less predictable."

Laura smiled back at him.

"How are things apart from chess?"

"You mean _him_?" Robinson asked, jerking his finger over his shoulder at the locked and bolted door of one of the holding cells, normally reserved for prisoners going on trial in one of the courtrooms on this level.

"Yes."

"He's all right. He doesn't make much of a fuss any more these days, not like he used to when they first locked him up. He still doesn't take kindly to the regular haircuts we give him though."

He was still smiling. How very white his teeth were. And how strange that she could not find his smile as winning as most women seemed to. Perhaps it was just her mood today. She was all on edge. Silly, really.

"Can I see him?" she asked.

Robinson shrugged his shoulders. "If you like. Can't see why though. He's not much worth looking at. Not exactly god's gift to women."

_And I suppose you think you are,_ Laura found herself thinking.

Why was she thinking such things? She knew Robinson, he was a nice fellow. He was still smiling at her. Why did it make her so uneasy?

"I'd still like to see him though," she heard herself say. "I know I'm probably being silly, but ... well, with Mr. Moody so keen to have more guards put on him ... I can't help it, I just need to see for myself that everything's okay."

"All right."

Robinson got to his feet and took the key from his pocket. Laura followed him to the door. Though her back was to Baxter now, she was pretty sure he had taken his eyes off the chessboard. She could feel them resting on her, waiting. But what was he waiting for? And why was Robinson unbolting the door so slowly?

The young auror began opening it. As the cell beyond gradually came into view, Laura began slipping her hand towards the wand in the inner pocket of her robes. The instant she drew it out, Baxter's voice behind her shouted with that rapidity that he disguised so well,

"_Expelliarmus_!"

Laura's wand soared out of her hand and Robinson caught it. She stared at him. There was nothing remotely charming about his smile now. It was cold and gloating.

"In there," he commanded icily, pointing with her wand into the cell. The _empty _cell.

"Where is he?" Laura asked, ignoring his words. "Where's Travers?"

"He left," Robinson replied simply. "This is your cell now, Miss Lovegood."

She turned around to look at Baxter. Unlike Robinson, he was not smiling. His face was screwed up, his lips curled fiercely, and his eyes ... his eyes seemed vacant. Laura looked back at Robinson. Sure enough, he had that same blank expression in his eyes.

"Robinson," she said urgently, beginning to realise what had happened here. "Listen to me. You're being controlled. Do you hear me? Someone's put a spell on you. This isn't really you. Think about it. Fight it."

Robinson's smile became a sneer. "Get in the cell," he repeated, his tone unchanged.

Laura shook her head and turned to the older auror. "Baxter, you ..."

She never got to finish her sentence. His wand flicked upwards, and his spell caught her right in the chest, throwing her off her feet with incredible force and hurling her against the stone wall of the cell. Pain shot through her spine as she made contact with it, and she cried out.

Robinson began to laugh. "Good one, Baxter," he said. "My turn now, I think."

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Down in the dungeon on Slytherin's Rock, Malcolm was looking around him. After having drunk Dobby's potion, he could remember this room only too well. It was empty but for a single chair, on which he was sitting right now, and a large cauldron bubbling away in the corner. Lucius and Rabastan had wisely tied him down immediately this time, and were standing by on either side of him. Malcolm felt sick. Any minute now, Voldemort would make him drink that stuff again, and then ... Then he would draw on a bit more of Malcolm's life force, making himself stronger while Malcolm fought vainly to stop it. Footsteps echoed on the flagged stone floor and Voldemort appeared. He looked furious. His eyes bored into Malcolm's, and he noticed how their colour seemed to have changed. They were burning a pale orange shade, and it was almost painful to look at them, like staring straight at a very bright neon lamp.

"Ready for your next dose of potion?" Voldemort asked, sneering.

"You won't get away with this," Malcolm hissed. "Trust me, your plan isn't going to work."

Voldemort laughed humourlessly. "Are you going to stop me? You're hardly in a position to, are you, Mr. Marley?"

"I'll find a way," Malcolm affirmed more firmly than he felt.

"There is no way," Voldemort said, lowering his voice. "You are entirely in my power, my friend. And I will continue to grow stronger on your life force until the process is complete ..."

"Go to hell!" Malcolm spat.

The Dark Lord pursed his lips in amusement. "Hell is for dead people. Thanks to you, I will not be dying ... ever. There is only one person in this room who will soon be 'going to hell', as you put it. I'm sure the devil will be pleased to welcome you among his flock."

"I'm beginning to doubt there is a devil in hell," said Malcolm. "It seems to me he's standing right in front of me, here on earth."

Voldemort threw back his head and laughed. "Really, your pitiful defiance is highly entertaining, Mr. Marley. But I'm afraid it will do you no good. You could make it much easier on yourself if you simply surrendered to your fate, and gave up fighting me."

"I will go on fighting you as long as I have strength left!"

"Well, in that case ... I think it is time you were deprived of a little more of it," Voldemort said icily. "Lucius, pass me that goblet, will you?"

Malcolm struggled as they held his head, and Voldemort poured the bitter-tasting green potion down his throat. He choked and gagged, fighting to make himself bring it up again, but it was no use. Rabastan and Lucius released Malcolm, and he watched Voldemort fill the goblet once more and drink deeply of it. Voldemort smiled crookedly at him. Then he closed his eyes and drew several deep breaths.

"Noooooo!" Malcolm yelled, but he could already feel the strength draining out of him.

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The Leaky Cauldron was packed full of people. Mary Crimple, wrapped in a thick blue cloak of finest velvet with a white fur collar, entered from the muggle street and made her way through the crowd to the bar.

"Hello, Tom," she called over.

The barman came her way. "Hello, Miss. What can I do for you?"

"I'd like to use your fireplace, if I may."

"Of course, of course. Hang on."

He came out from behind his bar and accompanied her into the back room, where he fetched a pot of floo powder out of a cupboard and allowed her to take a pinch.

"Thank you," said Mary.

"You be careful now, young lady," the barman told her. "Mind you don't come out in the wrong place. What with how things are these days, it could be the last thing you do."

Mary smiled at him. "Don't worry, I'll be all right. I'm just going to visit a friend."

She threw the powder on the flames, stepped into the fire and named her destination clearly. A whirl and a few moments later, she stepped out of a fireplace in a small, but comfortable living room, and was immediately greeted by the loud chirping of a pair of budgerigars in their cage on a sideboard.

"Hello!" Mary called, dusting herself down. "Gemma! Gemma, it's me, Mary!"

There was no reply. Mary went out into the hall and called again.

"Gemma! Mrs. Crowe! Mr. Crowe! Jeremy!"

Still no answer. This was odd. Mary checked her watch. She was not too early, nor was she late. It was the exact time she had arranged with Gemma, and Gemma was not one to forget appointments. Even if she had forgotten, her parents ought to be in, along with her brother Jeremy, a delightful child who like all boys, regardless of their ages, had taken an obvious fancy to her, Mary. She walked to the bottom of the stairs and repeated her call once more. Then, puzzled, she went back through the living room and out into the back garden. There was no one here either. She turned back towards the house, and then she saw it, and screamed - a skull, huge and evil-looking and green, a serpent winding itself like a tongue out of its leering mouth, floating just above the chimney pots.

"Gemma!" Mary yelled, running back indoors.

She tore up the stairs and pulled open the first door she came to. It was Jeremy's room. Toys and books were strewn across the floor. Model cars, a paper aeroplane ... in the middle lay Gemma's parents, their eyes wide open, looks of sheer terror on their faces. Mary went right into the room and knelt beside them, her hand trembling as she touched Mrs. Crowe's cheek. It was still warm. She couldn't have been dead long. Mary rose and turned to leave, to look for Jeremy and Gemma herself. Then she froze. She couldn't even scream this time. She had found Gemma.

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"This is it," Lily said to her father as the car turned into the road where Aurora lived. "It's the third building on the right."

Ted Evans drove a bit further along the road until he found somewhere to park. They pulled up and got out.

"You can wait here if you like," Lily said.

"No, I'll come with you. You can't carry all your things and hers by yourself," her father said.

"I'm only going to get a change of clothes for her, not her whole wardrobe," Lily said with a smile. "But okay. Look out for her rat, though. He doesn't like strangers much."

Cheesy the rat did indeed seem to take offence to having a total stranger enter his home when his mistress was not in. Lily, whom he had grown used to by now, had to grip him firmly between both hands and speak firmly to him for a full five minutes before he finally relaxed, and grudgingly permitted Lily's father to follow her into Aurora's bedroom. The rat scrambled up onto the bed and sat there, his abnormally large ears twitching, his beady eyes watching closely while Ted held a bag open so that Lily could pack a few necessaries into it.

"That it?" asked Lily's father when she had added a clean pair of pyjamas and a few changes of underwear to the trousers and jumpers in the bag.

"I think so," she replied, closing the wardrobe. "Maybe just ..." - she picked up a double picture frame from the bedside cabinet, which contained a photograph of Aurora's Aunt Enid, and one of her parents - "there, that should do it. Let's go."

Scooping up Cheesy the rat, she slipped him into the pocket of the ordinary muggle coat she had opted to wear today, and followed her father down the hall, where they collected her ready-packed suitcase, and out of the flat, locking the door behind her. They had just reached the street door when Lily let out a sharp cry of pain. Her father turned around, the door held open in his hand.

"What's the matter?"

Lily was staring at her pocket, which was suddenly moving in a highly agitated fashion.

"It's Cheesy," she said. "He bit me, right through the lining of my coat! And now he just won't keep still any more. I don't what's the matter wi..."

She got no further. In a matter of seconds, the tiny black creature had scratched and bitten a hole through the inside of her pocket, large enough to escape through. Once he had recovered from his somewhat unconventional landing upon the cold stone floor, he lost no time in zooming right out of the open door and across the street.

"Watch it!" Ted Evans called out, stepping onto the pavement. "Oh no ..."

But though he could have sworn that the bus hurtling down the road had run right over the spot where Cheesy had been, he could see the rat scurrying along quite unhurt towards the opposite side of the road.

"We'd better get after him," he said to Lily. "Can't you do something to make him stay still for a second. Lily?"

He turned around, wondering why his daughter was not answering him. She was standing in the doorway, the photo frame from Aurora's bedroom still in her hand, staring back into the building, back the way they had come.

"Forgotten something?" her father asked.

"No, but I thought I just heard something."

"Probably just one of the other tenants, coming out to get fresh bread from the baker's or something. Lily, where are you going?" he added as Lily thrust the picture frame at him and began to go back up a few steps.

Her hand clenched inside the right-hand pocket of her coat, she leaned against the banisters and looked up. From this position she could just make out two figures on the landing upstairs, and they did not look like tenants on an innocent Sunday morning errand to procure a special treat of scones for breakfast. They were robed in black, as far as she could tell, from head to foot.

"Death Eaters," she gasped under her breath.

"What did you say?"

"Shhhh," Lily hissed at him. "Not so loud. There are Death Eaters up there."

Ted Evans frowned. "Honestly, some of these words you and James use lately. What on earth is a Death Eater supposed to be?"

"They're the closest followers of the one I told you about," Lily explained, still whispering. "You-Know-Who ..."

"Lily, my dear," said her father with a sigh. "I know you take all this very seriously, but don't you think that - what are you doing?" he added, a note of anxiety replacing the momentary exasperation, for Lily's right hand had reappeared from her pocket with her wand clasped tightly in it.

"Follow Cheesy," she told him. "He seems to know what he's doing. Get some help."

"But, Lily ... if these people are dangerous ..."

"They are."

"Then you can't go up there alone. Just leave them. If they don't find what they're looking for, they'll just go away, won't they - won't they?" he repeated hurriedly as Lily did not answer.

She held up her hand for silence, then ... BANG! Something, somewhere far above them, had exploded with such a force that it shook the whole house to its foundations. There was a loud rumbling then, as doors were pulled open and people - some of them still in pyjamas - emerged from their flats looking worried, black smoke billowed out from the open doorway of Aurora's flat and spread down the stairwell.

"Go, dad," Lily said urgently. "Get help, just in case. I'm going to see if they're still there or if they've left."

With mothers crowding round him along with their noisy offspring, people coming up to ask if he had any idea what was going on and others dashing back into their flats, presumably to call the police or fire brigade, Ted was unable to communicate any further with his daughter, but was forced to watch as she climbed up the stairs towards the source of the disturbance. He listened with half an ear to a young mother with a screaming infant on her arm suggesting that perhaps the _young lady upstairs_'s cooker had exploded until ...

"Out!" Lily screamed, reappearing again at the top of the stairs. "Everyone get out of here, now!"

She began hurtling back down a few flights of stairs, with the inhabitants of the house all still standing around her, too startled to move. Lily stopped on a landing and turned back just as the two figures she had spotted earlier reappeared on the landing, their cloaks billowing amongst the swirling smoke, their wand arms extended in front of them. The taller of the two flicked his wand, and Lily yelled "_Protego!_" just in time to ward off his curse. The people around her seemed less incapable than ever of fleeing as she had told them to now, rooted to the spot by what they were seeing.

"Dad!" Lily shouted, all her efforts still bent on keeping her shield charm in place. "Get everyone out."

Finally, Ted Evans acted. Throwing the photo frame he had still been holding into the bag, he passed it and Lily's suitcase to the woman with the screaming child and pushed her out onto the street, then grabbed the next person's arm and unceremoniously dragged them outside too. All the while he was keeping half an eye on what was happening further up the stairs. The Death Eaters were still advancing, but Lily was so far proving very good at throwing off their curses, until ...

"_Avada ..._"

"No!" Lily screamed, and with a rapid swish of her wand a door was torn from its hinges and struck the Death Eater's wand arm, thankfully causing him to interrupt his incantation. Lily took the opportunity to turn and run, taking hold of the people she passed on the way and pulling them down the stairs with her.

"_Avada Kedavra_!" came the shout behind her, and a man she had been dragging by the sleeve of his checked dressing gown fell to the floor, instantly dead.

Several people screamed. Ted left off what he was doing and pushed through the crowds of people, who now no longer needed to be told that they should run, elbowing his way towards the stairs and his daughter.

"Lily," he gasped, reaching her at last, "Get out of here. I know you can. I can't call the kind of help we need now, but you can. Go on, I'll hold them off as best I can until you get back."

Lily hesitated, scared green eyes staring into his.

"Avada Kedavra," she said breathlessly, clutching him by the collar. "That's the one you've got to duck, whatever you do. There's no escape from it."

He nodded, then repeated his words, "Get out of here. Hurry."

Lily closed her eyes, turned on the spot, and was gone.

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**4 - Withholding Information**

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Malcolm had been asleep again. Or perhaps not so much asleep, as unconscious. It took him some time to realise, as before, where he was and what was happening. Vague memories came to him. Memories of a dark, damp dungeon. Of being held down by strong hands and forced to drink a potion which was not only vile to the taste, but made him feel sick for quite another reason. Memories of Voldemort, his eyes burning, his mouth leering, triumphant and cruel. Memories of feeling helpless and weary and sick ... the same as he felt now.

He rolled onto his side so that he could see the fireplace. Evidently the Death Eaters had decided it would be unwise to let him freeze to death before his time came, for a fire had been lit there. That explained the stinging sensation in his eyes. It was smoke, that was all. Just smoke. Perhaps, he thought, it was the same smoke that was causing him to feel so drowsy, and giving him a headache. Or perhaps it was the effects of the potion that were causing it. Whatever it was, he could certainly do with a drop of Dobby's potion about now.

As if in answer to his thoughts, a crack behind him announced the arrival of the house elf once more. His bare feet pattered across the floor until he stood in front of Malcolm, his pencil-shaped nose level with the human's face.

"How is sir feeling," he enquired solicitously.

"Groggy," said Malcolm. "And don't call me 'sir'. The name's Malcolm. Malcolm Marley."

It felt good to say it again, not to have to lie any more.

"Begging your pardon, Mr. Malcolm, Malcolm Marley," replied the house elf. "Dobby is not wanting to offend you by calling you wrong names."

"You haven't offended me, Dobby," Malcolm said with a sigh. "Is that for me?" he added, nodding towards the goblet in Dobby's hand.

The elf held it out to him and Malcolm sat up. It was cooling as before, it soothed the nerves and strengthened the muscles. But was he imagining it, or was the effect just slightly weaker this time? Or was it - he tried, but failed, to repress the thought - not the effect that was weaker, but the body it was applied to?

"Have you thought any more about what I said earlier?" he asked after emptying the goblet.

Dobby flinched. "Dobby is not knowing what you is meaning, Mr. Malcolm," he lied.

"I mean about you helping me to escape. About getting news to Dumbledore and warning him about that girl. Did you at least do that, Dobby?"

The elf shook his head ruefully. "Dobby was going to," he said very quietly. "Dobby had almost made up his mind to go to Hogwarts and warn the other house elves there, so that they could warn Professor Dumbledore."

"But ...?" Malcolm queried, his hands tightening around the goblet.

"Dobby saw them return."

"Who did you see?"

"Antonin Dolohov, sir. Igor Karkaroff. And another man Dobby does not know. He had his hood up, so Dobby could not see him. But Dobby did not like him. He smelled, Mr. Malcolm, sir. He smelled of blood. Dobby saw stains on his robes."

The house elf shivered visibly.

"Where had they been, Dobby?" Malcolm asked quietly, though he already knew the answer.

"The Crowes' house," Dobby replied miserably. "Dobby fears they are all dead."

"God!"

Feeling as sick as if he had never drunk the potion, Malcolm gave Dobby back his goblet and strode over to the window.

"Dobby is sorry, sir," squeaked the creature. "Dobby is very, very sorry."

Malcolm turned, intending to scold, to reproach. But he could not. In a voice that was much kinder than he had intended, he said,

"I can understand you're afraid. But think, Dobby. If you don't help me, then this will go on forever. You will never stop being afraid, people will never stop being killed, and no one will be able to do the least little thing to ever change that. If Voldemort becomes immortal, we don't stand a chance."

"Dobby is sorry. Sorry that he could not help the Crowes. But Dobby cannot help you escape. Master has forbidden it, Mr. Malcolm. Dobby cannot go against his master's orders."

"Aren't you going against your master's orders by giving me that stuff?"

"Master did not tell Dobby not to give you drinks, Mr. Malcolm, sir. Master only said Dobby must not let you get away."

Malcolm sighed. He turned back towards the slit of a window and looked out at the wintry sea. After a moment's thought he said quietly and sombrely,

"Is it against your master's orders for you to bring me a sheet of parchment and a quill?"

"Dobby cannot let you send messages to anyone," the house elf protested at once.

"I know that." Malcolm looked at him once more, his eyes heavy and resigned. "I don't want to send a message - yet. But once it's over, once I'm ... You'll be able to take a note to someone for me then, won't you? And you can keep it safe until that time?"

Dobby hesitated. For a moment the scared look in, his large, scared eyes seemed to change to pity and he seemed about to say something, but then he merely nodded.

"Good. Then do me this favour, Dobby. I won't ask any more of you."

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Back at the Lupins' cottage, Faith had indeed supplied Sirius with a large mug full of pepper-up potion. Everyone else was sipping tea, every now and then making casual and meaningless remarks, all watching the hands on the clock move slowly round its face, wishing it were time to go to the Hall already. They were startled when, all of a sudden, Alastor Moody's face popped up at them out of the fire. He looked both angry and upset.

"Potter, Black," he said with preamble. "Get your cloaks on. I want you at the Crowes' place at once."

"Why?" Sirius asked past the handkerchief he was heavily blowing his nose with. "Has something..."

"Don't ask questions. Just get a move on," snapped Moody and disappeared again.

Sirius and James looked at each other and at the bemused faces around them.

"You'd better hurry," John said. "Alastor didn't look in a mood to be patient."

Making their way as quickly as they could to Gemma's place, Sirius and James found the rest of their auror training course already present, along with some fully trained aurors and Alastor Moody. Mary Crimple was on the sofa in the living room, still crying, with Florence Fortescue's arm around her shoulder. Alice Spriggs and Daniel Moore were standing close by them.

"Hello, you two," Moody growled at them the moment they arrived. "Bad business, this."

"What exactly happened?" James asked. "Did they just ... kill them?"

At that moment, Benjy Fenwick came down from the upper floor and sank down on the bottom step. He looked positively sick. Frank too, leaning against the banisters, was very white.

"They used the killing curse on her parents, by the looks of it," Moody replied. "No marks on their bodies. We don't know yet what's happened to the kid. Vanished without a trace, it seems."

"And Gemma?"

"Some Death Eaters," Moody began, "take a vindictive pleasure in making people suffer."

"They let her bleed to death," Benjy gasped, clutching his stomach, "didn't they? They made her watch them kill her family, and then they ... what exactly did they do to her, sir? She looks ..."

"I don't know," Moody said sharply. "I wish to hell I understood what happened to her."

Sirius glanced at James, then he went into the living room to join Mary and Florence.

"So what happens now?" James asked. "What do we do? Where do we start looking for the boy and how do we make them pay for what they did to her?"

"I don't suppose we can make them pay, at least not at once," Moody answered. "We don't know who did this."

"We know it was the Death Eaters!" said Benjy. "The whole lot of them should be locked up."

"We don't even know who all of them are," murmured Frank. "And those we do know are powerful. Too powerful. And ... wicked."

Moody put a hand on his shoulder. "You go on back you-know-where. Go and see Miss Evans on the way. I hear she's got a rat she wants to get rid of."

"Rat?" James asked, puzzled.

"Yes. Clever little thing escaped just before Death Eaters appeared to wreak havoc on Aurora's home this morning. Looks like they've got it in for our young legilimens too."

Frank went, if possible, even paler. "They went to Aurora's place? Does that mean ... they know? About how she got the information from Williams. But how could they?"

"They were told," Moody said simply. "By someone who knew about it."

"But no one knew," Frank said. "No one except the Order and ... that Frenchman. Renard."

"Quite."

"You're saying the French head of magical law enforcement passed information to Lord Voldemort?" James asked.

"What are you lot on about?" Benjy demanded. "Who's Renard? And what's it all got to do with poor Gemma?"

"The Death Eaters are becoming more active," Moody said, ignoring him. "Not against crowds - they've been raiding gatherings and killing innocents for ages - but they're starting to target individuals. We saw it once before with that newsreader. He spoke out against them, and they killed him. This time it was Miss Crowe, and Aurora's clearly on their list too. And you ..." - he addressed James - "had better look out for that girl of yours, too. She was there this morning when the Death Eaters attacked the building, and if it hadn't been for her, even more people would have been killed. As it is ..."

"Lily?" James gasped. "She was there? Is she ..."

"She's all right, from all I hear. But you'd better go and see her. From what I hear, her father's been knocked about pretty badly. He's been taken to St. Mungo's."

"Oh," James exclaimed. "He'll be all right, won't he?"

"He was still unconscious, last I heard. You'd better go and see her at St. Mungo's," Moody repeated. "You want to look after her. And you, Frank, had better go with him. You'll find Aurora's rat and some other things there. You can take them to their owner while we clean up here. Fenwick?"

"Yes, sir?" Benjy got to his feet, still looking shaken, but also determined.

"Go and find Prewett and McKinnon. Tell them I want a place checked out. The _Better Days Theatre_. You may as well go with them, if you like. There's a man there called Angus Craigg. Tell them I want him brought along this evening ... if he's still alive. They'll know what I mean."

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The _Better Days Theatre_ was closed when Gideon Prewett, Oliver McKinnon and Benjy Fenwick arrived. They went round the side to the stage entrance and knocked, but there was no reply. Benjy pointed his wand at the lock, but Gideon held him back, trying the handle instead. The door swung open immediately.

"How did you know it was open?" Benjy asked, impressed.

Oliver pointed to faint marks along the frame where it touched the door.

"Oh. So someone's already forced their way in?"

"Looks like it," Oliver agreed.

He was first to step into the gloomy hallway. Several of the murky electric lights were flickering, their crackling and buzzing creating the only noise they could hear. The two trained aurors moved on along the passage, while Benjy approached the stage door cautiously.

"There's no one here," Oliver whispered to Gideon as they examined the costume racks and peered into rooms. "I don't think anyone's been here for days."

"Yes, they have," Gideon said. "That stuff there's still dripping."

He pointed to a flask that lay open on the desk in one of the rooms. A horrible greyish substance, liquid but thick, was dripping from it to the floor in globs.

"That's not all," said Benjy, reappearing behind them. "Come and see what I've found."

Gideon and Oliver followed the youngest of their group back in the direction of the entrance. He took them as far as the stage door, then he stood back.

"That who we're supposed to be looking for, by any chance?"

The other two squinted through the semi-darkness. They could make out a figure sitting on the floor by the far wall, at the opposite end of the stage.

"That'll be him," said Gideon.

"D'you think he's dead?"

"Only one way to find out."

Oliver led the way across the stage. Close up, they could see that the description they had of the man was nothing short of accurate. Angus Craigg's dishevelled head, however, had dropped onto his shoulder at a peculiar angle. The eyes in his much-creased face were open, but dilated. His lips quivered and one hand kept creasing up the material of his trousers, then smoothing it again, while the other gripped something tightly. Oliver, still leading the group, crouched down and touched the man's shoulder. Craigg sat up startlingly, pulling himself erect and staring at Oliver, terror in every feature.

"What?" he cried, his voice hoarse and miserable. "What is it? What more do you want? I've told you everything I know."

"It's all right, Mr. Craigg," Oliver said soothingly. "We're not here to hurt you."

"Y-you're not?" the man stammered. "Then you're not with _them_?"

"No," Oliver said firmly. "We're not with them. We're friends. And we were hoping you might have news of another friend of ours. A Mr. Marley. Malcolm Marley."

Craigg's eyes widened with shock as he stared at Oliver, and he began shaking his head frantically and protesting, his voice becoming a pitiful wail.

"I don't know anything, I don't know, I don't know!"

"Hood," Gideon said, grasping the man firmly by the shoulder as he, too, crouched down beside him. He looked Craigg firmly in the eye. "You know him as Mr. Hood."

Craigg eyed him suspiciously. "Y-you know about that? You know that's what I called him?"

"Yes, we know. He's our friend. He told us before he went on his mission. What we need you to tell us is whether you've heard from him - or _of_ him. We know Miss Dulac was captured, but we don't know how much she told those people. Do you know?"

The man on the floor in front of him sank back down again and looked away.

"I d-didn't tell them anything," he murmured miserably. "Nothing they didn't already know from ... from her. A good actress, she was. A beautiful woman."

He held up the hand that was clasped so tightly and stared at the object he held in it for a moment.

"What did she tell them?" Oliver asked gently.

Craigg lowered his arm once more. "Too much," he whispered hoarsely.

"About Mr. Ma... Hood?" Gideon prompted further.

The man nodded. "Everything," he breathed. "Th-they told me. They w-wanted me to tell them more. I t-tried to fight them. I did try, but ..."

"What did you tell them?"

"Only about the potion. The potion that was kept here. And their man in prison. And the boy."

"What boy?" Gideon demanded sharply.

"He came here," Craigg said almost dreamily. He seemed to be drifting slowly towards unconsciousness now. "He came to see Mr. Hood ... no, no, Mr. Marley. That's right. That's his name. You said so ..." He stared at Oliver. "You said that was his name."

"Yes, yes, I said that," Oliver confirmed. "But what about Mr. Marley?"

"They got him," Craigg said, his speech becoming slurred now.

"What do you mean, they got him?" Gideon shook Craigg by the shoulder. "What have they done to him? Did they kill him? Craigg!"

But Angus Craigg's head had sagged onto his chest.

"Is he dead?" Benjy repeated the question he had asked to begin with.

Oliver felt Craigg's wrist, then his neck. Finally, he nodded. Looking down at the still tightly clenched hand, he prised the fingers apart to reveal a long, slim, black cigarette holder.

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Aurora was still lying in bed, looking at the pages of a book Gordon had kindly brought her earlier, but not really seeing them. She was feeling a little less shaken by now, and a little less sick. Instead, a numbness was starting to creep over her that was almost worse to bear, though oddly enough it was combined with a feeling of restlessness, and wish to get out of bed and do something. But she could not summon the energy, nor did she feel she had the strength to stand. She wished fervently for something, anything, to take her mind off her own forced inactivity. It was therefore with a considerable amount of relief that she answered the knock on her door with a swift call of "Come in."

She smiled. It was Frank who had come into the room and closed the door behind him, returning her smile with a mixture of uncertainty and concern.

"How's the patient?" he asked, approaching the bed.

"Feeling exceedingly _im_patient," she informed him. "I'm desperate to get out of bed, but somehow I just can't be bothered to do it."

"I don't think you should," he said. "You should have a good, long rest. Relax."

"I've been relaxing all night and for most of the day."

"My mother says that relaxing is not merely lying on your bed doing nothing - it's lying on your bed thinking nothing."

"Your mother's very wise. All right then, I haven't been relaxing. I've been lying here all day thinking, remembering ... and I don't want to think or remember any more. I can't relax, so I want something else to occupy my mind."

"Try this," Frank said, and with a flourish rather like that of a conjurer pulling a live rabbit out of a hat, he produced Cheesy the rat from his pocket.

"Oh!" Aurora exclaimed, taking the tiny creature up in her hands and hugging it to her.

"I thought you'd be pleased to see him."

"How did you get him here? It's most unlike him to let anyone carry him about like that. He won't normally even get into my pockets, let alone anyone else's."

"So I noticed. He chewed right through my other pocket. Luckily, James has always been rather good at transfiguring cloth to make it hard." Frank slipped his hand in his pocket, knocked his finger against the inside and it emitted a dull metallic clunk. "However, it also makes one feel slightly lopsided - the weight, you know."

He took his cloak off and draped it over the back of the chair, which he pulled up to sit on, only to leap back to his feet immediately with a yelp. Aurora was about to enquire anxiously what was the matter when he held up a lump of wool and a pair of knitting needles. To her surprise, after looking at them for a second, he began to laugh.

"What's so funny?" Aurora asked.

"When I first saw your aunt," he explained, checking the chair for any more dangerous traps before sitting down, "she struck me as the kind of person who leaves knitting needles lying around amongst the sofa cushions."

Aurora smiled. "As you've just seen, you were quite right. Though this little experiment was quite unnecessary. You could have just asked me."

"I'm sure it would have been less painful," Frank said, rubbing the spot where the needles had poked him.

He then looked across at Aurora, his smile fading once more to be replaced by that concern she had first noticed when he entered the room. After a moment he seemed to realise he was staring, for he looked away hastily. For a while, neither of them said anything. Aurora sat stroking Cheesy until he scurried off across the bedclothes to examine his new surroundings, while Frank stared at the floor with Aunt Enid's knitting still in his hands.

"About Christmas," he began at last, hurriedly, at the same time as Aurora had been about to speak.

She smiled again, cocked her head to one side and said,

"Yes?"

"Well ... I know I rather ... blurted out that question last night ... you know, whether you'd like to come. It occurred to me that ... I probably shouldn't have said, not then ... you were exhausted and probably glad to see the back of me ..."

Aurora shook her head vehemently. "Don't be silly. I was glad you invited me - us - to come to your place at Christmas. Of course, if you'd rather not have us round after all ..."

"Oh no," he said quickly, "it isn't that. I just thought that ... maybe it wasn't the best time to ask. You were in a state and I ... well, I hope you don't think I was taking advantage ..."

"What?" Aurora exclaimed, incredulous. "Taking advantage? By kindly inviting me to Christmas dinner?"

Frank started to go red. "I ... just ... well ..."

"You just _what_?"

"I ... suppose the fact is I didn't believe anyone in their right mind would agree to come so readily."

"And what made you think that?"

He shrugged. "You being the kind of girl you are. I thought you might rather be at some party ... having a good time ... with friends."

"But we are friends, Frank," Aurora said softly.

He went redder still. "I hoped so."

"Well then." Aurora smiled. "I said I wanted to come because, believe it or not, I do want to come. And what's more I'm looking forward to it. I can't wait to meet your parents and your Uncle Algie with his fascinating stories, and to see your house and everything. I meant it last night and I mean it now. And I don't want to hear any more doubts from you or I shall start to think you're trying to wriggle out of it."

"Never," he said with feeling.

"Good. Then that's settled."

Silence fell again, a silence in which Aurora watched Cheesy, who was now climbing down onto the floor, while Frank wrestled with another matter that was on his mind. He had not told Aurora yet about her flat. No one had told her. She had no idea. Ought he to tell her now? He studied her face. She was pale, it was true, but she looked less scared, less ill than she had done yesterday. If she knew that Death Eaters had visited her flat, that they had caused an explosion there, killed several muggles, and all out of rage because they hadn't found her there ...

"Something else on your mind?" Aurora asked suddenly, startling him.

Frank looked up. Her eyes were mildly enquiring, her lips still smiling ... Should he tell her now and shatter her moment of peace?

"Nothing," he lied, coming to a decision. Tomorrow would do just as well.

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**5 - The Order Reconvenes**

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The group around the table at Gryffindor Hall was shrouded in silence. There was Alastor Moody, his recently acquired wooden leg stretched out sideways under Mundungus Fletcher's chair. Beside him came Dedalus Diggle, whose violet top hat lay on the table beside him, so that half the people present could barely see the little man, enquiring from Frank in hushed tones how Aurora was doing now. There was Oliver McKinnon, staring blankly down at the table in front of him as though his mind were elsewhere. Gideon Prewett sat beside him as usual. He was talking to Benjy Fenwick, who was joining the group for the first time. Edgar Bones sat on Benjy's other side, exchanging a greatly limited number of words with the habitually taciturn Dorcas Meadowes. Bridget had slid silently into the seat next to her. Sirius stuffed a much-used handkerchief into his pocket and took the next seat, followed by Pippa Pettigrew and then Peter. Faith, who had insisted on being present on this occasion since it concerned her so deeply, listened with half an ear to his muttered hopes that all would be well. John was beside her, and next to him sat Remus. Professor McGonagall, Dumbledore and Gordon Gryffindor completed the circle. As usual, not all the members of the Order were present at the meeting, though the gathering was quite a large one.

The few voices that were speaking were silenced immediately when Dumbledore cleared his throat. He looked around at each of them and smiled gently, spreading his hands out on the table.

"Once again, as so many times before, I thank you all for coming, my friends. It means a lot to me that you all still seem to be showing so much confidence in me, though I dare say more than one of you has had doubts in the past twenty-four hours as to whether quite such a course of action - or should I say _inaction_ - was really necessary."

His shrewd blue eyes met those of Sirius across the table. Sirius neither blinked nor avoided his former headmaster's gaze, nor did his expression soften. He spoke bluntly.

"I haven't changed my mind," he said obstinately. "I still say we should have acted at once."

"And what would you have done, Black?" Professor McGonagall demanded sharply. "Gone barging in on You-Know-Who and a collection of the most powerful of his followers and demanded they surrender Mr. Marley - or Travers, as he may still have been to them - to us? I believe I could give you their answer in two words ..."

"Thank you, Minerva," Dumbledore cut across her, his eyes twinkling despite the gravity of the situation. Once again, typically, his deputy headmistress was not letting her own views on the matter stop her from taking up his cause with a passion. "I do not blame Sirius for, effectively, blaming me. I understand that on the face of it, once we knew that Malcolm's cover might possibly have been compromised, we should have acted to bring him out of harm's way immediately. Yet I had hoped that the capture of Mademoiselle Dulac by the Death Eaters need not necessarily mean that he had been discovered, and that we might retain the advantage he has hitherto given us, of having a man on the inside, for as long as possible."

"When you say you _had _hoped," Faith spoke out to everyone's surprise, "does that mean that you now have proof - of the contrary?"

The momentary twinkle vanished from Dumbledore's eyes as he turned his head to look at her.

"I am afraid," he said slowly, "that discoveries made today have indeed confirmed our fears."

Faith bit her lip and reached for John's hand under the table, but said nothing more. Sirius felt Bridget tremble beside him, and put his arm around her shoulder.

"What discoveries have been made, Professor?" he asked calmly.

Instead of replying, Dumbledore looked in the direction of Oliver, Gideon and Benjy. The three of them exchanged looks. Gideon was silently voted spokesman. In a few short and concise sentences, he explained what they had witnessed at the _Better Days Theatre_, and what Angus Craigg had told them.

"So you know that he was captured," Edgar Bones said thoughtfully, "but you don't know what became of him after that?"

"That's right, sir," Gideon replied. "He died before he could tell us whether ..." - his eyes flickered to Bridget for a second - "... any rescue attempt would be too late."

"Speaking of rescue attempts," Dumbledore took over swiftly, "I sent Fawkes to Slytherin's Rock today to spy out the lay of the land, as it were. And I am sorry to say that, as I feared, the fortress is impenetrable. The island cannot be reached by either apparition or use of a portkey. No witch or wizard would be permitted to land from the air either. The only way to gain the black shore, apparently, is by boat. However, anyone who got that far would then have the thick, solid walls of the fortress itself to deal with, riddled with anti-intruder jinxes and curses to repel unwanted guests. It would appear that the only way in is through the front door."

Sirius flashed a look across at John. The latter hesitated, then turning to Dumbledore he said slowly,

"There might be another way. I presume your phoenix surveyed the island from above, he would not have flown low around the castle walls?"

"That is correct," said Dumbledore, the eyes between his half-moon spectacles suddenly sharp and maybe, just a little, suspicious.

John leaned forwards eagerly. "Isn't it possible that there is another way in, one that the Death Eaters don't know about? I mean, the fortress must be many years old. Buildings that old tend to crumble in places, don't they? Couldn't - couldn't Voldemort's fortress have crumbled? Isn't it possible the sea air has corroded the brickwork in places?"

"Are you suggesting a hole, Mr. Lupin?" Dorcas Meadowes asked doubtfully.

"I am," said John.

"It would be rather a ... mundane method of entry," Edgar Bones put forward.

"The simple way is sometimes the best," Dumbledore said thoughtfully, his gaze never leaving John's face. "It is not always the most complex plan that leads to the greatest success."

"But surely this is all pure speculation," Professor McGonagall put in. "If Slytherin's Rock is as vulnerable to the wind and weather as any other building, if there happens to be a hole, if it is in a place that can be reached without arousing suspicion, if it has so far gone undetected and is not as strongly hexed and guarded as the rest of the walls ..."

"I do not believe that John would have brought this up if it were purely speculation," Dumbledore said quietly. "Am I right, John?"

"Yes."

Sirius stiffened inwardly and gritted his teeth, but was careful not to make a move, nor to catch either Remus's or Peter's eye at this moment. The next few seconds seemed to stretch for ever, while most people around the table waited for John to elaborate on the source of his information, but he did no such thing. Finally, Dumbledore looked away from him, and instead performed another of his sweeps of the table.

"Well then, I do believe we have a plan. This hole in the wall is our best chance, for there is no way any of us could enter through the front door without being detected at once. The Death Eaters will be well alerted to the possibility of our using polyjuice potion to disguise ourselves by now. I suggest that a small group from among those assembled here now, equipped with invisibility cloaks if necessary, make their way to the Rock tonight. I will nominate no one, however. I won't make out that the chances of success are very high. Whoever volunteers will be entering into the lion's den ... or perhaps 'the snake's lair' would be more appropriate."

"I'll go," John said at once.

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, I thought you would." He did not look happy - though not as unhappy as Faith looked.

"I'll need to borrow someone's cloak though," John added.

"I can get you a cloak," said Mundungus Fletcher, looking up for the first time from the pipe he had been fiddling with. "I could get cloaks for all of you."

"How many times the usual market price would you be asking, _Dung_?" Sirius enquired snidely.

Mundungus snorted. "Still 'Mr. Fletcher' to you, young man," he said gruffly.

Sirius grinned, then looked at Dumbledore.

"I'd like to go, sir."

Bridget opened her mouth to protest, but the headmaster was quicker.

"I'm afraid I should think it most inadvisable for anyone with a bad head cold to join the party, Sirius. You might sneeze and give the game away."

Sirius scowled, but he could not protest.

"I think those of us who don't need cloaks should go along, whatever," Edgar Bones suggested. "I, for one, haven't needed a cloak in order to disappear for years."

"The same applies to me," Gordon announced. "I will go along. My cloak I have no longer. I gave it to my grandson. But I'm sure he will lend it to you," he said to John.

"I will use my cloak myself," said Dorcas Meadowes.

"I've got a cloak I'm happy to volunteer for use," Alastor Moody said. "I'd come along myself, but this ..." - he tapped his wooden leg with his fist - "... has rather put a stop to any stealthiness on my part."

"Then let me take it," Pippa's voice offered quietly, though Remus, Frank, Oliver, Gideon and Benjy had all clearly been about to volunteer the same. "Please," she added. "I want to do this."

"Very well," Dumbledore said slowly. "Then let that be enough. It is not an idle turn of phrase that too many house-elves spoil the porridge, nor that one should not put all one's nifflers in one pumpkin patch. Dorcas, Gordon, Edgar, Philippa, John ... I wish you the best of luck."

At this, everyone began to leave their seats and file out of the room, one by one, talking in muffled voices. Peter, Sirius and Remus began descending the stairs together.

"Hang this damn cold," Sirius swore under his breath. "I could've helped them all a lot, I could have showed them where to get in."

"Shhh," Remus hissed as Dedalus Diggle and Mundungus passed them. "Someone will hear you."

"Why you?" Peter asked in a whisper. "How do you know?"

Sirius tapped the side of his nose. "Sniffed it out myself. Or you might say Padfoot did."

Peter's watery blue eyes widened. "Y-you? You mean you actually ... you _went _there?"

"Yes," Remus sighed. "Disregarding all possible consequences, as usual."

"I don't see what you've got to complain about," Sirius said briskly. "It's your uncle I was trying to help out."

Remus paused in his tracks. Sirius and Peter went on a few steps, then also stopped. Sirius looked back over his shoulder.

"What's up?"

"You make it sound as if I were ungrateful, Sirius. I'm not."

It was Sirius's turn to sigh. "Well, you have a funny way of showing it sometimes, you've got to admit. Pointing out what I shouldn't have done rather than just being glad I found _something_ out, which no one else seems to have done. For all Dumbledore's talk, I still reckon this could all have been over with by now if we'd acted at once."

"But then we wouldn't have had the advantage of knowing about that hole, would we?" Peter said.

Shaking his head with a grin, Sirius slapped Peter on the back.

"You've got a point there, Wormtail. Well, at least something's being done now. With any luck it'll all be over in a couple of hours and everyone will be back safe and sound. Meanwhile, we've got to hang around and wait while others get all the excitement. Mind you, there might be something to do here, too."

All three of them had continued down the stairs, but now it was Sirius who paused.

"What are you thinking of?" Remus asked him.

Sirius shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, nothing in particular. It's just ... You two go on down. I think I might pay Aurora a little visit. See how she's doing. I thought I'd heard voices last nigh ... might have known they'd bring her here."

"Aurora?" Remus repeated suspiciously. "Sirius, I thought that was all over and done with."

"Well, it was. Until last night. She was pretty impressive, don't you think? What she managed to do, and how she handled it ..."

"Yes, but ..."

"There's no harm in my popping in to see her, and tell her what she's been missing."

"I think it would be better if you didn't, Sirius."

Remus was frowning.

"Oh, come on, Moony," Sirius said lightly. "Don't go all moral on me. Just because it's dark out."

"That's got nothing to do with it, and you know it. Sirius, you should know ... you helped arrange ..."

"What? For Frank to pluck up the courage and speak to her? So what? I've given him his chance, that doesn't mean I have to deny myself my own."

"Don't you think you've hurt her enough?" Remus asked cautiously.

Sirius gave gim a scowl not unlike the one with which he had looked at Dumbledore.

"I don't see what business it is of ..." he began, but then he broke off.

Out of the corner of his eye, he had seen the great front doors in the hall below open. Two figures entered, the taller off the two dusting freshly fallen snow off both their cloaks.

"It's James and Lily," Peter said unnecessarily, for the other two had recognised them just as quickly.

"Come," Sirius said to both of them, all anger gone from his voice in an instant as he led the way down the stairs.

James was helping Lily off with her cloak when the three reached them. Her back was to the rest of the hall. Passing the damp cloaks to the house elf that had just obligingly appeared from out of nowhere, James looked across Lily's shoulder at his three best friends. The expression on his face did not bode well.

"Have you come straight from St. Mungo's?" Sirius asked him.

James nodded. He leaned forward to speak to Lily quietly. She nodded and he took her gently by the elbow. She turned around ever so slowly, but it was no surprise to Remus, Sirius or Peter to see her face stained with tears, her eyes red and swollen. Neither of them seemed able to think of anything to say.

Turning to Sirius, James asked, "Mum still here?"

"Upstairs, I think."

"Has anything been decided?"

"A couple of volunteers are setting off any minute now. John will need your cloak."

"Then I'll just run up and give it to him. Do you want to come?" he asked Lily softly.

"N-no." Her voice was shaky. "I'll wait here."

He kissed her. "I won't be long."

James and Sirius hurried towards and up the broad staircase, leaving Remus and Peter standing by the door with Lily. It was not long, however, before Peter spotted his sister coming down towards them, muttered an apology and rushed over to speak to her. When he had gone, Remus finally seemed to find his voice again.

"Lily," he said quietly, "I can't tell you how sorry I am. I can barely imagine how you must feel, and ..."

She gave a strangled little cry and buried her face in one hand, the other fumbling in her pocket for a handkerchief. Remus watched helplessly.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked. "Anything I can get you?"

She shook her head. "No. Thank you."

He remembered how she had tried to comfort and reassure him only last night, and put out a hand to touch her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, still with that feeling of helplessness.

Lily went on crying. A few moments later, Remus was relieved to hear a rush of familiar footsteps behind him. James had returned and Remus's parents were with him. His mother embraced Lily without hesitation.

"My dear, I'm so, so, sorry," she whispered gently. "Come, let's find you a spot to sit down for a minute. It won't be long, I'm sure, then everyone will be leaving and James can take you home. Unless you'd rather come and stay with us ..."

"N-no, I must go home," Lily sobbed. "My mother's got a friend with her at the moment, but I've got to get back to her."

"Of course, dear," Faith agreed soothingly, leading her through a door into the drawing room.

"Well, thanks for this," John said to James once they had disappeared from view, patting the shimmering cloak over his arm.

"You're welcome. I only hope you have more luck than ... well ..."

John nodded.

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Back upstairs, Bridget had hung back behind everyone else when they left the room until only she, Dumbledore and her father were left. Dumbledore smiled kindly at her.

"Is there anything we can do for you, my dear?" he asked.

"I wanted," she said, "to speak to my father for a moment."

"I see." Dumbledore rose. "In that case, Gordon, I shall be in your magnificent study. I would very much like a word before you leave."

Gordon nodded. Smiling at Bridget once more, Dumbledore left the room and closed the door behind him. Silence fell for a moment, a silence in which Gordon studied his daughter closely while she avoided his eyes altogether. At last he prompted her,

"You wanted to speak to me?"

"Yes," she said, still hesitating. "I do, I ... it's about John."

"John?" he echoed. "Why John?"

She sat down, clasping her hands on the table before her to keep them from shaking as they were wont to do.

"I'm worried about him. I know he'd do anything, _anything_, to bring Malcolm back. I'm just afraid that he won't take the necessary care ... of himself."

"I thought that bringing Malcolm back was the whole point of tonight's excursion. It's what you want, isn't it?"

"More than anything," Bridget said with fervour. "But I also want ... oh, I can't put it any other way," she said irritably. "I want John back too. I know it seems selfish to want so much all at once, but ... please, Father ..." - she looked at him intently, her wide brown eyes appealing to him - "... promise me you'll look out for him, keep him safe."

The erect frame of Gordon Gryffindor seemed to sag a little in his chair as he looked back at her, but she seemed unaware of it, as unaware as she was of the deeply concealed hurt behind those iron-grey eyes. To her he looked solid as a rock, unwavering as she had always known him, even relentless. He bowed his head slowly.

"I'll do what I can."

"Thank you," she breathed, and smiled at him.

But he did not smile back. Instead, he got to his feet and walked straight past her to the door. He had pulled it open and was halfway out into the hall when she rose herself and called after him,

"Father - be careful."

He hesitated a moment, just a moment, then strode on along the passage. Bridget began to follow more slowly. Sirius came up to her quickly.

"I think you'd better come downstairs," he said. "James and Lily are there, they just arrived a couple of minutes ago. Lily's in a terrible state. Apparently they got her dad to St. Mungo's too late."

Bridget stared at him. "You mean ...?"

"Yes," Sirius said miserably. "He's dead."

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It was time to go. Everyone had assembled in the downstairs hall, everyone except Dumbledore, who was conspicuous by his absence. There were many hugs and good wishes all round. Bridget now had her arm around Lily, who looked tearfully up at John when he approached her. He kissed both of them on the cheek, shook hands with Peter, Sirius and James, then turned to his wife. Faith was shaky, but apparently resolved not to break down, though fear was plainly visible in every line of her face. John embraced and kissed her tenderly.

"Don't worry, my love," he said, as it seemed he had so often done before. "I'll see you soon."

She let him go with more reluctance than ever. He turned towards Remus und hugged him warmly, too.

"Look after your mother until I get back, won't you?"

Remus nodded tightly. "I'd rather be coming with you."

"That would be too much to ask her to cope with. The best thing you can do is stay with her."

"I will," Remus promised. "Until you get back."

John smiled. "I won't be long."

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**6 - Missing**

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Tipton on the Moor was bathed in moonlight. The snow sparkled like so much silver bedecking the ground, the trees, the houses. Somewhere a dog was giving off muffled barks, apparently requesting to be let out one last time before his owners settled down for the night. The only other sound on the village square was that of suppressed giggling issuing from the bench that was tucked away a little, around the corner of the paper shop. Here Bobby, the boy whose snowball had so narrowly missed striking Frank Longbottom on the side of the head the previous day, was wrapped around the girl with the orange hat whom he had referred to as 'Gladdy'. It was her giggling that broke the silence as he kissed her playfully, and her squeals of "Oooh, Bobby" that caught the attention of the group of shadowy figures that had just materialised from out of nowhere in the middle of the square. Nodding to the others, one of them led the way, pulling a hood up over his head and a mask over his face.

It was quite a different sort of squeal that escaped Gladdy's mouth when she saw him appear out of the darkness right behind Bobby. The young boy spun round, perhaps expecting to be confronted by an angry father or protective older brother. Instead, he found himself face to face with something he had hitherto seen only in the books his mother had read him when he was younger: a wand, directed straight at his chest.

"What the 'eck ..." he began. "Don't you people know 'alloween only comes round once a year?"

"Tell us where Miss Borealis lives."

Thinking that, whoever these people were, they must be madder than 'Old Miss B' herself, Bobby drew himself up.

"No, I don't think I will, actually - bloody 'ell!"

He sprang to his feet as the figure facing him spoke two words he did not understand. There was a blindingly bright flash of green light - Bobby froze, having risen only halfway from his seat, and slumped back, moving no more. Gladdy screamed. The masked figure whose wand had emitted the flash of green turned its attention to her now.

"Your turn now, muggle girl. Where does Miss Borealis live?"

Gladdy hurriedly jerked a shaking hand towards the lane, muttering as she did,

"D-don't hurt me, please, please don't hurt me!"

One of the other figures stepped forward, wand drawn, and gave it a flick. Screaming at the top of her voice so that doors and windows all around the square were flung open wide, the girl was lifted up into the air by her ankle. A few of the masked figures set off down the lane that she had indicated. The rest remained in the square, ready to receive the people who were now running down their garden paths to see what was going on.

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Three flicks of the wand and the bolts flew shut. A tap at each window and the shutters closed tightly. Another flick and bolts shot across each of them, too. Alastor Moody slid his wand back in his pocket and removed his foeglass from the hook by the door, carrying it with him into the living room of his flat and placing it on the coffee table in front of the gas fire. He slumped into an old and tattered-looking arm chair and drew his wand once more. One flick and the illusion of the gas fire vanished, to be replaced by a fireplace of solid brickwork, in which orange flames began to dance immediately, as though they had never been absent. Another flick, and a bottle of firewhisky and tumbler appeared out of thin air. He waited for the glass to fill, then snatched it and the bottle out of the air, placing the latter on the table alongside the foeglass, and raising the former to his lips to take a generous sip.

He stared into the fire, trying to see the flames and not what his mind was showing him, visions of the Crowes' dead faces, frozen in expressions of horror, visions of the girl he had trained since she had left school what seemed like a lifetime ago, though in reality it had been barely half a year. Why, he wondered, did such short spaces of time seem so long these days? Presumably because so much had happened in the past few months. And wasn't it always the way - when things were good and life was treating you well, years passed by so quickly that they seemed like months, but when disaster followed disaster, day by day, months stretched into an eternity, time seemed to crawl by and you wondered whether you would be stuck in this one long moment of horror forever. A moment of horror. The Crowe girl. Gemma. She had been good. Determined, dedicated, unafraid. A credit to the house that had been hers at Hogwarts. And now a mere memory, and a revolting one at that. Who had done that to her - _what _had done that to her? Ripped and torn her, left her to bleed to death. A girl, barely of age. A girl that had been one of his charges, his responsibility. And what of her brother? Where was he? Just a child ... gone, vanished, missing. Would they ever find him?

He stared deeper into the flames, trying to picture the photograph of the boy he had seen ... suddenly he gave a start. Eyes were staring back at him, real eyes, not projected there by his imagination.

"Merlin's beard!" Moody exclaimed, jumping a few inches off his seat.

The young man whose head was floating in his fireplace was apologetic.

"I-I'm sorry to startle you, Mr. Moody. I realise you can hardly have been expecting any calls at this time of night, but I'm afraid I didn't know who else to turn to."

Recovering from his initial shock, Moody said gruffly,

"That's all right ... err ... Lance, right?"

"Yes," said Lance Lovegood, pushing his glasses up his nose with a long, slim index finger.

"Well, what can I do for you?" Moody enquired.

"It's ... well, I may be worrying about nothing at all, but these days ... one can't be too careful. And it is late, after all ..."

"Look," said Moody, "It's been a long, hard day. The sooner you come to the point, the more I'd appreciate it."

"Yes, yes, of course. Well, I did try at the Ministry first, but they couldn't help me, you see, and ... well, the fact is, Mr. Moody ... it's my sister. She went out to the Ministry this morning ... and she hasn't come back."


	29. Part 29: Something Gained Something Lost

**Prequel, Part 29: Something Gained, Something Lost**

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**1 - Facing Death**

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James and Lily apparated side by side just by the garden gate outside her front door. James had held her hand tightly all the way, worried that she might be too distracted to apparate properly on her own. Her footsteps faltered on the path. Putting his arm around her, James said,

"There's still time to accept Faith's offer, you know. You don't have to face it all just yet. Or you could even come back home with me. Mum would be only to happy to take care of you for a bit, I'm sure. It might even help take her mind off things ..."

But Lily, drawing herself up a little, shook her head.

"No, thank you," she said. "What happened to Dad ... it happened because I'm a witch. No, let me finish, James," she forestalled his protests, "I know it isn't my fault, and I don't blame myself, not really. He told me to get help, because he knew I was the only one who could, and I did that. I couldn't have prevented it, I know ... but still ... if I hadn't been a witch, I wouldn't have known Rory, I wouldn't have been mixed up in all this and ... and I wouldn't have gone to the flat, and he wouldn't have gone there either. If I hadn't been a witch, he'd still be ..."

Her voice choked before she could complete her sentence.

"Maybe," James conceded. "All the same, it might be better if you allowed yourself some time before ..."

Once again, Lily shook her head.

"I know you mean well, James. But Mum needs me now. She's got a friend with her who's a dear, but doesn't know the first thing about magic. She has no idea what really happened. Mum's had to tell her Dad had a car accident."

"Oh dear."

James felt his words to be extremely inadequate. He could only hope that Lily realised he understood very well what she was saying. It must be awful for her mother, he thought, to have just lost her husband and be comforted only by someone who had no idea how he had really died. He accompanied Lily to the front door, and waited while she unlocked it to let them in. They had barely crossed the threshold and begun removing their cloaks when a shrill voice fell upon their ears.

"You!"

Petunia, her face white as a ghost's, had apparently just been passing through the hall when they had entered. She was staring at them now, her eyes burning red and her face contorted with fury.

"How dare you?" she shrieked. "How _dare_ you come back here after what you've done?"

"Pet, ..." Lily began meekly stepping forward, but her sister cut across her sharply.

"Don't you use that name to me. Don't you even speak to me!"

Her angry cries brought their mother and Vernon out into the hall.

"Petunia," Rose Evans admonished gently. Her eyes, too, were very red, and her voice was both sad and tired. "There's no cause to speak to your sister like that."

"No cause!" Petunia cried. "No cause? Can't you see this is all her fault? The evil-eyed, wheedling little freak! I knew no good could come of it. I knew it! And now look what she's done."

"She hasn't done anything," said her mother. "Please calm down, dear. Be reasonable."

Petunia snorted. "You won't admit it, will you, Mother? You just can't face it. Just because she was always 'such a pretty little thing'. Everybody's darling. The calculating little witch," she spat. "Even now that she's killed Father ..."

"Petunia!" Mrs. Evans's voice rose in anger of her own.

Lily simply stared at her sister, her face equally white as Petunia's now. Vernon Dursley, meanwhile, looked quite bewildered, his eyes darting from one woman's face to the other as he attempted to make sense of what was going on.

"Yes, you killed him," Petunia fairly snarled at Lily. "If it hadn't been for you, he'd still be alive. If it hadn't been for you ..."

But James had had enough. Petunia might only be repeating what Lily herself had put forward moments before, but he would not have it. One hand balled tightly into a fist, the other closed around the wand in his pocket, he took a few steps towards Lily's older sister and glowered at her.

"Shut up," he said coldly, and his eyes flashed dangerously. "Talk to Lily like that one more time and I promise you, you'll regret it."

"Now look here," Vernon began, but Petunia held up her hand to silence him. She had taken a step back from James, fear now taking over from the anger she had been displaying a moment ago. "Petunia?" Vernon prompted anxiously, apparently not sure what to make of her reactions.

"Wait for me outside, Vernon."

"But, Petunia ... my dear ..."

"I'll be out in a moment," she snapped.

Hesitating briefly, Vernon nonetheless went out as instructed. Petunia, regaining some of her composure, turned to her mother.

"I knew something bad would come of having a witch in the family," she insisted. "And I was right, wasn't I? Come with us, Mother. The safest thing to do is to forget you ever had another daughter and go on living a normal life ..."

Rose said, returned to the sad and tired tone she had had before, "Are you asking me to choose between the two of you? You're both my children. Your father's children ..." Her voice quavered. "How can you ask me to choose between you ... now, of all times?"

Petunia looked taken aback, but she went on, "I'm only thinking of your safety."

Her mother shook her head, tears now filling her eyes, and turned away. Petunia stared at her back for a moment, then she glared at Lily.

"I hate you," she breathed furiously. "I've always hated you, from the moment you were born. I knew there was something wrong with you, right from the beginning. I knew you were bad luck. Well, this is the last straw. I've had enough. I never want to see you again, or to hear from you. Is that quite clear? Stay away from me. From now on ... I don't have a sister."

And with those words, she walked out through the front door to rejoin Vernon. Lily stared at the closed door for quite some time. Then she turned around and looked helplessly at James. Feeling both profoundly uncomfortable at what he had just witnessed, and deeply sorry for her, he took her in his arms. Lily began to cry again.

Her mother turned around to look at them both where they stood in her hall.

"I ... err ... I thought you had a friend round," James said awkwardly.

"I did," Lily's mother replied. "She left when Petunia and Vernon arrived. She seemed to think it best for the family to be together."

Lily sobbed harder still. Rose Evans came over and put one arm around Lily's back. Her other hand was now holding a handkerchief up to her face. James freed one arm from Lily and put it around her mother. With both women crying against him now, he could not help but think to himself, _Well, the family _is_ together._

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The fireplace in the small tower room on Slytherin's Rock gave off a pale, flickering glow as its flames began to waver and go out. Flakes of snow flecked the night sky beyond the slit-like windows, many of them settling in the narrow opening, some drifting right into the chamber. On the bunk, Malcolm was sleeping deeply, oblivious to the world around him. There was a faint smile on his face.

He was back in London, and it was springtime, a pleasant evening on Tower Hill. The air was warm and alive with the sound of voices laughing and talking all around. The sun was setting, casting a magical kind of glow one the outer wall of the one-time prison, its rays reflecting dazzlingly off the struts and beams of Tower Bridge. A young family walked by, two children with vanilla ice creams held up to their mouths while their parents discussed plans of visiting Westminster tomorrow. A little further away, a couple of boys were throwing a ball to an eager Labrador who barked joyfully at intervals.

All this Malcolm drank in like a man tasting his first drops of water after a long trek through the desert. Sensing a movement by his side, he turned his head that way and saw, as he now realised he had expected to see, Bridget standing there, smiling contentedly. He sighed. What a beautiful world it was, after all. What reason was there to fret, to be miserable and depressed, to experience fear and loneliness, when moments such as this were to be had, moments of peace and tranquillity and happiness and love. Even as he thought the last word, Bridget turned her face towards him. He reached out a hand for her.

Yet, though she continued to smile, Bridget did not take it. Slowly, gradually, her smile seemed to grow empty, like the smile of a wax figure, a mere pale replica of the original, devoid of emotion. The brown eyes that he had thought were looking at him seemed now to be staring through him, seeing something beyond him or worse - seeing nothing at all. He watched in horror as the smile faded and Bridget, without moving a muscle, began to drift away from him, faster and faster the more he stretched out his hand to touch her.

"Bridget," he muttered in his sleep, twisting and turning on his bunk. "Bridget, darling ..."

She was slipping away, there was nothing he could do to stop it, he couldn't reach her.

"Bridget ..."

He was running now, running flat out along a narrow alleyway, fear cloying his senses until he could barely see or hear or breathe.

"Bridget! Bridget!"

There she was, a figure in a black hooded cloak not far away now, her back was to him but he was getting closer, closer ... the figure turned. With a shock he say that it was not Bridget at all, not even a woman, but Vindictus Lothian, and he was smiling with a kind of cruel contentment that threatened to freeze the blood in Malcolm's veins.

"No," he murmured, then suddenly screamed it. "No!"

He twitched awake with a jolt so sudden that the force of it nearly hurled him off his bed. Sweat covered his brow. He mopped it with his shirt sleeve and lay breathing heavily in the uncomfortable position in which he now found himself, unable to move, to even think about moving. There was only one thought in his mind. Bridget. He had dreamt of Bridget. Here, of all places. Right under the nose of not only God knew how many Death Eaters, but of Lord Voldemort himself. If the Dark Lord found out ... Malcolm swore under his breath. He mustn't think of her. Whatever happened, however bad things got, he must not allow himself to think of her again. It was over, and any memories of her that he might have could only mean danger to her. All along he had been determined not to let on that he knew her, knew where she was, what name she was using. Even in his letter ... He had wanted so much to write down his feelings. When Dobby had brought him the parchment and quill he had asked for, his first impulse had been to fill pages and pages with apologies, with assurances that his love for her had never wavered until the end, that it would endure even beyond death ... But he had not dared to do so. For all Dobby's assurances, there was still a risk his letter might be intercepted, might be read by someone other than those it was intended for. He hoped that this would not happen, but there was no guarantee. If someone discovered what the house elf was doing ...

A thought suddenly occurred to him. Where was Dobby? Judging by how weak he felt, there must have been another dose since the last one he remembered. So why hadn't the elf turned up with the potion yet? Surely nothing had gone wrong, had it?

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The Lupins' living room was plunged into silence but for the crackling of the flames that danced in the grate, merry and unconcerned as on any normal evening, a stark contrast to the faces of the room's occupants.

Bridget and Sirius had left twenty minutes ago, Bridget saying that it was time Sirius took care of the cold she was sure he would get and went back to bed. Faith had offered to have them stay for the night, but Bridget had been quite insistent on going home. Peter, on the other hand, had accepted the same offer gratefully. He had briefly told his mother by floo network that he would be staying the night at Remus's, then said goodbye before she could enquire any further into his reasons for doing so. Now, while Remus had departed for the kitchen, announcing his intention of putting the kettle on, Peter and Faith remained in the living room, and neither of them seemed able to think of anything to say. Faith had taken up and quickly discarded some needlework. Peter was sitting awkwardly on the other end of the sofa, apparently scrutinising the carpet. Moving closer to him, Faith put a hand on his arm.

"Try not to worry too much," she said kindly. "With any luck, your sister will soon be back."

"I hope so," Peter replied without looking up. "I don't know what I'd do if ... if ..." He gulped. "Pippa's always been there for me. She's looked after me. If she ..."

He broke off. Faith nodded sympathetically.

"I know how you feel. For as long as I can remember, Malcolm would tease me. He'd run off with my new colouring books, he'd hang my dolls upside-down from the washing line ... but I always knew that he was on my side really, that he would do anything to protect me. He and John always looked after me."

"Y-you and John have known each other all your lives, haven't you?"

"All my life - yes."

"Have you always ... you know ... loved each other?" Peter asked shyly.

Faith smiled. "I always loved him. But for a long time I was just his best friend's little sister. He and Malcolm were like brothers, and therefore John regarded me as his little sister, too. He took care of me, though, even more than Malcolm did sometimes ... but I was not his first love."

"Well, you're definitely his last," Peter said without thinking, then wished he hadn't and bit his lip. "I didn't mean that he ... only that ... I mean ... I'm sure he'll be fine ..."

Maintaining her smile with a slight effort, Faith patted his arm. "I know what you meant. When I was a girl, I never believed it possible that he could one day come to love me so much. Now it almost frightens me sometimes, to think what would become of him if anything were to happen to me. And then I think of the alternative." She shivered. "I don't think I've ever been as afraid as this in all my life."

"Of course," Peter said understandingly. "With both of them on Slytherin's Rock ... well, that's all your family ..."

"Almost," Faith said softly. "Which reminds me ... I can't hear the kettle whistling yet, can you?"

In the kitchen, Remus had shut the door behind him, the kettle far from his mind. He kept seeing, however much he tried not to, Lily's face. Full of misery, the eyes burning red, the lips trembling. Looking at her, he had felt all too keenly the pain she was going through, and he had known there was nothing anyone could do to ease it. He had first felt then what he was experiencing more strongly than ever now. He had felt a wave of fear coming on, threatening to overpower and drown him in one foul swoop. He was afraid that he might soon be feeling the same way as Lily did - afraid that his father would not be returning from Slytherin's Rock. Panic seized him.

_No, no, please God, not that ...,_ he thought.

He felt both hot and cold, numb and as though every nerve in his body were tensed, his heart seemed to be both pounding and threatening to stop beating at the same time. This would not do. He must not panic. His father would be all right, he had said he would be back soon and he would be ... But what if not? What if he never came back? What if he died tonight?

_No. It won't come to that, it won't!_

Once again, Remus told himself he was being silly. Why succumb to grief before there was need to, why expect the worst when there was still hope? Hope ... Once again, Lily's face rose clearly before his eyes. There had been no hope left there, only misery. As he pictured it to himself, Remus was reminded of a conversation he had once had with his father. "It's grief that's horrible, Remus, not death itself," John had said. Remus had tried to understand, had even thought that he did understand what his father was trying to say. But had he really understood? He doubted it. Not until tonight. But now he did understand. Now that he had seen Lily's grief-stricken face, now that he himself was sensing, very near to him now, the possibility that very soon ... More words of his father's came to him out of the past "That's what keeps _me_ awake at night. The fear that something will happen to the people I love, and that I will be left to grieve again." Yes, Remus understood now. Understood better than he liked.

He gripped the back of a chair with all his might to steady himself, slowly forcing down the sick feeling that was rising upwards from his stomach, constricting his throat, trying to stop seeing Lily's face, to stop hearing his father's voice.

_Breathe,_ he told himself. _Breathe deeply and slowly. It will be all right._

"Remus?" his mother's came from behind him, startling him as he had not heard her approach. "Are you all right, dear?"

Remus set his face carefully before turning around.

"Yes," he lied, surprised to find that his voice sounded quite steady. "Fine. And you?"

Faith shivered. "I'm so frightened," she whispered, a catch in her voice.

He came to her and put his arms around her comfortingly.

"Don't worry," he said gently. "It will be all right."

He felt his mother cling to him, and knew what he must do. He must be strong, he must look after her. It was what his father wanted.

_I'll look after her until you get back, Dad,_ he thought. And then, urgently, _Please come back._

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**2 - To the Rescue**

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The volunteers who had set out from Gryffindor Hall sat in their boat in silence, unable to see one another, aware only of the sound of breathing, and of water being parted as they moved rockily across the sea, almost entirely invisible to anyone who might be watching. The cleverly Disillusioned boat made for a point on the side of the isle furthest from the main doors, and there they came ashore among tall black rocks. John drew his wand from the pocket of his winter cloak and, clasping it firmly, turned to look up at the forbidding shape of the fortress that loomed over them. He felt a movement beside him, and automatically turned his head, though he knew he would see no one there. He heard a sound - a queer little gasp.

"Philippa?" he whispered into the darkness.

"What a place," she whispered back. "What an awful place. Oh ..."

"What is it?"

"I ... don't know. I feel ... strange. As though ... death is waiting here."

"Stay here," he suggested quickly. "Wait in the boat, no one will mind. You can keep a lookout, you don't have to come inside."

Pippa's voice was shaky, but at the same time quite determined. "No. I'm coming with you. But ... I'm afraid."

John groped for her hand in the dark, and squeezed it through the invisibility cloaks.

"Stay close to me."

Pippa nodded, then reminding herself that he couldn't see her any more than she could see him, she whispered,

"Thank you."

They proceeded up the rocks, following the muffled sound of the others' footsteps. By mute consent, they all moved as swiftly and quietly as possible until they reached the walls of the fortress.

"Well, here we are," Madam Meadowes said quietly from John and Pippa's left. "Now what?"

"Now we look for a _possible hole_," said Gordon, with particular emphasis on the last two words.

"And after that?" Pippa asked. "This is a big place. Bigger than I had imagined ... where do we start looking once we're inside?"

"Let's take one step at a time, shall we?" Edgar Bones suggested. "First we get inside. Then, if we survive that, we'll see."

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Frank stood by the French windows in the drawing room, one hand holding the curtains aside, the other resting against the window frame. The room was in darkness, the fire having been allowed to go out hours ago. He had not turned the lights on or even bothered with so much as a candle, knowing that any light behind him would cause him to see only his reflection, rather than the garden outside. By the glow of the moon, nearing the full more and more every night, he watched the snowflakes fall gently down to meet the already snow-bedecked terrace and the trees beyond, covering the small set of steps that led down to the lawn, concealing every bush and shrub.

Frank watched the scene mist over by his breath on the pane, and did not bother to clear it. His thoughts were not in the present, but in the past, albeit only by a couple of hours. He was still at Gryffindor Hall, hearing plans and opinions and anxieties, wishing that there were something he could do to help, but also, secretly, not wanting to go, not wanting to leave the Hall, ever. Not while Aurora was there, oblivious to the danger she found herself in.

But she was safe at the Hall, at least, so his reason told him. Safer than anyone could be anywhere else, save Hogwarts. Nevertheless, there was a part of him that didn't want to listen to reason, that seemed to say she would be so much safer if he were with her. Gryffindor Hall was so far away - or at least, it seemed it. Thank goodness for the floo network.

Just at the moment when this last thought occurred to him, he heard a patter by the door that he recognised at once. Turning round, he was therefore not surprised to be confronted by a small, bald and skinny creature with bat-like ears, bright blue eyes the size of tennis balls that squinted badly and a nose the shape of a squashed peach, wearing a silky pink pillowcase with neatly made arm and leg holes.

"Hello, Perky," he said.

The house elf curtsied. "Good evening, Master Frank. Perky is so, so, so happy to have found you at last. Perky has been looking everywhere, everywhere for you. Perky is not expecting to find you in here with no lights on."

There was no annoyance or reproach at the trouble she had been forced to take in Perky's voice, she was all excited eagerness - Perky, Frank knew, was always eager. Unfortunately, she also always got things wrong. For example, she invariably began her search for people or objects in the most unlikely places, and judging from the cobweb that had draped itself round her left ear, he guessed that, in this case, she had chosen to start looking for him in the attic, or else perhaps garden shed. Tired and worried though he was, he smiled.

"Well, here I am, at your service. What can I do for you?"

"Begging your pardon, Master Frank, but could you go to kitchen? There is a head in the fire wanting badly to speak to you. Perky is always running back and explaining she has not found you yet, and the head is getting crosser and crosser with Perky."

Frank frowned.

"Oh? Whose head?" he enquired.

"A moody head, Master Frank. The head is telling Perky it is moody, but there is really no need for that, because Perky can tell for herself that it is, from the way it keeps telling her off for being too slow."

"Moody?" Frank exclaimed, grasping at once what the elf had not, namely that this was the man's name, not a description of how he was feeling. "We'd better go down and see what he wants quickly!"

"Begging your pardon, Master Frank, but is you minding if Perky waits here? The moody man is not talking very nicely to Perky, and he makes Perky nervous."

She looked up at him anxiously out of those large orbs that were her eyes, her leathery toes twisting inwards as she stood there so that she now looked bandy-legged on top of everything else. Resisting the urge to pat the droll little elf on the head, Frank nodded and hurried past her into the hall and along to the kitchen. Sure enough, looking impatient and closely resembling a thundercloud in the kitchen fire was Moody's head.

"Finally!" the auror cried when Frank came into view. "I was about to give it up as a bad job and set out on my own."

"Set out? Where to?" Frank asked. "Gryffindor Hall? Has anything happened ..."

Moody waved aside his words. "No, no, not the Hall. This has got nothing to do with your little friend. But it has got everything to do with another girl, and one I may say I'd be sorry to see in trouble."

"Who?" Frank asked, but Moody went on almost before the single syllable had quite left his lips.

"Laura Lovegood's gone missing," he announced. "Her brother called to tell me so. Went off to the Ministry this morning, and hasn't been seen or heard of since."

"Oh. And you think ..."

"I don't think anything," Moody said gruffly, "not yet. But I'm off to the Ministry myself now to see what I can find out. The brother's meeting me there, but I'd like you along too. I'd be a fool to go trotting tamely off to the place where one of my colleagues seems to have vanished. Aren't many people about you can really trust these days."

Frank accepted the hidden compliment with a half smile.

"I'll be right along," he promised. "See you in the Atrium?"

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It had proved surprisingly simple to slip into the fortress on Slytherin's Rock through the hole in the wall. Standing in the darkness, still invisible, the little band of volunteers waited for their eyes to adjust themselves, not wanting to risk lighting a wand unless it became absolutely necessary. It felt weird, John thought, to be groping around in the dark, unable to see your companions, and yet knowing that they were there somewhere, listening for footsteps and breathing lest they bump into each other.

They had come out in a cramped sort of chamber, and the bars facing them directly opposite the wall in which the hole had been found told John this must be some kind of dungeon. Luckily, however, the door was unlocked. A fine mess it would have been if they had got easily into the fortress only to find themselves locked in a cell. He doubted whether the door could have been unlocked with a simple _Alohomora_ from the inside.

"I suppose," Pippa whispered beside him, "it would be too much to hope for that your brother-in-law's being held somewhere down here, and we can collect him and slip out the way we came in without being noticed."

"I'm afraid it probably would be, yes," John agreed. "But let's take a look around all the same."

"All right."

Pippa took his hand again and followed him out through the cell door into the narrow passage, which they found to be lined with a number of cells similar to the one they had come through. They went right down to the end of the passage in one direction, coming up to nothing but a brick wall. Turning round, they tried the other way. About four cells along from where they had started, Pippa suddenly gave a muffled cry.

"What is it?" asked Dorcas Meadowes's voice from a little way in front.

"I - I thought I saw something move. It made me jump."

Footsteps converged.

"Can't see a thing," Edgar Bones was heard to grumble. "It's too dark."

"Shh," hissed Madam Meadowes. "Listen."

They listened, all five of them holding their breath. And they heard, very faintly, the sound of someone else breathing. Gordon stepped forward, feeling his way along the bars, as the dungeons were particularly dark just here. Then he stopped.

"The door's open," his surprised voice announced quietly.

He took out his wand just in case and made his way through the opening. The others followed behind him. They stopped just inside the cell, waiting for a sound, another sight of something, anything. Presently, Edgar Bones mumbled,

"This is ridiculous." And then, "_Lumos_."

The light from his wand cast a beam across the stone floor, and illuminated a figure sitting on the ground by the wall, its knees drawn up, its head bent forwards, the long fair hair draped over the face, hiding it from view.

"Who is it?" Pippa wondered.

"I would hazard a guess," said Gordon, "that this is the Frenchwoman."

"Oh. But I thought ..."

"That she was dead?" Gordon guessed. "Yes, so did I."

The sound of his footsteps told the others that he was moving closer to the sitting figure. An invisible hand drew back the hair that curtained her face. The woman did not look up. Her face was white, her eyes wide open and staring blankly at the floor.

"Miss Dulac?" Gordon said quietly.

She showed no reaction. He lifted her chin to get a better look at her. Still nothing. She seemed totally unaware that there was an invisible man crouched right in front of her, speaking to her. Dropping her chin, Gordon returned to the others.

"What's wrong with her?" John asked.

"I'm not sure. I'd say something's happened to her brain. She seems to have no idea of anything."

Pippa drew in her breath sharply. "You don't suppose that she's been given the Kiss, do you?"

"I don't know. Whatever the case may be, there's nothing we can do for her now. We should move on."

They returned to the passage and continued along it, now following the light of Edgar Bones's wand. A little further along, however, he extinguished it quickly. A heavy wooden door to their right stood ajar, and a pale light was emanating from the room beyond. Approaching the door cautiously, they found that this was a chamber much larger than the cells they had passed on the way. The light was coming from a large cauldron which stood beside a table on the far side of the room, on which a goblet had been placed. The only other thing in the room was a chair.

"What is this stuff?" Pippa asked, peering cautiously into the cauldron.

"Whatever it is, it doesn't look pleasant," John remarked.

An invisible hand beside him picked up the goblet and filled it, using the ladle from the cauldron. Then, apparently by itself but probably owing to some silent spell cast on it, the goblet sealed itself over, and then vanished from view with a soft rustle of fabric.

"It can't hurt to take a good look at this when we get back," Dorcas Meadowes explained.

Once again, they went out into the passage. No wand was lit this time, for ahead they could see more light, and soon they came to a rickety old staircase leading upwards. They paused for a moment. Then Gordon said heavily,

"Well, that's the easy part over, I'd say. Now we have a fortress to search. I suggest once we reach the top of these stairs, we start moving up floor by floor."

"Agreed," said Madam Meadowes. "Off we go then."

She started up the stairs, but the next moment they were all startled by a loud _crack_. And there, right in front of them on the stairs, stood a very young house elf, looking anxiously about him. The elf began walking down the stairs, his arms outstretched in front of him, feeling the air as though looking for something. What was he looking for? Suddenly, John realised. He was looking for _them_.

"How do you know we're here?" he asked.

The sound of his voice, coming so suddenly, made more than just the house elf jump. He suspected also that it annoyed some of his companions. Recovering from the initial shock, the elf whispered,

"D-Dobby was told you were coming."

"Who told you?"

"The lady at Hogwarts."

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**3 - The Escape**

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Deciding to take a chance, John pulled off his cloak, though he stepped back from the stairs before he did so. The house elf's orb-like eyes fixed on him. John went into a crouch in front of him.

"What lady?" he asked. "And what were you doing at Hogwarts?"

Dobby hesitated before replying.

"Mr. Malcolm asked Dobby to go, sir. Dobby said he couldn't, he mustn't, it's against master's orders. But ..." - his great eyes filled with tears - "Dobby failed to do what Mr. Malcolm asked him before, and ... and people died. Died horribly, sir. Dobby should have done as Mr. Malcolm said, Dobby should have warned ... but Dobby did not dare. And now Dobby is afraid, Dobby is not knowing what to do. Dobby cannot help Mr. Malcolm sir escape, sir, but Dobby cannot leave him there either, he is weak and he will die, sir, he will die and it will be Dobby's fault."

Dobby dropped into a sitting position on the steps, burying his face in his bony little hands. From all he had said, one fact alone seemed to mean anything to John. Struggling to keep his voice even, he said,

"You mean Malcolm ... is alive?"

Looking perfectly miserable, Dobby nodded his head. John straightened up. Turning away from the elf, and from where he knew the others must be standing, he covered his face with one hand. He felt very strange. All along, he had hoped and prayed ... but he had never really believed. He had been willing to do anything to find Malcolm, but never really thought that he would be bringing him back. Deep down, that accursed pessimistic voice had told him that Malcolm would be long dead before they reached him, that all efforts would be in vain. But they weren't in vain, or at least, they might not be. _Might _not be. That damn pessimism again. Why couldn't he, for once, believe that things would turn out well? Malcolm was alive, wasn't he? That meant there was a chance.

"Where is he?" Gordon's voice asked behind him.

Dobby spoke more to himself. "Dobby cannot say, Dobby must not say, master ordered Dobby not to help Mr. Malcolm escape, but Dobby must help or things will get worse, what can Dobby do? What can Dobby do?"

"Your master ordered you not to help our friend escape," Gordon said steadily, "but he didn't order you to stop anyone from seeing him, did he? He didn't tell you not to let anyone go wherever he is."

John turned around again just in time to see Dobby nod his head at Gordon, who had also chosen to materialise by now.

"Sir is right," he said slowly. "But Dobby is not sure ..."

"Then you can tell us," Gordon interrupted. "You can tell Mr. Lupin here and myself," - thus, John realised, he was indicating to the others not to reveal themselves, just in case - "where he is, and leave the rest to us."

Dobby looked suddenly at John.

"Y-you is called Lupin?" he queried.

"Yes," said John.

Dobby stood up. "J-John Lupin?"

"Yes," John said again. "How ..."

But Dobby did not let him finish.

"When did it happen?"

"What?"

Dobby repeated his question. John stared at him. He asked cautiously,

"Why do you ask?"

"It is what Mr. Malcolm told Dobby to ask you before he gives you the letter," Dobby replied. "When did it happen?"

Without stopping to think, without pause or hesitation, John said immediately,

"Saturday, October the third, 1963."

Once again, Dobby nodded. "You is John Lupin," he said, seemingly satisfied. "Mr. Malcolm gave Dobby a letter for you."

"A letter?" John repeated. "Have you got it with you now?"

Dobby nodded. "But Dobby is not supposed to give it to you, sir. Not until after Mr. Malcolm is dead."

"We're here to prevent things coming to that," Gordon told the elf. "With your help, we can do it more quickly."

Dobby hesitated, looking from one to the other of them. His eyes rested on John.

"Dobby must not help Mr. Malcolm escape, sir. Master said so. But Dobby was not ordered not to tell anyone where he is. Dobby will tell you, sir, as you is Mr. Malcolm's friend, and Dobby will give you this … just in case."

He drew a letter out from inside the dirty pillowcase he wore and handed it to John. John took the crumpled piece of parchment and stared at it for a moment, then put it in his inside pocket. Then, still with some reluctance, Dobby explained to him how to reach the tower room where Malcolm was being held.

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The house elf was trembling from head to foot by the time he had finished giving them his instructions, and it was only swift intervention on Gordon's part, who caught him by his pillow case and held him back, that stopped him ramming his head against the wall. Gordon raised his wand and pointed it at the elf, who looked about to shriek loudly, but got no chance.

"_Petrificus Totalus_!"

Dobby's arms snapped to his side and he went rigid. He would have toppled over on the floor, but Gordon used his wand to levitate him into a cell, and locked the door.

"Good idea," said John. "Hopefully they'll think we got him when he caught us breaking and entering."

Gordon did not reply directly, merely became invisible once more and murmured,

"You'd better get that cloak back on."

John did as he suggested, then he said,

"Well, we know where to look now. But I still suggest we don't all go all the way, just in case. I'll go on my own."

"No," Pippa's voice came firmly out of the darkness. "From what that house elf said, Malcolm is weak. He may be in no fit state to be of much help if anyone tries to stop you. He may not even be able to walk."

John was glad of the cloak, for it meant that she could not see him flinch. Gordon, meanwhile, agreed with her.

"You're quite right. I will go with John."

But once again, Pippa protested.

"No, I'll go. With respect, sir, I think it will be better that way - with you guarding our retreat."

Reluctantly, the old man agreed.

"Very well. I will stay down here. Madam Meadows, if you will go with them as far as the next floor, and Bones to the one beyond that ..."

Both agreed.

"Then that is settled. Let us not waste any more time, or more words than we can help. From now on we must be absolutely still. We don't know how many Death Eaters are about, but it's a good guess there will be plenty more of them than there are of us."

They proceeded according to this plan, moving silently and invisibly up the stairs and across the hall. Gordon did not say a word as he detached himself from the group and took up his position beside the staircase they had come up, but the others sensed that he was no longer with them. On the next floor up, Madam Meadowes found a convenient niche and stood inside it to keep a lookout and await the others' return. Edgar Bones was now in front of the invisible party, but one flight of steps further up he too moved noiselessly against the wall, out of the way of anyone who might decide to come out of some room and pass by this spot.

John had taken Pippa's hand once more when they had left the dungeons, and he led the way further on now, along the passageway that Dobby had described, past a series of closed doors behind some of which they thought they heard the murmur of voices. They had almost reached the end of the corridor, where a spiral staircase began to wind its way upwards, when John felt a restraining pull on his arm. He stopped and looked back, though he knew he would see nothing. He dared not speak so close to rooms that were clearly occupied, so he listened. He could make out a woman's voice distorted by the thick wood of the door.

"So in other words," the voice was saying, "you have come back entirely empty-handed. The Dark Lord will not be pleased. He wanted that girl dead. I'm sure he did not expect you to come back without finishing the job."

"The girl's vanished," a man's voice said. "It doesn't matter. We'll be on the lookout for her from now on. The minute she shows her face again, she'll be as dead as the muggles in that village."

"You don't even know what she looks like, do you?"

"I have a description from those of our friends who have seen her. She won't get away."

"You'd better hope you're right, Lothian, or the Dark Lord will hold you responsible."

These words were followed by the sound of footsteps, and John tugged urgently at Pippa's hand. She followed him, and not a moment too soon, for the door opened almost at once and the man whose picture had once featured on the front page of the _Daily Prophet_ in connection with the torturing of muggles came out, followed by a woman in black who, despite the starkly contrasting colour of her hair, the cruel twist of her mouth and the coldness of her eyes still bore an obvious resemblance to Pippa. Waiting until the Death Eaters were well out of earshot, John risked a whisper.

"Come on, Philippa. Let's not linger."

He pulled her along with him to the bottom of a narrow, winding staircase.

"Is this it?" Pippa asked.

"It looks like it. Come on."

They climbed the stairs in silence and came to a small landing with just one sturdy-looking door, beside which a large rusty key hung from an iron nail. John let go of Pippa's hand to take it off the hook.

"What is it?" Pippa whispered, seeing that the key was still suspended in the air, as it looked to her, without moving.

"I'm ... afraid," John confessed, then pulled himself together. "But we mustn't waste time."

He stepped up to the door, inserted the key in the lock and turned it round. Pushing open the door, he looked cautiously into the narrow chamber beyond. Embers were glowing meekly in the grate, and small spirals of smoke still hovered beneath the ceiling or drifted out through the slits in the walls. It was such a gloomy space that John's shiver was not down to cold alone, nor to the sight on the bunk that stood before him. Bending over the unmoving figure he drew off James's cloak and let it drop to the floor.

"My God," he gasped.

"What is it?"

Pippa stepped into the room also, taking the key from the lock before she did so and closing the door behind her. She too removed her cloak, but stayed standing by the door, listening for any sound from outside.

John looked down into Malcolm's face. It was paler than he had ever seen it, the cheeks hollowed, the skin lined and the jaw covered with a thin stubble that was grey as well as brown. Had it not been for the wheezy, tortured breathing, he would have thought all help had come too late. Touching one shoulder of the sleeping man and shaking it as hard as he dared, he said,

"Malcolm. Malcolm, wake up."

The man on the bunk stirred a little, but did not react. John shook him again, gently but firmly. This time Malcolm opened his eyes, clouded and unfocused, and tried to twist out of John's grasp.

"No," he mumbled incoherently, "no, not again ... can't ... mustn't ... have to ... sleep ..."

"Malcolm!" John said sharply, shaking him harder. "It's me!"

"Shhh," Pippa hissed anxiously. "Not so loud."

Malcolm blinked straight up to where the other man's face was swimming before his eyes, unable to see and hardly daring to believe his ears. Was this just another dream?

"J-John?" he murmured. "John?"

His hand groped about and John grasped it firmly. "I'm here," he answered. "It's all right, we've come to get you out of here."

"Out?" Malcolm repeated. "Yes. Yes, I must get out."

He pulled himself into a sitting position by tugging at John's sleeve and shook himself. He swayed and John steadied him quickly.

"Easy," he said. "Take your time."

Looking up at him, Malcolm's eyes seemed to focus a little at last. He gave a dry laugh that came out more like a cough.

"Do we have that much time?"

"We have as long as it takes for them to discover something's going on up here," said Pippa.

Malcolm turned his head. He seemed to recognise her after a moment and said to John,

"W-what's she doing here? She's just a kid, John, she shouldn't see ... this place. What goes on here ..."

"I wasn't going to be left behind," Pippa told him. "Here ..." She came over and bent to pick up the cloak that John had dropped. "You two get under this one. If we're lucky we can get out again before someone finds you missing."

Her voice was doubtful, and both men noticed.

"You go on ahead," John suggested to her, still steadying Malcolm who was now pushing himself up to stand. "We'll follow at our own pace."

Pippa shook her head. "You two will never make it alone."

"I'm afraid I am too heavy for one man alone to carry. If I'd known you were coming, I'd have gone on a diet," Malcolm said hoarsely, following this brief quip that was worthy of his old self with a cough that did not sound too good at all.

"We'll manage," John said reassuringly. "If you can keep that cough under control."

"I'll try."

John began to pull Malcolm's left arm over his shoulder, but Pippa held up a hand.

"No, wait - the other way round is better. You on the right, me on the left. Just in case we encounter any trouble."

"I don't ..."

Pippa smiled quickly and held up her wand arm. "I'm left-handed," she said simply.

Thus arranged and with James's invisibility cloak draped over both men, whom it just about covered, they set out back down the stairs and along the corridor through which they had come. It was slow going, for though he tried to carry his own weight, Malcolm could not help but falter every now and then, forcing the other two to stop and raise him back up awkwardly, praying that no one would pass at that moment, and hurriedly straightening their cloaks.

They gained the top of the stairs without incident, Malcolm remembering only too clearly the last time he had got this far in an attempt to escape, and still feeling keenly the wound on his back where a curse had injured him, the wound that had been unable to heal through his weakness. A rustle with no visible source beside them told Pippa and John that they were no longer alone, and out of the darkness Edgar Bones's voice whispered,

"Did you find him?"

"Yes," John whispered back. They began to descend the stairs, but just at that moment they heard a shout somewhere back along the way they had come, followed by the sound of angry voices and many sets of footsteps moving very quickly back and forth.

"Oh no," Pippa breathed. "The game's up. Do you think ..."

"This is a bad spot to stop and chat," Bones whispered sharply. "Down the stairs, quickly."

The invisible foursome did as he suggested, and had reached the next floor down before the first of the Death Eaters appeared at the top of the stairs, their wands drawn.

"Don't waste time looking back," said Bones. "Keep going."

"Edgar ..." It was Madam Meadowes' voice that whispered now.

Bones moved towards it, and both of them took up positions pressed closely against the wall, while John, Malcolm and Pippa continued down the next flight of steps. The voices of the Death Eaters behind them grew louder and more numerous, but they did not stop to look who was on the stairs or how close they were. They reached the hall at the bottom of the stairs, the hall where they had left Gordon, and were halfway across it when a door opened somewhere behind them, and a voice rang out sharply that froze them to the spot.

"What is it?" Lord Voldemort asked of his servants. "Why all this noise?"

"Master," replied one of them, speaking with a strong foreign accent. "Master, it is ze prisoner, he is not in ze chamber."

"What do you mean, he's not there? How can he have got out?"

"I do not know, my lord. I vill search ze island at vonce."

"No!" Voldemort said sharply. "Wait."

All went silent. Unable to bear not being able to hear or see what was happening, the three cloaked people turned around. The Dark Lord was standing by a door at the other side of the hall, facing a man with a neat black beard, and had thrown back his head, drawing breaths through his nose as though sniffing the air. Even as he himself began instinctively to back away from the sight, John felt Malcolm stumble beside him. Malcolm's hand clutched suddenly very tightly at the shoulder of John's robes as he began to double over, and under the cloak John could see the agony in his friend's face as he clenched his jaws and fought with all his might against the inevitable. For inevitable it was that, with the last dose of potion that had passed between them not long ago taken, Voldemort's power over him was still strong enough to draw just a little more strength and cause a little more pain, just enough to make Malcolm crumble to the floor with a scream, dragging both invisibility cloaks down with him as he went.

"Malcolm!" John cried, starting to bend down, but Pippa yelled,

"Not now, look out!"

Her warning was almost too late, for a bust that had stood peacefully on its pedestal a moment before was cannoning towards him at top speed. John just had time to raise his arm instinctively to cover his face. With a bang, a crunch and an ominous cracking sound it impacted just on his elbow and he was thrown a few yards across the hall, his right arm so full of pain that he had no idea how he had managed to maintain a hold on his wand. He swapped it quickly to his left hand, just in time to deflect the next object that came soaring at him. Pippa, meanwhile, had almost got Malcolm to his feet again while maintaining a firm grip on her wand to hold up the shield charm she had erected. One of the Death Eaters, the black-bearded man who had stood beside Voldemort before, raised his wand and began to chant a curse, but he was blasted off his feet by a countercurse that seemed as if it had come out of thin air.

"Run!" Gordon Gryffindor called.

Several of the Death Eaters looked startled to hear the husky, yet powerful voice out of nowhere. John scrambled to his feet and across to Pippa, who was already starting to pull Malcolm towards him. He stuck his wand through his belt and took hold of Malcolm's arm with his uninjured left hand. They made for the dungeon stairs as fast as they could, as the battle between the still invisible members of the Order of the Phoenix and the Death Eaters and their master was raging just inside the front doors.

The three of them reached the hole in the wall without too much difficulty, but just as John and Pippa made to hoist Malcolm up through it, he turned back.

"Wait - John, I can't just leave. There are others ... we have to help them. A house elf, he ..."

"We know about Dobby," said John. "He told us where to find you. It's been taken care of. He'll be all right."

Malcolm gave a sigh of relief. "What about Désirée? They said they'd got her. Is she here?"

"She's in another cell, but her brain's gone," Pippa explained hurriedly. "We've no time to lose, we've got to get you out of here."

She began pushing him towards the opening again, but he fought her. Grabbing John by the collar he said urgently.

"We can't leave her here ... John, please ... help her."

John looked back and forth between the two of them, not knowing what to do. At last he nodded.

"Get Malcolm out of here," he said to Pippa. "I won't be a minute."

She called after him, but he was gone. Once again, Philippa Pettigrew experienced the sound of voices belonging to people she could not see behind her growing nearer, but this time she felt quite alone as she helped Malcolm pull himself up through the hole, pushing with all the might in her thin arms. She had only just succeeded when she heard an all too familiar voice just behind her.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't my dear little sister. I thought our paths would cross in a fight sooner or later. I little expected it to be here. Won't you face me, Philippa, and duel with me face to face?"

"Why?" Pippa asked, her back still turned on her sister. "From what I've heard, you're not normally so scrupulous about attacking people from behind, or when they're defenceless. Don't tell me there's still some family affection left after all, Polly." She turned round, then added, "For heaven's sake! Don't you see what madness you're supporting?"

"Madness? You come here to get a man who's already dead out from under the nose of the Dark Lord whom no one escapes, and you say I am mad?"

"You are mad, Polly," Pippa said sadly. "And I'm sorry it has to end like this."

She slowly raised her wand, but her heart was not in the hex she attempted to cast, and her sister knew it. She deflected it with ease and readied herself for her own strike, but her _Reductor _curse merely widened the hole in the wall as she found herself suddenly engulfed in a cloud of black smoke. Pippa shielded her eyes with her hand and held her breath for as long as she could. When she opened her eyes again, John was once again beside her. He had brought Désirée Dulac with him, and she now stood leaning against the wall murmuring senseless words to herself while the smoke began to clear and the figure of Paula Lestrange became visible once again.

"Ah," she said with a cold kind of amusement. "I see it is two against one now. But your backup looks rather weak to me, little sister."

Pippa glanced sideways. It was true that John was not looking good. His right arm, which he held in an awkwardly twisted manner against his chest, was bleeding and clearly causing him an awful lot of pain. Sweat was pearling on his brow and he was swaying almost as Malcolm had done when he had first sat on the edge of his bunk, but his voice was hard and determined.

"Don't be too sure of yourself," he said to Paula. "Even using the wrong hand, I can still beat you at any duel."

"Can you?" Paula said amusedly. "I doubt it. But in any case, I think we shall not be finding that out."

She jerked her head backwards, and both John and Pippa saw that others were coming, more Death Eaters cloaked in black to put a stop to their retreat.

"Get out," John murmured. "Go on, I'll cover you."

"No," Pippa said shakily. "No!"

John turned his head towards her to reason with her and Paula used her chance.

"_Crucio_!" she shrieked.

Pippa screamed in agony as the spell hit her and she sank twitching against the wall.

"Philippa!" John cried and crouched, pulling her towards him and moving himself to stand in the way of the curse, blocking it.

He knew it had worked when the pain began, when he realised it was no longer her twitching that was causing his limbs to shake, but his own. It did not last long, however. With an angry cry, Paula Lestrange interrupted the curse. John got slowly to his feet, raising Pippa with him, and turned around to face their attacker, making sure to keep the young woman shielded behind him.

"You fool!" Paula hissed. "I won't suffer anyone to stand between me and my prey. You will die. _Avada ..._" - she raised her wand high, ready to strike. John heard Pippa scream shrilly behind him and felt her hands clasp the back of his robes, he heard hurried footsteps and angry shouts and he saw, as if in slow motion, Paula Lestrange's wand directed straight towards him - "_Kedavra_," she finished her incantation. There was a flash of blinding green light, a scuffle, and then a body dropped to the floor, the life from it extinguished in the blink of an eye. John stared down at the figure before his feet, the body sprawled on the floor like a corpse in a play, the robes spread out, the long blonde hair veiling the beautiful face like a curtain. Hands seized him, more pairs than one, he was sure.

"Out!" Gordon Gryffindor's voice bellowed in his ear. "Out!"

Pippa chimed in, her shrill voice seeming to come from afar. "John, come on, we must go, we must go!"

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Bitter cold air met John and Pippa as they scrambled back out through the hole in the wall and ran to the spot where Malcolm was crouched on the ground, clutching at his side and panting. John stopped beside him and looked back, his breath coming unevenly.

"Come on," Pippa urged. "We've got to keep going!"

"I can't believe … did you see ... what just happened …" he gasped.

"I know, I know," said Pippa desperately, "but there's no time to think about it now. We've got to move or none of us will make it."

Still, John hesitated. Malcolm, managing with an effort to pull himself to his feet while leaning on Pippa for support, placed a hand on his shoulder. It recalled John to the urgency of their situation. Pulling Malcolm's arm around his shoulder once again, he helped Pippa support him in the direction of the boat.

As they went, they heard shouts behind them. Looking back briefly, Pippa saw that the main doors had now opened and robed Death Eaters were hurrying towards them, accompanied by Voldemort himself. The three of them tried to move faster, but it wasn't easy. They kept slipping on the icy rocks, and though the place where the boat was moored was getting nearer and nearer, so were their pursuers.

And then Malcolm stumbled again. With a cry of pain, he dropped onto his knees so heavily that he pulled the other two down with him. John shook him with one hand.

"Come on, old friend. Don't give up now. We're almost there."

Malcolm shook his head. "I'm not going to make it," he said. "It's him ... the nearer he gets ... I can't move ... I'm ... drifting ..."

His brown eyes, dark and sunken, looked into John's. "Leave me," he said. "You've got to, John."

"No," John said firmly. "I'm not leaving you behind. We came here for you, we're not leaving without you."

"Please," Malcolm gasped. "Please, John. The last thing I want … not you … the others … they need you …"

He slipped further down.

"Malcolm!" John cried, shaking him desperately.

Pippa looked back over her shoulder once more. "They're almost here!" she cried.

"Hurry!" John shouted at her. "Get to the boat, untie the rope, we'll be right there."

Summoning all his strength, and groaning under the weight and his own pain, he hoisted Malcolm up again. Malcolm was now barely aware of what was happening around him. He saw the ground move along below him though he couldn't move his legs. John, he thought. He wished John would just leave him here and get away himself, but he had no strength left to tell him so. The world was swimming before his eyes, fading rapidly into blackness. Somewhere above him - or was it only in his head - he could hear sweet, magical music, like the song of some bird. He turned his head to look behind him and saw vaguely a figure materialising from out of nowhere, a tall shape that seemed to shine with a silver light like the moon. Beside it a second figure appeared, a tall grey shape that was strong as the rock itself. Standing shoulder to shoulder, they stood firing coloured spells from their wands, like fireworks against a black night sky. More figures were running. There was a tugging feeling at the back of his shirt. Then, queerly, Malcolm no longer felt ground under his feet. He was floating, soaring upwards. The sky was coming closer, the blackness becoming more complete, and still he could hear that strange, otherworldly song. He closed his eyes and surrendered to the darkness.

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**4 - Coming Around**

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Frank stepped out of one of the fireplaces in the Atrium at the Ministry of Magic to find Alastor Moody already there, waiting for him. With Moody was a young man Frank was not aware of having met, though he had a feeling he had seen him somewhere before, possibly at Hogwarts, for he didn't look much older than Frank was himself. He was tall, with dark brown hair that was parted in the middle, and he was pushing a large pair of spectacles up his long nose. His features were delicate, his mouth small and serious. This, Frank realised, must be the brother.

"Ah, there you are!" Moody exclaimed with both impatience and relief. "Good. This is Lance Lovegood, Frank."

Lance Lovegood, of course. Hearing the name in its entirety reminded Frank. This young man had once been head boy at Hogwarts. They shook hands.

"I'm very grateful," he said earnestly, "to both of you for coming out at this hour. I really didn't know quite who to turn to. I called Auror Headquarters first, of course, but they told me that they didn't know where my sister was. They didn't seem disposed to investigate the matter further. But I was uneasy. It's not like her not to at least send a message."

Frank nodded understandingly.

"Who did you speak to at Headquarters?" Moody asked.

"A man called Brown."

"Right. Well, our first step, then, is to have a word with Brown ourselves and find out what he means by not taking the disappearance of a fellow auror seriously."

They went up to Auror Headquarters and soon found Brown, a tough-faced and squarely built man of about thirty, sitting at his desk with a cup of coffee. Moody marched straight up to him.

"What's this I hear about Laura Lovegood disappearing and you not doing anything about it?" he growled at once.

Brown jumped up from his seat. "Mr. Moody, sir!" he exclaimed. "What's this - Miss Lovegood disappeared - I had no idea - I mean," he added, going slightly red, "no idea that it was serious."

"Well, we don't know that it is ourselves yet," said Moody, "But these days it's always wisest to treat any disappearance as potentially serious, wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes, sir," Brown grumbled. "I just thought it was too soon to be classed as a disappearance."

Moody grunted. "What are you doing up here anyway?" he demanded. "You and Forbes were supposed to be down at the cells all day."

Brown pulled a face. "I know, sir, but Mr. Crouch had other ideas. He wanted Forbes and me for other business. Forbes is out now, investigating a death in Kent." He checked his watch. "He's been gone a couple of hours, he could be back any ... oh, there he is," he finished as, sure enough, Forbes came striding into Headquarters, looking very weary.

He was clearly surprised to see Moody, Frank and Lance Lovegood.

"Hello," he said. "What's going on here?"

"We're investigating a disappearance," said Brown quickly. "Miss Lovegood didn't come home tonight, it seems."

Forbes placed a file on Brown's desk and sat down on the end of it.

"Miss Lovegood? Disappeared? Well I never. Why, I spoke to her earlier!"

"You spoke to her?" Moody exclaimed. "When was this?"

"Some time this morning. Or maybe ... no, hang on, it was more like lunch time. Because I remember her saying she was feeling a bit queer, and I said she'd probably not been eating properly, and then she said she'd go out for a bite right away."

"And did she go out?" Frank asked.

"Yes, I think so. Yes, I'm sure she did. I remember her picking up her bag and everything."

"So she definitely left Auror Headquarters?"

Forbes nodded. "And no one's seen her since? I do hope she's all right. The things these people get up to - the Death Eaters, I mean," he added grimly. "Well, it's nasty, even for being criminal. I mean, take the killing I've just come from. Poor soul hadn't just been bumped off, they actually took him to pieces. Planted the Dark Mark over his house and left his body there in bits on the kitchen floor for his poor wife to find when she came back from that moving picture thingy muggles take their kids to."

Lance Lovegood gave a moan and sank into a chair. Forbes looked at him curiously.

"This is Miss Lovegood's brother," Frank said.

Forbes was immediately apologetic. "Oh. Oh dear, I am sorry. I didn't mean ... well, perhaps she'll be all right yet. I wish I could help you more."

"Did she say anything else?" Frank asked him. "Did you talk about anything other than lunch, anything that might give us an indication what she was going to do after she'd eaten?"

Forbes thought for a minute, then shook his head glumly. "No, sorry. She never said. I just assumed she'd be coming back after, really. I've been trying to think if she said where she was going for lunch, but she never did."

"Do you know if she spoke to anyone else?" Moody asked him.

"Yes, she did, as a matter of fact," Forbes said, brightening a little. "She talked to Mr. Crouch. I remember that, because I said I wondered what had got into him, and she said about him being jealous and stupid, and I remember it tickled me, but it also got me worried. I mean to say, Mr. Crouch doesn't take kindly to that kind of talk."

"What made her say that about him?" Brown put in.

"What? Oh, they were arguing like, about us not being where Mr. Moody said we should be. Got right huffy, Mr. Crouch did. Said things like 'who runs this department, him or me', or words to that effect. Miss Lovegood wasn't happy about it, I can tell you. Seemed really quite worried, she did."

Moody, who had been pacing up and down with his wooden leg clunking at every other step, stopped.

"She was worried because Crouch called you away?"

"Yes, she was, I think. Unless it was something to do with Marley. I mentioned him, see - just in passing, like, and come to think of it, that's when she went a bit queer." He grinned suddenly. "I've wondered before now if she wasn't a bit sweet on him, you know. Has anything ever been heard of him since he got kicked out? I don't know that I've heard anyone talk about him for ages now. He's not dead, is he?"

Moody glowered at him.

"It would be a shame if he was," Forbes went on undeterred. "He was one of the best, I've always thought that. Nice bloke. Did me a good turn once or twice. Took over shifts and such when the missus was getting fed up with me working late ..."

"So," Frank said, quickly changing the subject back to what they had come for, "Miss Lovegood was worried about the security down at the cells. Would she have gone down there herself, do you think?" he asked Moody.

The older man nodded. "Might have done, yes, if she was that worried. One way to find out. Come on, let's go and talk to Baxter and Robinson."

He limped to the door, then looked back at Brown and Forbes. "You two had better come along. The more, the merrier."

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Baxter and Robinson had tired of chess. They were each brooding over a handful of cards when Moody, Frank, Lance Lovegood, Brown and Forbes approached them.

"Hello," said Robinson pleasantly, looking up from his hand. "Looks like we've got company. And how may we be of service to you this evening, gentlemen? I'd offer you a bite to eat, but I'm afraid the cupboard is bare, as the saying goes. You've missed supper."

He indicated a pile of empty paper bags and crumpled up serviettes on the floor by the wall.

Ignoring these platitudes, Moody asked, "Things okay here? Travers not giving you any trouble?"

"None at all," said Baxter, taking a card from the pack on the table, looking at it for a moment, arranging it among his hand and picking another card to discard.

"Going for Clubs _again_?" Robinson remarked. "Not very ingenious, are you?"

Baxter grunted, then looked up at Moody. "What's up, Alastor?"

"Laura Lovegood's gone missing," he replied. "Forbes here said she talked to him about guard duty down here, and we wondered if maybe she'd come down here at all to see things were all right. Did you see her?"

Baxter opened his mouth, but Robinson, always the quick one, beat him to it.

"Yes, we did see her. It must have been ... getting on for one o'clock, I'd say. She just took a quick look at Travers, we had a bit of a chat, and she went away again."

"Did she say where she was going?" Brown asked, eager to show he was trying to help now.

This time, Baxter managed to reply first. "A spot of lunch, she said."

"Yes," Robinson agreed. "That's right. Now I know how I remembered the time. She said she might just have time to go for something to eat at her favourite Chinese restaurant before the concert broadcast on WWN at two."

"The Chinese restaurant?" Lance repeated.

"That's right." Baxter nodded.

Frank and Moody both glanced at Laura's brother. There was a mildly puzzled look on his face. While Moody continued to ask the two card playing aurors more questions, Frank stepped up behind Lance and heard him muse to himself,

"... could have sworn she said closed down ..."

"Well, you two mind you stay on your toes," Moody was saying to Baxter and Robinson. "And we'll make our way to this Chinese place."

"Sir," Frank broke in. "Perhaps we should check on Travers ourselves before we go."

Robinson's blue eyes shifted to him, though the rest of his body remained unmoving. His face was impassive. Frank felt a cold shiver down his spine. His hand reached for the wand inside his robes. Moody was looking at Frank too. He glanced in slight puzzlement between the two young men, then his face cleared.

"Yes," he said. "Perhaps you're right."

"Travers is quite secure," Baxter said slowly.

"Really? Well, let's see him then. Open the door."

Baxter got to his feet and began unbolting the door, but there was something odd in his manner. He moved stiffly, tensely. And then, just as he began to open the door, the first curses were fired. There should have been no fight at all, not with five against two, but Baxter and Robinson were both quick and experienced duellers. Nevertheless, after about five minutes, both of them were on the floor, tied firmly with ropes conjured from thin air. Forbes mopped his brow.

"Good grief," he exclaimed. "What on earth's got into those two?"

"The _Imperius_ curse, I think," said Frank.

He pulled Lance Lovegood to his feet. The latter wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth and straightened his glasses.

"Thanks," he said.

Moody was approaching the cell door again. He opened it and looked inside.

"Oh hell!" he uttered before he could check himself.

"What is it?" asked Frank.

He stepped up beside Moody, peered into the cell, and gasped. Turning round quickly, he tried to hold up Lance, who had come up behind him, but he wasn't fast enough. The young man pushed past him, then stopped, paused.

"Laura?" he whispered.

His voice was unnaturally high. Frank looked down again at the figure that rested crumpled at the foot of the wall. Laura Lovegood's face was turned to the brickwork, her left leg caught awkwardly beneath her while the other was stretched out. Her left shoulder rested against the wall, her right arm hung limply down. Her clothes were torn, her hair a mess, and every part of her skin that they could see was bruised or cut. She looked like she had been thrown down there to be forgotten. With a pained moan, Lance rushed across to kneel beside her. He took her in his arms, and her head lolled against his chest. He held her close, then, suddenly, he straightened up with a jerk.

"What is it?" Frank asked.

"I ... I think ... she's breathing," Lance exclaimed.

"What!"

Moody limped to his side and tried to crouch down next to Lance, but his wooden leg wouldn't let him. He beckoned impatiently to Frank, who hurried over and reached for the young woman's neck. Frank nodded quickly.

"She's alive," he announced.

"Laura," Lance said, patting her face. "Laura ..."

Moody grabbed his wrist. "Wait. It's best if she stays unconscious for now. Goodness knows how many bones she's broken - the less she moves, the better."

But even as he said the words, Laura began to stir. She tried to move her head, but winced in pain.

"Hold her still," Moody warned Lance. "You help him, Frank. Don't let her move. Forbes!"

"Yes, sir?"

"Call St. Mungo's. Tell them to send someone. Hurry!"

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Malcolm felt tired, so very, very tired. Why couldn't they just end it all, why couldn't they kill him and be done with it? Why did it have to be dragged out so long, and why was everything so bright, so that his eyes ached even under their closed eyelids?

He felt hands touch his arms, and shook himself. He had had enough, he couldn't take another dose, he wouldn't take it. He still felt so weak, the last dose couldn't be that long ago, not long enough for it to be time for another, not yet. He wanted to sleep. He flung out his arms to throw off the hands. They let go of him at once, but he continued to flail about him, only vaguely aware that he was doing so, not sure if it was himself he could hear groaning or someone else.

"Is he conscious?" a voice asked, and he tried to work out whose it was.

The Lestrange woman's, perhaps. It sounded a bit like her, and then again, it didn't.

"I can't really tell," another voice replied, also a woman's, but a voice that meant nothing to him at all. "Mr. Marley," it went on, and the hands tried to touch him again. Again, he thrust them aside.

"May I?"

A third voice, once again female. But surely, one that he knew. A weight settled itself by his side, a warm hand rested on his chest. The voice spoke again, soothingly.

"Malcolm, it's all right. You're safe."

"I doubt if he can hear you," the unknown voice said. "He appears to be in some kind of world of his own."

"He can hear me," said the voice he knew.

Whose was it? It was warm, tender. It reminded him of the scent of lavender and his old bedroom with the posters of motor cars on the walls and of hot milk and biscuits. It reminded him, he suddenly realised, of his mother. But his mother was dead. Perhaps, then, this was death, he thought. If so, it wasn't so bad. He relaxed, and felt someone touch his cheek and hold his hand.

"You're safe," the voice said again.

He breathed deeply, knowing somehow that she was right, and drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

Sitting on the edge of her brother's bed, Faith looked around at the Hogwarts nurse.

"It's all right, Madam Pomfrey. I think he should just rest for the time being. I'll sit up."

"Doesn't he need some kind of treatment?" Pippa Pettigrew asked.

"It can wait until the morning, I suppose," Madam Pomfrey sighed. "Perhaps a good night's sleep is the best thing for him at the moment." She turned to look at the other people in the hospital wing. "Mr. Lupin, your arm is one thing that I think had better not wait until morning. Really, you should have come to me at once."

"I had to go home and let my family know Malcolm was all right first," he explained, not for the first time.

"Well, we know," said Remus. "And now we want to see that you're all right."

John looked back at him and squeezed his shoulder briefly.

"Come along, lie down," Madam Pomfrey commanded, guiding him to a bed. "Let me take a look."

"I don't think I need to lie down," he protested.

"It's no good arguing with her," Remus said with a slow smile. "Believe me, I know."

While Madam Pomfrey hurried off to fetch bandages, Pippa Pettigrew approached the bed, Peter by her side.

"John," she said softly, "I - I want to thank you. For looking after me. If it hadn't been for you ..."

He shook his head. "It wasn't I who saved your life tonight, Philippa. Nor my own ..."

His face darkened. She avoided all questioning looks from the other people in the room and said,

"Miss Dulac's body was already little more than an empty shell when she died, John, you saw that."

"Was it? Do we really know that? Can we be sure she couldn't have been cured?"

"I ..."

"No, Philippa. We don't know. We shall never know. All we know is that she was alive, and now she is dead."

"Someone had to die."

"Maybe. But no living person had a right to decide who ... not even Gordon Gryffindor."

Pippa bit her lip and said nothing more on the subject. She said her goodbyes to all in the room and departed, taking her brother with her.

"What was all that about?" Remus asked his father.

But John felt suddenly very weary, and not at all inclined to explain anything. He had not wanted to lie down, but now that he was here, lying on this soft hospital bed, he found his head drooping and his eyes closing whether he wanted them to or not.

"I'll explain in the morning," he murmured, and fell asleep there and then.


	30. Part 30: Recovery

**Prequel, Part 30: Recovery**

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**1 - Word Gets Out**

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It was still as dark as night in the bedroom James Potter and Sirius Black shared in the small London flat, but James did not turn on the light as he tiptoed back into the room after his shower, a flannel dressing gown wrapped tightly around him. It was an icy morning, even indoors, and though the curtains were still drawn, James was shivering so much that he was sure a fresh layer of snow must have fallen over night. He opened the wardrobe as quietly as he could and took out a clean set of clothes which he bundled under his arm. He had almost managed to slip noiselessly back into the hall with them when Sirius's sleepy voice murmured,

"What sort of time is it?"

It had been so quiet, and he spoke so suddenly out of the darkness, that James gave a start.

"Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"What d'you mean by that? If it's getting-up time, I've got to get up too."

"It isn't. It's only ten past six. Besides, Mum doesn't want you to get up, she says you're to take the day off and stay in bed."

Sirius tried to give a derisive snort, but it was cut short by a sneeze he was not quick enough to suppress, so he contented himself with protesting,

"It's just a cold. No need to behave like I'm dying upward."

"Shhh!" James hissed, pushing the door shut. He went over to his bed and began to change into the clothes he had failed to sneak out of the room. "Try not to say that kind of thing in front of Mum, will you?"

Sirius apologised, then asked, "What's she up to, anyway? Still lying down?"

"Far from it," James informed him. "She was up and dressed by the time I woke up. She claims she was awake early. I don't think she got much sleep at all last night. Look," he said, pausing as he was about to pull on a thick woollen sock, "have a word with her after I've gone out, will you? I've told her she ought to call in sick this morning, but she insists going to work will do her good, take her mind of things."

"Great idea," Sirius grumbled sarcastically, sitting up slowly, then waiting a moment for his head to clear. It was throbbing painfully, and he secretly felt a lot more like spending the day in bed than he was willing to admit to anyone. "So, where are you off to so early?"

"Lily's," James said, pulling a jumper over his shirt. "She said she'd be up early."

"I don't suppose she'll have slept much either," Sirius said dully. "Give her my ... I mean, tell her ... I didn't get a chance to say last night..."

James smiled, though Sirius couldn't see it in the dark. "I'll tell her. And you talk to Mum, okay?" He came over and patted Sirius on the shoulder. "And take it easy, Padfoot. See you this evening."

Sirius waited until he had heard the front door close behind James a short while later before making a first effort to get up. It took him some time to actually manage it, however. He really did have a splitting headache, his throat was horribly sore and his nose simply would not stop itching. By the time he came out into the hall, he found Bridget already there, dressed in a heavy coat, with her gloves on and a scarf tied around her head. She turned a pale face towards him.

"Sirius, what are you doing up? James said he'd told you to stay in bed. I've left you a note on the kitchen table, and there's some soup in the saucepan if you don't want anything too solid to eat, you only need to warm it up..."

"Why don't you just stay here and keep an eye on me?"

She shook her head. "No, dear, I can't. Didn't James tell you? I need to get out..."

"And serve grumpy customers who've left their shopping too late, just to keep busy? Come on, Bridget, you know you're going to be too preoccupied for that. Ring up and say you've got the flu. You can tell them you caught it off me, if you like, I don't mind."

Bridget's anxious face split into an affectionate smile, and she touched his cheek briefly. "Don't worry about me, Sirius. I'll be all right. Besides, with any luck, we won't have to wait long before we know ... I've sent a message to Professor Dumbledore, asking him to send me any news at the shop."

"And if the news isn't what you want to hear? Do you really want to be at the shop when you find out?"

Bridget's smile vanished quickly and she turned away at once. "I'll see you lunchtime," she said hurriedly, and was gone before he had a chance to say another word.

Shaking his head, Sirius went into the kitchen where, sure enough, there was a note lying by the toaster, alongside a bottle of pepper-up potion and a spoon. He read the note, took some of the potion as instructed, and fetched the magical wireless from the bottom cupboard, turning it on as he set about concocting a light breakfast for himself - he was not quite ready to admit he was ill enough for something as distasteful as a healthy bowl of pea soup - and listening as he did so.

"_... officials confirmed that this was not, as was first suspected, a Death Eater act against the muggle population, but merely a case of muggle-baiting, not uncommon in certain circles. While the Ministry does not condone this kind of behaviour in the slightest, an unnamed spokesman told our reporters that 'Naturally we are relieved to discover for once that we are dealing with petty trouble-makers rather than ruthless killers capable of such deeds as were perpetrated last night'. He was referring, of course, to the tragedy that befell the muggle hamlet of Tipton on the Moor on which we reported earlier. Investigations on site appear to indicate that the extermination of the entire village was actually an act of vengeance, the Death Eaters' true target proving not to have been present. The cottage belonging to the only witch within miles - a Miss Enid Borealis, originally from London - was found to have been burnt to the ground. The whereabouts of Enid Borealis and her niece are, apparently, unknown..."_

Sirius was not, as a rule, someone who was easily shaken or startled. But at these words, he almost dropped the plate he was holding. A slice of toast slid off it onto the floor, with the buttered side facing downwards. Sirius took his wand from the pocket of his dressing gown and waved it. The dustbin opened itself and the toast went soaring into it, while a damp cloth hurried to wipe the floor. Sirius, however, saw none of this, as he had already put down his plate on the table and was on his way back to the bedroom to get dressed.

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The Lupins had all spent the night in the hospital wing at Hogwarts, where they had thankfully been undisturbed. They had breakfasted with Dumbledore in his office rather than drawing attention to themselves by joining the staff table in the Great Hall, and now John and Remus were preparing to take their leave and set out for the Ministry. As all three descended the stairs and passed the gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the headmaster's office, Remus turned to his father.

"You still haven't explained what you and Pippa were talking about last night. You said something about James's grandfather not having the right to decide who should die."

John's face was grave as he answered,

"I don't know that this is the right time or place to discuss it."

"You did say you would explain in the morning," his wife reminded him gently.

"I know, but I'm afraid it will have to wait a while longer. There are too many people about here."

As though to prove his point, a group of students appeared at the top of the stairs and began walking towards them at that very moment. Among them was Fabian Prewett, who spotted Remus immediately and came over to say good morning, bringing with him a pale, fair-haired boy.

"Hello, Remus!" Fabian exclaimed. "Hello, Mrs. Lupin, Mr. Lupin..." He shook hands all round and introduced his companion as Barty Crouch, jnr. "What are you all doing here?" Fabian went on. "Is it ... you know ... _business_?" He lowered his voice slightly.

"No," John said quickly, and unwilling to converse any further so out in the open, he added, "I'm sorry, but we must be going. Good bye."

His words were rather curt, which clearly puzzled Fabian. Remus hung back a little behind his parents to apologise.

"Sorry, Fabian," he murmured. "As you can see, Dad had a little trouble at work yesterday, and he's still a bit ... under the weather, you know."

"Yesterday?" Barty Crouch echoed. "But it was Sunday."

Remus shrugged his shoulders. "You don't get many Sundays off when you work for the Ministry these days. Now I really must catch up with my parents. Bye."

He hurried after his mother and father, who had started down the stairs. Barty watched him go, a curious expression on his face.

"What's up?" Fabian asked him.

"I was just wondering what they were really doing here so early on a Monday morning. And what Mr. Lupin's done to his arm. Didn't you say he had an office job?"

On the stairs, Remus asked his father,

"You will explain this evening what happened, won't you? Promise?"

John nodded. "All right."

They had reached the front door and stepped out into icy cold air and sunlight.

"Will you be going straight to the Ministry?" Faith asked.

Remus said he would, but John shook his head.

"I'll meet you there," he told Remus. "There's something I want to see to first ... personally."

He gave a slow smile, which Faith returned. "I see," she said. "Well, you'd better be going then. I'll see you this evening."

She kissed him, then hugged Remus, and watched them both leave before turning back into the castle with a shiver. It was indeed a bitter cold morning, in spite of the sunshine.

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At St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Alastor Moody and Frank Longbottom were just passing the reception desk on their way to the exit while the wireless was broadcasting the report that almost made Sirius break a plate.

" ..._was referring, of course, to the tragedy that befell the muggle hamlet of Tipton on the Moor on which we reported earlier..."_

Frank stopped in his tracks, and stopped in the middle of speaking to Moody. The latter, surprised, also stopped walking to turn around and look at him.

"What's up? Left something behind upstairs?" he asked.

Frank shook his head. "The wireless," he said. "Didn't you hear?"

He strode towards the desk, Moody in tow, and asked a yawning girl in a green overall to turn up the volume, which she did reluctantly.

"_... indicate that the extermination of the entire village was actually an act of vengeance..."_

Moody frowned. "I hate bad news in the morning." He glanced at Frank again. "You all right?"

Frank did not answer, but asked the girl who had turned up the volume for him,

"Did you catch the name of the place?"

"What place?" she asked in turn.

"The place they were talking about just now."

"Oh, that." She frowned. "Something on the moor, wasn't it?"

Clearly, she had not been listening very attentively. Frank waved aside Moody's further enquiries to listen more closely.

"_... only witch within eighty miles - a Miss Enid Borealis, originally from London..."_

At this point, Moody no longer required any explanation. He swore loudly. Frank was, by now, very pale.

"They ... they _exterminated_ the village?" he echoed feebly. "Sir, does that mean..."

"I'm afraid it probably means exactly what you're thinking," Moody grunted. "They went there looking for our young friend and when they didn't find her, they killed everyone just for spite."

The older auror grasped Frank by the shoulder and led him out of earshot of the desk.

"I'm going to go down to Tipton myself and take a look at the damage that's been done. Meanwhile I want you..."

"... to go to the Hall and let Aurora know?"

"No. That can wait. She's been through a lot; better let her rest as long as she can - and at least until you've done the same. Go home and get some sleep. You've been on your feet since yesterday morning, you'll be a lot more use to everyone when you've had forty winks."

Frank shook his head. "I won't be able to sleep anyway, not after this news."

"Go home," Moody repeated, "Take a rest. No detours, all right? I want you to promise me you'll go straight home."

After a brief hesitation, Frank agreed.

"Good lad," said Moody.

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**2 - Two Kinds of News**

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The round, merry face of Mrs. Wilhelmina Shaw was creased into a permanent frown this Monday morning. She had meant for this to be a good day. Christmas was approaching rapidly, and that meant that more and more customers would be pouring into her little bookshop, desperate for some work of literature with which they could present those relatives on Christmas Day for whom it was hard to find a suitable gift. At this time of year, Mrs. Shaw dealt cheerfully with grandparents seeking a suitable fairy story, husbands who had got it into her heads that their wives would like nothing better than a new cookery book - something the experienced Mrs. Shaw invariably advised against - and wives looking for 'something on DIY'. Yes, this time of year was always a good one for Mrs. Shaw's little establishment.

Today should have been one of those good days of Christmas shopping when the little bell over the door never stopped ringing, harmonising beautifully with the ting-ting of the cash register on the counter. But today was not turning out to be a cheerful day at all. Admittedly, Mrs. Shaw could not complain at the amount of business she was doing this morning, but she was not having a lucky day where her staff was concerned. Not only had Jessie Simmons rung early in the morning to say she had caught a bad touch of the flu and would have to spend the day in bed, but Elaine Lowe had been most disgruntled when asked to stand in for her colleague. And then there was Bridget Potter.

Wilhelmina Shaw had liked Bridget Potter from the first moment she had set eyes on her. That had been a good fifteen years or more ago, and though the girl's clothes had seemed more than a little shabby at the time, there had been something about her even then that had told Mrs. Shaw that this was no ordinary young woman. Even in a threadbare coat, Bridget Potter had immediately struck the storekeeper as a real little lady, but there had been more than that ... there had been a sense of tragedy about her that was immensely appealing to someone who had spent the greater part of her life reading novels that told of hopeless loves, relentless hates and undying passions.

Bridget Potter had entered the shop that day, at roughly this time of year, as one of the many shoppers who did not know quite what to get their friends and loved ones for Christmas, and Mrs. Shaw had asked her what she could do for her, and the girl had hesitated and then said, quite unexpectedly, that she not only needed a present for a dear old lady, but that she was also looking for a job that would allow her to pay for it. And Mrs. Shaw had provided her with both, on the spot and without hesitation. But this was not all that Mrs. Shaw had supplied Bridget Potter with. In her mind, she had also given her a history that she was secretly sure must be far more exciting and romantic than the true story, as she knew from experience that real life was rarely as thrilling as fiction. Bridget Potter had claimed to be a widow left alone with a small son, but Mrs. Shaw had made up her mind that that son - if indeed he was her son, which she doubted, considering her new employee's youth - was illegitimate, and that Bridget Potter had, in truth, been the victim of some heartless young man who toyed with girls' feelings and threw them over when asked to take on any kind of responsibility.

But be that as it may, Mrs. Shaw had taken a liking to the pretty young thing with the large, sad brown eyes and thick curls, and now, though many years had passed and much water had flown down the Thames since then, she was still rather fonder of her than either Jessie or Elaine. And that was why Mrs. Shaw was frowning this Monday morning. Bridget Potter, the young woman who inspired both a genuine fondness and an insatiable curiosity in her, was in the worst state she had ever seen her - and that was saying something, considering how gloomy she had been for the past several months. Not only did Bridget flinch any time someone spoke to her, but she seemed positively alarmed every time the bell rang, she kept dropping things, and tears seemed to start into her eyes whenever she was asked what was the matter. Tears were filling her eyes once more now as Mrs. Shaw said,

"My dear, I do wish you'd only tell me what's wrong. I can't have you looking so upset and not know the reason. I feel I ought to give you a cup of tea in the back room, but I'm afraid I really can't leave the shop this morning, busy as we are."

"It's all right, Mrs. Shaw," Bridget said with an effort at self-control. "Please don't worry about me."

"Poor thing," cooed Mrs. Shaw, patting her cheek. "I wish I knew how to cheer you up..."

Little did she know, as she bustled away and left Bridget to replace a pile of books on their shelf at the back of the shop, that she would not need to worry much longer. It was barely ten minutes later that she was winding her little round body in and out of the customers who stood scattered about her shop to get to Bridget Potter once more.

"Ah, there you are, dear," she exclaimed with no real surprise, since Bridget was still where she had left her.

"Yes?" said Bridget rather anxiously. "What is it?"

"There's a gentleman come to see you," Mrs. Shaw announced. "I don't know who he is, never seen him before. It's not that nice young man who's called for you here before. This one's much darker, for a start, and a bit older, I'd say ... and I happened to notice he's wearing a wedding ring ... But 'gentleman' certainly seems the right word ... There's something about him, you know. Not just looks, it's more than that. He seems to have been roughed up a bit though..."

"What?" The word burst out of Bridget like the crack of a whip. "Where is he?" she asked urgently.

"Just by the counter," Mrs. Shaw replied, but Bridget was already on her way.

She murmured apologies as she pushed past the customers that lined the aisle between the bookshelves and did not stop until she could see the person Mrs. Shaw had been speaking of.

"John!" she exclaimed, her voice shaking.

He turned towards her, and for a moment Bridget just gazed up at him. His mouth twitched into a smile, and Bridget rushed forward and threw both arms around his neck, calling as she did so,

"John, I'm so glad ... I've been so afraid..."

"It's all right," he replied gently, patting her back with his good arm and very much conscious of the stares they were getting from all around. "There's no more need for that."

Pulling herself together for a moment, Bridget took him by the arm and hurriedly led him through the door behind the counter into a small office. She closed the door without sparing a further thought for all the puzzled people outside, not to mention her employer, and looked at John fondly.

"Thank goodness you're all right," she said with feeling. "Did it go according to plan? Is everyone safe?"

He nodded. "Yes, we all got back safely, greatly thanks to Professor Dumbledore and ... your father." He hesitated a little, and his smile faded slightly as he said the last two words. He hitched it back into place. "I can't pretend I wasn't very much afraid we wouldn't make it. Luckily, Professor Dumbledore arrived by phoenix just in time. He got Fawkes to carry Malcolm back to Hogwarts at once. Then he and your father held off Voldemort and the Death Eaters while the rest of us got back into the boat."

"Voldemort? They held back the Dark Lord himself?"

"Yes." John's voice grew thoughtful. "I think we owe a lot of that to the element of surprise. The last thing Voldemort had expected was to be confronted by Albus Dumbledore and Gryffindor's heir at the same time. I think ... yes, I think he was afraid," he finished with a note of satisfaction.

"And Malcolm?" Bridget asked quietly. "Is he ... all right?"

"Professor Dumbledore seems confident that he will be."

"You don't sound sure. What is it, John? What happened?"

John sank into a chair and began telling her. He recited the whole story to her, more explicitly than he had yet told anyone else. He only left out one detail. When he had finished, he suddenly felt as weary again as he had last night. He studied Bridget's reaction. For a moment she was completely still. Then she asked with forced calm,

"Do you think Malcolm will recover ... completely?"

"They're analysing the stuff he was given at Hogwarts at this very moment and Dumbledore's going to consult an expert he knows. Once they know what it was, they'll be able to treat him more efficiently. If it was a very complex potion, it may take time to brew a direct remedy, but Madam Pomfrey didn't seem too concerned, and Remus says she's excellent."

"What do you think?" Bridget persisted.

"I've never claimed to be much good at dealing out hope," John said slowly. "But Malcolm always was, and that's what matters. He doesn't give in easily. I think ... for once I feel optimistic ... After all this, I think ... he'll be all right."

Bridget gazed down at him quite steadily for a moment. Then her lip suddenly trembled and she began to cry without further warning. John got up quickly and put his arm around her. She clung to him tightly, sobbing her heart out against his chest. John kissed her forehead gently, but said nothing. Whether he wanted it to or not, his mind kept returning to that one part of the story he had left out, the moment when Paula Lestrange's wand had been pointed at his chest, when she had spoken the words of the killing curse and it had not struck him, but that unfortunate woman he had 'rescued' from her cell moments beforehand. He could still see her lifeless face before him, and hear Gordon's voice shouting at him from out of nowhere to get out.

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Aurora Borealis woke up much sooner on Monday morning than she had the previous day. This was partly down to the fact that she was recovering, and partly owing to Cheesy the rat, who was employing his preferred method of waking her by nibbling at her ear. Feeling very much better than she had before she had closed her eyes last night, Aurora pushed him playfully aside and stretched. She got up and drew the curtains aside to look at the snow-covered grounds below, forgetting for a while what was going on in the world beyond these four walls, forgetting even the mission to rescue Malcolm, of which Frank had told her briefly before leaving last night. She had had a good night's sleep, she felt rested and content.

It was a good half hour later that Cronky the house elf appeared to enquire after her needs.

"Is you wanting sausages for breakfast, Miss?" he asked cheerfully. "Beans? Mushrooms? Master told Cronky to say you may have what you wants."

"Just some bacon and egg, if it's no trouble," Aurora replied, then remembering what she had been told last night, she added, "Is your master back then? Did everything go according to plan?"

"Cronky is not knowing details, Miss, but Cronky's master is not seeming dissatisfied. Would Miss perhaps like to change?"

"Change?"

"Cronky has had some clothes put in the wardrobe for you while you were sleeping."

Aurora went over to the item of furniture he indicated and opened it. "Hello ... these are my own!" she exclaimed, examining the contents. "How did you get them here?"

"Cronky did not, Miss. It was the young gentleman that brought you here. The one who is bringing Miss her rat."

He cast a disapproving, large-eyed glance at Cheesy, who was happily nibbling away at the bedspread. Aurora hastily told off her rat and made a mental note to ask Frank where he had got her clothes from. She asked Cronky to bring her breakfast a little later and went for a bath. She had only just returned to her room and discovered that the house elves had already made the bed when there was a knock at the door. It was another house elf, not Cronky this time, who entered and announced in a shy, squeaky voice,

"There is a young gentleman to see Miss, if Miss is not minding."

"Of course not!" Aurora answered eagerly. "Show him in ... Frank, your earl..." she began, then stopped. It was not Frank who entered. Her jaw dropped a little as the door closed behind the house elf. "Sirius!" she exclaimed. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"I heard the news," he said, and it sounded like his nose was badly blocked. "On the wireless. So I just chucked some clothes on and came round at once. Rory, I'm so sorry..."

He started towards her, but Aurora's utterly bewildered stare stopped him.

"What are you talking about?" she asked.

He seemed puzzled. "What am I ... Rory, it was on the news on the wireless this morning. The village ... They mentioned someone with your surname and said something about a niece, and I thought ... well, it's not exactly a common name. I was sure it had something to do with you, especially coming on top of what happened yesterday."

"Yesterday?" she echoed. "Why, what did happen yesterday?"

It was his turn to stare. "What ... do you meant to say you don't ... hasn't anyone told you?"

"Told me what? Sirius..." She found herself growing anxious, while he became positively awkward. "Sirius, what is it? What are you talking about?"

Sirius backed away a little, muttering, "You really don't know, do you? Oh hell! I thought they'd have told you by now. I came to offer you my sympathy and tell you, if there's anything I can do ... but I had no idea ... I don't think I should be the one to tell you."

"Tell me what?" she asked, her voice a little shaky now. "Sirius?"

Sirius coughed, blew his nose and mopped his brow - partly because he needed to, partly to play for time. Then he guided her to the bed and made her sit down. Aurora was peering at him worriedly. He began with a sigh.

"There have been attacks. One on your place, yesterday. One on a village, last night."

Her face very pale, Aurora asked, "What kind of attacks?"

"Death Eater attacks, of course," Sirius said with a note of impatience. "What else? You've made yourself unpopular with them and it looks like they mean to get rid of you."

"Get rid of me? You mean ... they set out on purpose to kill me?"

"Yes. First at your flat, then in some village or other. What's it called..."

"Tipton?" she suggested tremulously.

Sirius nodded. "Yes, that was it. Well, they didn't find you there, luckily..."

"But what did they do? Oh, Sirius, they didn't ... they didn't hurt anyone..."

"Rory..." He grasped her shoulders and looked at her steadily and sympathetically. "I'm sorry. They ... killed..."

She shivered. "How many?"

"As I understand it, they wiped out that whole village. And at your flat ... most people got out alive, but Lily was there getting some of your things for you with her dad. She's all right, but he's ... He didn't make it."

Aurora stared at him, her eyes widening as she understood what he was saying. "Lily's dad? Oh no..."

Sirius pulled her closer to him and held her tightly. Aurora let him, without showing any reaction. She felt as though she were trapped in a bad dream and unable to wake up. She wanted very much to cry, but found she couldn't. She wanted to be held, but at the same time found she would rather have been alone. Sirius stroked her hair, then raised her chin with his forefinger to look into her face. He looked more genuinely concerned than she had ever seen him, but she was not in the mood to care. Her thoughts were in a total and utter whirl.

"You mustn't blame yourself, Rory."

"Of course not," she said, startled by the coldness of her own voice. "I don't feel blame. I don't feel ... anything..."

Sirius looked at her a minute longer then, impulsively, he inclined his face towards hers and kissed her. It lasted for a long moment before he drew back. Aurora was staring at him, looking more dazed than ever. Sirius began to say something, but she got up as though in a dream and walked to the window. He made to follow her, but Cheesy seemed to decide that the time was right to intervene, and launched an attack on Sirius's shoes which Aurora did nothing to stop. Sirius retreated. After he had gone, she leaned her forehead against the windowpane and stared out. But she no longer saw anything.

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Frank Longbottom had gone home as Mr. Moody had instructed. Once there, he had even gone straight to bed. But after lying awake for an hour or more, he decided that it was just no use. He could never go to sleep with so much on his mind. He got out of bed again, took a quick shower and put on a clean set of muggle clothes. Then he set out for Gryffindor Hall. It was time to tell Aurora what had been happening, break it to her gently before she found out from the wireless or the _Daily Prophet_ or by some other unfeeling means.

The front doorstep of Gryffindor Hall was free of snow, though it lay in heaps that reached as high as Frank's waist on either side of the door. He rang the bell and did not have to wait long for the appearance of one of the many house elves that worked here, and knew him by sight. On entering the hallway, he was greeted first of all by Gordon Gryffindor himself, who appeared to be crossing it on his way to the drawing room.

"Sir!" Frank exclaimed. "You're back! Did it go all right last night?"

"Good morning, Frank", said the old wizard. "Yes, our expedition was a success. But from what I have heard on the wireless just now, last night was not a good one for everyone."

"No, quite. That's what I've just come about. Has anyone told Aurora yet?"

At that moment they were joined, not by Aurora, but by Aunt Enid.

"Frank!" she cried and came straight up to him. She was looking dishevelled in a pink quilted dressing gown, carpet slippers and hairnet, and she was slightly teary-eyed and even more flustered than usual. "Oh, I am glad you're here. Have you heard the news? Well, of course, you must have done, it's so early in the morning still. Oh, to think of all those poor people, and Mrs. Gibbs just expecting her third too - though one could say the poor thing had a lucky escape. Imagine being christened Eucharist, or Magdalena if it was a girl. Oh dear, and all those youngsters enjoying snowball fights and looking forward to the Christmas holidays, and I'd just got that recipe for mince pies from Mrs. Drower too..."

"I'm very sorry about what happened," Frank said quickly, grasping his opportunity as soon as she paused for breath. "I can understand you must be very upset. Does your niece know yet?"

"Oh, I don't think so, unless that was what that young man wanted to talk to her about."

"Young man?" It was Gordon who asked the question, but he did not need to wait for an answer, for Sirius appeared on the stairs at that very instant and called out a greeting to them all.

Suddenly quite at a loss for anything more to say, Frank stared and watched him come down the stairs. Sirius, for his part, did not seem too keen on looking at Frank at all. He was exaggeratedly casual as he came up to them, asking brightly of Gordon whether everyone was all right and practically ignoring both Frank and Aunt Enid, until the latter said she was going to get herself a cup of tea, and Gordon accompanied her. Left alone together, Sirius and Frank did not speak for a few moments. Finally Sirius said hoarsely,

"Well, I suppose I'd better be off now. I'm meant to be in bed curing this cold, you know. Just thought I'd pop in on Rory, see how she'd taken the news. I didn't know she hadn't heard anything about it yet," he added with a laugh that fell rather flat. He eyed Frank, who still hadn't found his voice, and snatched up his cloak. "Well," he began again. "I'll see you sometime, I expect."

At last Frank thought of something to say. "Did you tell her about what happened?"

"Yes," Sirius replied shortly. "Didn't have much choice, after bursting in on her like that. She didn't take it too well, I'm afraid. Perhaps you can cheer her up a bit. I tried, but ... I'm not sure it had the desired effect. See you," he finished, and went out quickly.

Frank hesitated a moment. Finally he took off his cloak and gloves and deposited them over the back of the same armchair where Sirius's had been before, then he climbed the stairs. He knocked softly at Aurora's door. There was a moment's pause before she called out to him to come in. He did so, and was immediately greeted by Cheesy the rat, who scurried around his feet a few times before taking up a position by the dressing table. Aurora was looking out of the window, but she turned around now. Her face was pale, but quite expressionless. She looked at Frank steadily.

"Oh, it's you," she said, and her voice was unmistakably cold. "What do you want?"

Frank said slowly, "I came to tell you the news."

"You're too late," she snapped. "I've already heard."

"Yes, I know. Sirius told me."

She snorted. "He's good at that today, isn't he? Going around telling people things they'd rather not hear?"

"You had to know eventually."

"Eventually?" She repeated the word bitterly. "How long was that supposed to take? Were you thinking of telling me next weekend over tea and biscuits? Or maybe Christmas Day, that would have been a nice treat."

"Aurora..."

"It happened yesterday!" she yelled suddenly. "Yesterday! You were here after it happened. And you didn't tell me anything about it."

"I only heard about the village on the wireless this morning."

"You knew about the other, didn't you? You knew about my flat, and about Lily's dad!"

"Yes, I knew about that. But there was nothing you could have done about it, it was too late for anyone to do anything. I didn't think anything could be gained by telling you then rather than now. It seemed better to let you have one more night's peace first."

She snorted vehemently. "A fine peace I've had. Sirius blurted out all about being sorry before I even knew what he was talking about, and then he ended up telling me. Do you think that was the ideal way for me to find out?"

"Probably not. His turning up here this morning wasn't exactly part of the plan."

"The plan! What was your plan? Did you plan to come along here and break it to me gently? Did you think I'd have a good cry on your shoulder and that would be it? Did you think it wouldn't occur to me that all those people needn't have died if you'd told me at once what the Death Eaters had done in London?"

For a moment Frank wasn't sure what she was trying to say, and he told her so. Aurora's eyes blazed.

"If you had told me about Lily's father when you should have done, the attack on Tipton could have been prevented. I could have gone there, I could have made sure they found me..."

"They'd have killed you!" Frank exclaimed, raising his voice to her for the first time ever. "All the special powers in the world couldn't have saved you!"

"Maybe!" she cried. "Maybe they would have killed me, but at least I wouldn't have had to go on living with the knowledge that a whole village full of innocent people were murdered because of me, because the Death Eaters didn't find me there!"

"It would have made no difference if they had found you there, they'd still have killed everyone else too, it's their idea of sport! I thought you'd have realised that by now."

"You don't know what they'd have done!" she retorted hotly. "They might have let the others go if they'd got what they came for. But, of course, I was given no such choice. You decided that a village of muggles was worthless, just as long as we could all have a good night's sleep!"

"I decided...? Aurora, you don't know what you're saying..."

"Don't I? Then tell me why no one did anything to protect those people, tell me why you're standing here calm as anything and they're all dead!"

Frank looked at her without speaking for a moment. When he opened his mouth again, he spoke very quietly, almost sadly,

"Maybe you're right, perhaps I should have realised the village might still be in danger, even though we'd removed all possible targets. But I don't think I have reason to feel guilty about it, any more than you do. And I don't think I deserve being spoken to like that. I don't think you really believe I don't care about the innocent people who died last night. I also don't think this has anything to do with anything I should or shouldn't have done, or told you. Does it?"

Aurora stared back at him, looking suddenly confused.

Frank said glumly, "It's because it was Sirius who told you, isn't it? Do you still care about him that much?"

When Aurora said nothing, he turned around and walked out of the room and along the passage. The door fell shut behind him with a bang. Aurora stared at the place where he had been standing. She sank down onto the bed and went on staring. Cheesy came scurrying up to her, clambered onto the bed and nudged her, but she took no notice of him. She simply sat there, staring ahead of her. After a rather long time, she felt both the heat and the numbness ebb away, and outright misery swept over her. Suddenly realising what she had done, she jumped up so abruptly that the rat squealed with fright. Aurora ran out into the passage herself.

"Frank!" she shouted urgently and started running down the stairs, tears beginning to stream down her face. "Frank, wait, don't go! Frank!"

She reached the front door and tore it open, but just then the door to the kitchens opened behind her.

"Aurora!" her aunt cried. "My dear, what on earth is the matter? You frightened the life out of me."

Aurora spun round. "Oh, Aunt Enid..." she began unhappily, then broke off. Aunt Enid was not alone. Frank was standing beside her.

"Y-you're still here?" Aurora stammered, taken aback. "I thought you'd left."

"Your aunt was kind enough to offer me some toast. I haven't had any breakfast yet."

"Oh."

Aurora walked back to the stairs and sat down on the steps. Aunt Enid hesitated a moment, then she left them alone together. Aurora looked up a little shyly.

"I thought I'd driven you away."

Frank shook his head. "You won't find it that easy to get rid of me. I just thought it would be best to give you a bit of time to think."

"I'm so sorry," Aurora murmured. "I shouldn't have said what I did, it was stupid of me. I know you were only doing what you thought was best, I know you'd have done anything you could for those poor people if you'd known what would happen, and I know you only wanted to protect me, it's just..."

"Yes?" Frank prompted her.

"You were right. It's because it was Sirius. I just so wish that ... that _you _had told me instead."

Frank sighed heavily. "I see," he said quietly, and came to sit down beside her.

"It's over between us," Aurora said quickly. "It has been since that day when I found out he'd been kissing another girl. It wasn't just that, of course, I could have forgiven him one kiss ... well, actually, to be fair, I suppose I couldn't," she admitted ruefully. "I wanted him to myself. I'm selfish, I know, but I wanted to feel he wasn't interested in any other girl; I wanted him to take me seriously and treat me seriously. It was silly, of course. What I wanted was for Sirius not to be Sirius. But I got over that. I turned to Remus instead. He was so much the opposite of Sirius. He was always gentle, always kind, always sincere and loyal. He was also most definitely not interested in me." She gave an unhappy laugh. "I kissed him, did you know? I kissed him and it completely startled him, poor dear. It was a mistake. But it taught me something. I suppose that's what mistakes are for, don't you think so?"

"So they say."

"But how many mistakes does one have to make? How many kisses does it take to find out what's good for you and what gets you burnt? How many times do I have to let someone kiss me and find out it was a mistake? And why does it have to turn everything upside down?"

"I'm not sure I understand you," Frank said slowly.

"No, I don't suppose you do. I don't suppose you've ever made such a mistake."

"I've certainly never kissed Remus."

Aurora glanced at him sideways, and gave a small, watery smile. "I'm relieved to hear it," she said. Then she added dismally, "I shouldn't be thinking about all this, not now. Confusing as my romantic entanglements may be, there are more important things to worry about. What I said earlier was nonsense, I don't really blame you for any of this, but I do wish ... I wish there was something I could do to make sure no one ever has to suffer because of me again. There has to be a way. After all, I can't hide away here forever."

"We'll find a way," Frank said reassuringly. "But not right at this minute. You may be tired of hearing it, but you do need to rest."

"Dear Frank."

She smiled at him more openly now, and studied his face closely. With a shock, she realised she was doing so for the first time. He had altered greatly since their early days at Hogwarts. He was taller and thinner, and a lot darker. She also noticed how the thin lines of his brows were drawn together, how weary his eyes were. Her expression changed to one of concern.

"You look exhausted," she remarked.

"I am rather." He yawned. "It's been a long night."

"What have you been up to?"

"There was some trouble at the Ministry. Two aurors had been placed under the Imperius curse and they let the Death Eater they were supposed to be guarding escape - the one Malcolm was impersonating. And then they battered another auror about, Laura Lovegood. Mr. Moody's furious. He's rather fond of her, I think."

"Is Miss Lovegood all right?"

"St. Mungo's will have some work to do patching her up, but they seem pretty sure there won't be too much permanent damage."

"And Malcolm?"

"I haven't heard much, but I think he's safe at Hogwarts. He's another one who needs a good rest."

"And Frank Longbottom?"

He returned her smile faintly. "He could do with some rest too, but you know what they say. There's no rest for the wicked."

"Then they can't be talking about you. I've yet to sense even the remotest hint of wickedness about you, and I am considered to be a highly skilled legilimens, you know."

"Well, if you want to keep that nicely non-wicked image of me, perhaps you'd better not put your skills to the test right now."

"I have no intention of ever putting them to the test on you. I don't think I need to. I've just discovered I only need to look at you."

"Really? I didn't realise I was wearing my heart on my sleeve, I must remember to change my shirt more often..."

"Not on your sleeve, no." She looked deeply into his eyes, ignoring the quip, and suddenly she stopped smiling and her face grew sad once more. "Frank?"

"Yes, Aurora?"

"Remember my mentioning something about crying on your shoulder?"

"Yes."

"Do you mind...?"

And she moved nearer to him, pulled his arm around her own shoulders, and leaned her head sideways against his.

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Sirius returned home with very confused thoughts in his head. He was cross, and he didn't really know quite why or with whom. He went through the options in his mind. Was he cross with Frank? Did he have reason to be? Frank had not told Rory what had been going on yesterday, and things might have been less awkward if he had done so. Yes, if Frank had told Rory ... then Frank might have got her odd reaction instead and he, Sirius, could have come in today, solicitous, and his kiss might have been more kindly received. As he formed this last thought, he felt a nagging in the back of his mind that he could not quite suppress, and seemed to hear a voice that sounded uncannily like Remus's say,

_It's no use trying to blame Frank. You're the one who's acted like the lowest kind of cad. You made use of her grief to try and make her say she'll have you back._

"Rubbish. I was just trying to comfort her, that's all," Sirius muttered out loud. He walked into the kitchen to see about preparing himself the breakfast he had skipped earlier.

_You've behaved like an idiot_, said the voice in his mind. _You should never have gone round there_.

Sirius gave a snort that gave way at once to a fit of sneezing. "And I suppose this is my punishment," he grumbled to no one in particular as he reluctantly fetched a handkerchief and went to sit on the sofa in the living room. He leaned back his head and closed his eyes. He could see Aurora looking back at him quite clearly. Her expression was reproachful. She opened her mouth to speak, but he did not hear what she said. He was more exhausted than he cared to admit, and in only a few moments, he had fallen asleep.

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**3 - Brothers**

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Philippa Pettigrew stood at the head of the great staircase in Hogwarts' entrance hall watching students pouring towards the doors of the Great Hall on their way to lunch, as they did every day. The backdrop of noise, laughter, shouting and even bullying however did not penetrate the curtain of her thoughts today as it normally did. She didn't hear even the smallest snippet of conversation of those children that passed nearest to her. Her mind was so far lost in thought that she literally jumped an inch or two when Professor McGonagall's voice spoke at her elbow.

"Oh, sorry," she said quickly. "I didn't hear you coming. You were saying...?"

But the older woman did not repeat her words. Instead she cocked her head a little to one side and regarded Pippa with mild concern.

"Are you quite well?" she asked. "You look pale."

"I'm quite all right," Pippa assured her. "Just a little tired, I suppose. And..."

"Yes?"

With a sigh, Pippa went on, "I think I'm beginning to realise just how naive I was. To think that I offered to go in Mr. Marley's place..."

"You did? I was not aware of that."

The young woman shook her head. "No, I - I only suggested it to him, but he wouldn't hear of it. It seemed such a wonderful thing to do, so noble. And I thought ... maybe if I went, if I was able to help by spying ... perhaps I could make up, at least a little, for my sister's faults."

"From what I can gather, your sister has more than 'faults'," McGonagall remarked coldly.

Pippa blinked. "That's just it. Last night, I realised ... I've been a fool. All along, I've thought if I could only reach her, if I could talk to her ... She's my sister. And deep down, I've always believed that she could be better, that she _was_ better than she made out to be. But I know now how wrong I was. Her hate for me is as real as her hate for everything and everyone else. The sister I imagined myself to possess all through my childhood has gone, if she was ever there." She looked around appealingly. "Professor, can you understand how that makes me feel?"

"Not entirely," McGonagall said slowly. "I have experienced ... loss ... But not in this way. Everyone loses people they care about, but they are real people. I imagine that to find someone you cared for never really existed can be worse. When one loses a loved one, at least one has memories to hold on to."

"My good memories are as much figments of my imagination as the person I saw in her. I imagined I could see some good in her because I wanted to see it, because I thought that she must secretly feel as I do. But she doesn't. And now..."

McGonagall grasped her by the shoulder. "Philippa, now is not the time to dwell on what is done and can't be undone. There is a part of your past and present that is real. Your brother, I am sure, is genuinely fond of you. I think perhaps you should spend some more time with him. After all, we never know what tomorrow will bring."

"But there's work to be done. Here, and for..." - she lowered her voice - "... the Order."

"True. But it does not do to postpone the time you will spend with your family. If one does that, one may some day wake up and realise it has been postponed too long, and things that went unspoken can no longer be said."

Pippa stared openly at her. Minerva McGonagall smiled.

"I promise not to be overly sentimental for much longer. But I will make a suggestion: Go and have lunch with your brother in London. I will cover for you, should you get back late." She forestalled any protests by adding, "You had better go quickly, or I may change my mind. I'll see you at the Hall this evening. All right?"

Pippa smiled back. "All right. Thank you."

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About half a dozen healers were humming around Laura Lovegood's hospital bed like bees around a beehive while two stolidly built aurors - trusted associates of Alastor Moody - stood on guard, watching their every move and keeping an eye on the rest of the ward as well. Lance, meanwhile, sat forgotten in a chair by the wall, hardly aware of the comings and goings, his eyes fixed only on the figure on the bed. His hair was tousled where he had been tugging it at intervals, his glasses had slid to the end of his nose and remained there, his narrow face was as pale as a ghost's. He did not notice the ward door opening, nor did he see the girl that was running towards him until Gloria Boom had already wrapped her arms around him.

"Lance, honey, I've only just heard, I came as quickly as I could..."

"Glo-Gloria?" he stammered, bemused, as she released him.

She touched his cheek. "It's going to be okay, don't worry, you'll see. They can do all kinds of clever things with potions and such. She'll be all right."

Lance looked past her to where the healers were ministering to their patient. Gloria followed his gaze and uttered a faint gasp. She dropped into a second chair and took Lance by the hand.

"She does look bad," she murmured.

"I don't care how she looks," he said desperately. "I just don't want her to die."

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"What does the letter say?" Bridget asked John eagerly.

They were sitting in the same café where she had first gone with Malcolm, that day when he had been fired from the Ministry. On John's advice, she had stayed at the shop until lunchtime and he had gone to work, but he had called for her at midday and now here they were, sitting at a table in the corner, and John was looking down at the letter which Dobby had given him.

"Very little," he replied slowly. "And so much."

"May I?" She held out her hand automatically, then drew it back. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't ... it was addressed to you."

John smiled gently. "For your protection, I'm sure. It contains nothing that was not meant for you to read."

He passed her the parchment. Bridget took it gingerly, like something precious that she was afraid to damage, and looked down at the words Malcolm had written.

_Dear friend,_

_If you are reading this, it means that I am dead and the messenger I entrusted it to has fulfilled the last promise I asked him to give me. He has helped me as much as he could, and more than I could have expected, and I owe him my thanks._

_I don't know whether he will have time to explain how I died, but you have to know: our enemy made a potion that allowed him to take my life force from me. The details are unimportant, what matters is that you have to know he is now immortal. There is no use trying to kill him, you will have to find another way of stopping his doings. He has at least half a dozen Death Eaters with him here at all times. I'm afraid there is no more information that I can offer to help our cause._

_I would like to write much more, but I am tired, and I don't know how much more time I have. You know what my feelings are - for all of you. And you know what I would want done._

_M._

_P.S: Don't blame yourself. There was nothing you could have done._

Bridget looked up, a tear in her eye. John took her hand.

"He didn't believe he had any chance, did he?" Bridget said.

"No, he didn't. And I think if we had been much later, everything he expected would have come true."

Bridget looked down at the letter again. "He mentioned no names, not even yours."

"He wanted to protect us to the end. If the letter had been opened by anyone it was not intended for, they would not have known who it referred to."

"What did he mean by 'you know what I would want done'?"

John smiled gently. "That I was to take care of you. And, I think, that you were to have everything he had to leave."

Bridget shuddered. "I'm glad it hasn't come to that."

"So am I." John let go of her hand and took the parchment from her. "We can happily destroy this now, as he is back with us."

"No," Bridget said sharply. "Not yet. Keep it. Keep it until he can destroy it himself."

John nodded. "Very well. I'll give it to him tonight, if he's awake."

"You're going back to Hogwarts tonight?"

"Just to check on how he's doing. But I dare say Faith will stay with him."

"Take me with you, please."

He shook his head. "No, my dear. Suspicions might be aroused if you were seen there. Your safety is too precious to all of us - especially to Malcolm."

"You can't seriously believe there's any danger at Hogwarts, surely!"

"We can't be too careful."

"But ... John, I want to see him."

"I know, I know. But you must be patient a little longer. Give it another couple of days. He's safe now, there's no hurry."

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Peter Pettigrew had been surprised when his sister had turned up at the Ministry to take him out for lunch. They were now sitting in the self-service restaurant of a department store where they had been lucky to get a table - the place was crowded with shoppers. Peter tucked into a ham ploughman's, while Pippa picked at the salad in front of her.

"I'm glad you came," Peter said between mouthfuls. "This is nice."

"Yes," she agreed. "We really should lunch together more often."

"But aren't you supposed to eat at Hogwarts?"

"In the normal way. Actually, it was McGonagall who suggested I come and see you."

"Why?"

Pippa shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. A sudden burst of Christmas spirit coming on, perhaps. It's not long until Christmas now," she added thoughtfully.

"No," he agreed. "But..."

"But what?"

"It's just that ... somehow I don't really care about it being Christmas this year. I mean, it was different last year, when we were still at school and the others used to play their tricks at the dinner table." He chuckled. "I'll never forget Flitwick landing on McGonagall's Christmas pudding after he took off with one of Sirius and James's rockets."

Pippa smiled. "Poor Professor Flitwick."

"Actually, he seemed to enjoy it."

"Yes, I suppose he would."

"But this year," Peter went on, "there won't be any of that. It'll just be you and me, and Mum and Dad..."

"The same old records on the gramophone," Pippa continued. "And he'll give her another new necklace and a box of chocolates and she'll give him a cigar and a new book. And then he'll sit and read while she polishes the kitchen and Celestina Warbeck sings 'All I want for Christmas is a shiny new broom'..."

"... 'A shiny new broom to take me to you'," Peter ended the quote with a grin. "I can't believe they still play that every year."

"It's a classic," Pippa said.

Peter had another bite of his lunch, then he asked, "Are you looking forward to Christmas?"

Pippa shook her head. "I've even thought of staying at Hogwarts this Christmas. But I wouldn't want you to have to suffer Miss Warbeck without moral support."

They laughed.

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**4 - Evening Reports**

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"What's that you've got there?" Benjy Fenwick asked Oliver McKinnon.

It was close to nine o'clock and both of them were still at the Ministry of Magic, on hand in case of any emergency calls. Gideon Prewett joined them, levitating three mugs of hot coffee in front of him as Oliver hurriedly tried to hide the pieces of pink and lilac cardboard he had been looking at. He was too slow, however. Even before the mugs had come to rest on the desk before him, Gideon's hand closed around one particularly vivid pink card covered in flashing red hearts. He examined it, then shot Oliver a look of horror.

"Please tell me it's not what I think it is..."

Oliver reddened. "Afraid so. Marlene's cousin designed them. She's eight."

"Wedding invitations!" Benjy exclaimed, looking over Gideon's shoulder. "But I thought Marlene was still at school."

"She's of age. And she'll be leaving Hogwarts in summer. We've been talking about getting married next Christmas. Ever since Marlene's family knows, though, they've all been offering to 'help'. It's a nightmare. But what can I do, I can't very well turn round and tell a kid of eight her cards are hideous, can I?"

All three of them laughed. Gideon sat down on the edge of a desk and switched on the wireless. A newsreader was repeating the same reports they had been hearing all day. Benjy yawned widely.

"Anyone for a game of some sort? I'm going to nod off if I don't do something."

"I've got a set of gobstones in a drawer here somewhere," Oliver said.

He began rummaging through the drawers in his desk, but suddenly froze and looked up to stare at the wireless. Benjy and Gideon were doing the same. In the middle of a report about the Ministry's efforts to explain the Tipton disaster to the relatives of the muggles who had been killed, the newsreader broke off. Cries of shock and fear suddenly came from the wireless set, shouts and crashing, the sound of people running and scuffling, then a brief silence and finally a crackle followed by the newsreader's voice, coming weakly.

"Help ... under attack ... all dead ... someone ... help..."

The broadcast ended in a crash and a scream, followed by static. Oliver straightened up. Benjy set down his coffee with a shaking hand. Both of them looked at Gideon. He was very pale.

"W-what just happened?" Benjy whispered.

"I ... think we've just lost the Network," Gideon said hoarsely. "The Death Eaters ... they must have broken in somehow."

"You mean they attacked the _WWN _crew?" Oliver exclaimed. "Why would they do that?"

Gideon shrugged his shoulders. "The Network has always been outspoken against ... You-Know-Who. I suppose he must have decided ... he'd had enough."

"Whatever next?" Oliver asked.

"The Ministry, perhaps," Gideon wondered out loud. "I wouldn't put it past them." With an effort, he pulled himself together. "Oliver, get messages out to the other aurors. We need to get round to the _WWN _and investigate. Benjy..."

"Yes?"

"You let Moody know. If he doesn't already."

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It was growing late. The clock on the wall of the room she was now in told Faith that it was half past nine exactly. Sitting on a comfortable bed herself, she glanced across at her brother's. He had still not opened his eyes all day. They had moved him here, to what Professor Dumbledore had termed the Room of Requirement, early this morning, shortly after the lessons had begun. The headmaster had said that he considered this place safer, though Faith could not imagine any room within Hogwarts to be any less safe than the others - unless Peeves were in it. However, she had to admit that the Room of Requirement was extremely comfortable. The beds in it were far more inviting than those in the hospital wing, there were interesting books for her to read if she felt like it - which she didn't - and the room even had its own little bathroom. To this she went now for the umpteenth time this day and dampened a cloth under the running tap. Returning into the main room, she sat down on the edge of Malcolm's bed and removed the cloth she had placed on his forehead a while ago, replacing it with the fresh one. He was lying more peacefully now than he had been. He had tossed and turned all day, sometimes thrashing about him in his sleep, always feverish, never still. But now he was, at last, breathing more evenly. Faith touched his cheek, rough with stubble. She sighed. His face still felt clammy. She took his hand and held it in her lap for a moment.

"I suppose you still can't hear me," she said quietly. "But just in case you can ... I spoke to Professor McGonagall earlier. She's had an owl from Professor Dumbledore at last. He's found that expert I told you about, and he's given him some advice on how to treat you. There's a special potion he'll be brewing for you, and it's going to make you well again. It will take some time before you're back to your old self, but everything will be all right, you'll..."

She broke off, her head turning as she realised the door had opened behind her.

"John," she said happily, rising to greet him with a kiss. "Remus, dear." She kissed her son's cheek. "You're both very late."

"It's been a busy day," John said wearily.

"Did you see Bridget?" his wife asked.

John nodded. "She wanted to come tonight, but I told her to be patient. I don't really think our enemies would try anything under Professor Dumbledore's roof, but all the same ... there are an awful lot of people here at Hogwarts, not all of them innocent children, and we can't afford to trust everyone blindly. If some Death Eater's child saw Bridget here, it might arouse curiosity we don't want."

"But anyone may have seen _us_ here today," Remus put in.

"True," John agreed. "But I don't think that would qualify as a cause of suspicion on Voldemort's behalf. He's bound to have guessed Malcolm will be in a safe place by now. He has no greater enemy than Dumbledore. It won't take him long to figure it out."

"But then, isn't Malcolm in danger, even here?" Faith asked.

John smiled. "Hardly, my love. This room can't be entered unless you know where to find it and how to get in, and that isn't too easy. It's the ideal hideout. So..." His face grew grave. "If you insist on staying in the castle tonight, please make sure you stay within these four walls. Don't leave this room, and don't let anyone in who doesn't manage to open the door from the other side."

Faith paled. "Then ... you do think there's danger? But not to me, surely. If anything, they'll be after Malcolm. Whatever they were doing with the potion ... it wasn't completed."

"And it can't be completed if more than forty-eight hours elapse between doses, apparently. During that time, they will indeed want to find Malcolm, but they can't as long as he's here, and as long as you stay with him."

"What Dad is saying, I think," Remus said gently, "is that if they find they can't get to Uncle Malcolm directly, they may try it indirectly, through someone close to him."

"I see." Faith spoke slowly and anxiously. "You're afraid they'll try to get to him - through me? That if I leave this room ... Well, I shan't. But what about you two? Doesn't the same risk apply to you?"

"We'll be at a meeting of the Order of the Phoenix at Gryffindor Hall," John reassured her. "And we'll stay there all night. If they should call at our front door tonight, no one will be home. So don't worry. Stay here, and everything will be fine. Now, I'm afraid we must be going. We don't want to keep the others waiting. Good night, my love. Take this." John drew Malcolm's letter from his pocket. "Bridget says Malcolm should have it back when he wakes up. It's no longer needed, but she'd rather he destroys it himself."

Taking the letter, Faith nodded. "I understand."

Moments later, she was left alone again. She lay down on her bed, though she doubted if she would get any sleep tonight. Despite her doubts, however, her eyelids soon began to grow heavy. She had almost drifted asleep completely when a sudden murmur from the other bed aroused her. Malcolm was stirring fretfully again. Getting up quickly, Faith hurried to his side and pressed a reassuring hand against the cloth on his forehead.

"It's all right, dear," she whispered soothingly. "Everything will be all right."

Malcolm grew still once more and Faith made to rise from his bedside, but suddenly she heard a new murmur, weak but unmistakable.

"Faith?"

She turned back hopefully, and sure enough, Malcolm's eyes, though hazy, were open and looking straight at her. He tried to raise his hand and she took it quickly between hers.

"Don't," she said. "Don't strain yourself."

To her surprise and slight alarm, her brother's eyes grew moist.

"What is it?" she asked anxiously. "What's the matter?"

"I didn't think ... I'd see you again," he replied hoarsely. "My ... little sister."

Feeling her own eyes fill with tears, Faith was aware of a gentle pressure on her hands that pulled her downwards. Without waiting for more words, she laid her head down on Malcolm's chest and put her arms around him.

"It's all right," she repeated once again. "I'm here."

It was several minutes later that she sat back and smiled down at him. "Welcome back."

Malcolm did not reply directly. Instead he asked,

"What happened? The others ... did they all get back? John..."

"He's fine," Faith assured him. "Just a broken arm, nothing more. They all got back safely. Professor Dumbledore's phoenix brought you straight here."

Malcolm looked around him. "Where are we?"

"At Hogwarts. The school nurse has been helping me look after you." She squeezed his hand gently. "We've all been so worried about you. John went to see Bridget today and tell her you're all right. She wanted to come round at once..."

"She's not coming, is she?" Malcolm asked sharply.

Taken slightly aback, Faith replied slowly. "No. John refused to let her. He thinks it's too risky."

Malcolm seemed to relax a little. "Good," he murmured.

Faith looked at him curiously, her head a little on one side. "I thought you'd have wanted to see her."

He seemed to think about it a moment, but when he spoke it was quite obvious that he did not wish to discuss it. "I still feel weak," he said. "Any idea how long ... they'll be keeping me here?"

After a moment's hesitation, Faith decided to go along with his change of subject. "Not too long, I hope. But it will take time for you to get your strength back. You can't expect to be on your feet again tomorrow."

Malcolm frowned. Slowly, Faith got up and went to fetch him a drink. When she came back, she found that he had pushed himself up into a sitting position. He took the glass from her, sipped from it, and looked at her steadily. Finally, a faint smile twitched at the corners of his mouth.

"Do you remember," he said, "when we were children? When we were ill ... Mother would sit by our side and say 'if I were a witch'..."

"If I were a witch," Faith continued, "I'd magic away all your aches and pains and enchant your pillow each night to give you sweet dreams."

"Yes," said Malcolm. "You look and sound just like her, you know. I'd never realised that before."

"I wish I could give you sweet dreams."

Shaking his head, Malcolm replied, "Every dream I have now is ... a nightmare."

Faith looked at him sadly. She took the glass from him, put it on the bedside table, and put her arms around him once more.

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The meeting of the Order of the Phoenix had gone on for two hours, but now it was over. John sank down gratefully onto the bed in the guest room he and Remus would be sharing tonight.

"What a day," he muttered.

"What a weekend," Remus corrected, sitting on the edge of the bed opposite his father's.

"I wonder why Alastor didn't turn up."

Remus shrugged. "No one's busier than the aurors these days." He paused, studying John intently. At last he asked, "Won't you tell me now what's wrong?"

"Wrong?"

"Yes. You promised you would explain why you said what you did to Pippa Pettigrew."

"Oh. That." John sighed. "It's just that ... Well, I suppose you could say that Gordon saved my life."

Remus stared at him, looking bewildered. John began,

"You heard what Philippa explained about her sister..."

"How you protected her? Yes."

John was forced to smile in spite of himself. "It wasn't quite as dramatic and noble as Philippa made it sound."

"I'm sure it was," Remus disagreed, "but go on."

"Well, what Philippa didn't mention is that Mrs. Lestrange was about to kill me. She spoke the words of the killing curse and I thought ... I thought it was over. But I didn't know Gordon was there. He was invisible at the time, and he pushed ... he pushed someone in front of me."

"Who? You all got back safely..."

"The woman who helped Malcolm. Miss Dulac."

"The one you found in a cell down there?"

"Yes."

Remus frowned thoughtfully. "From what the others said," he said slowly, "It didn't sound as though she had much of a life to look forward to."

"Perhaps not," John answered heavily. "But she was alive, and the curse wasn't meant for her. Yet Gordon decided..."

"That your chance was greater than hers," Remus said quickly. "That's all. She might have spent the rest of her life in St. Mungo's, if she'd even made it off the island, which could be considered doubtful. He must have thought that if she died there, it would maybe even be better for her."

John shook his head. "I don't know how much of that he really thought. I only know that now a woman is dead because of me, and she didn't even have a chance to make her own choice. It makes me feel ... guilty. And all because Gordon decided it was up to him to interfere."

"Interfere?" Remus repeated thinly. "Dad, if he hadn't ... then you..." He fell silent, unable to voice what would have happened, had Gordon done nothing. Instead he hesitated a moment. Then he said very quietly, "I feel guilty too."

"You?" John was surprised. "Why?"

"Because I'm glad," Remus explained. "I'm glad things turned out this way. I was so scared."

"Scared?" John echoed.

Remus nodded. "We'd all been so worried about Uncle Malcolm, but I suddenly thought what if he comes back, but ... but we lose you?"

"Remus..." John said quickly, but his son had not finished. Though his eyes were sore now from holding back tears he was determined not to shed, he went on,

"You told me once that you don't want to die a hero. But you very nearly did, Dad. If it hadn't been for Gordon, you would have. So I can't help it, but I'm glad he did what he did. And I'm going to go right back downstairs and thank him for it. Because I can't imagine anything worse than ... losing you..."

And with these words, he rose and walked to the door. John called after him.

"Remus?"

Remus stopped and turned back. "Yes?"

"I'm sorry. I knew you'd be anxious, but it never occurred to me just how much. I thought that your mother was the one ... that as long as you had her with you ... you'd be all right."

His son shook his head. "I'm selfish," he said with a touch of ruefulness. "I want both."

John smiled. "In that case, I promise to be more careful in future."

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The little clearing where the Lupins' house stood was dark but for the green glow from a wand tip.

"There's no one here," a figure masked and robed in black, said to its companion.

"Did you really expect them to have brought him here, patiently waiting to be killed? Dumbledore is no fool, Lestrange."

"Then where do you think they're hiding him?"

"I don't need to guess," said the second voice. "I know. He's at Hogwarts. The Dark Lord received a letter earlier today."

"Then what are we doing here? Shouldn't we be at the school?"

"We cannot risk an attack on Hogwarts. The Dark Lord hoped we would find someone home tonight, but the house is clearly deserted."

"Then what do we do now? Wreck the place?" There was a pause, then he prompted, "Lothian?"

The other shook his head slowly. "That would serve no purpose at this time. We'll take a good look round, and then we'll leave. We've all had enough enjoyment for one day. And who knows ... some day, perhaps ... we'll come back."


	31. Part 31: The Season of Cheer

**Prequel, Part 31: The Season of Cheer**

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**1 - On the Eve**

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All was peaceful at the Lupins' cottage on the moors. Though Death Eaters had visited Malcolm's flat in London and left it in a shambles, it appeared that they had not bothered to seek out his relations at all. Alastor Moody had been suspicious at first, and he and a team of aurors had examined the house, garden and woodlands beyond with a fine toothcomb. Yet they had found nothing untoward. Nonetheless, Lily and John had reinforced their protection charms and Dumbledore had added some of his own. It was now not only impossible for anyone to enter the house unless the door was opened to them from the inside, but they also had to state the correct password - an individual one for each person - at all times. Apparition was only possible in one exact position within the entire clearing, and no one was able to approach the house without apparating in that precise spot.

It had not been more than a couple of weeks since the rescue mission to Slytherin's Rock, and yet that day had thankfully receded to the back of everyone's mind. Although the wireless had sat silently in its spot since the day when Death Eaters had attacked the _Wizarding Wireless Network_'s headquarters and the _Daily Prophet_'s reporters had since been so intimidated that they no longer dared to write anything against Lord Voldemort, though more people had died in the meantime and others had been tortured, Faith was managing to feel quite cheerful about Christmas now. The year's last full moon was behind them, and Professor Dumbledore himself had brought Malcolm round to stay with them six days ago and she was pleased to note that it seemed to be doing him good. There had been a bit of a crisis four days ago, when he had attempted to get out of bed without help and collapsed halfway across the room, but he was much improved since then. Potions of all kinds that she had never even heard of before had helped to revive him, and though he still looked very drawn and insisted on keeping his acquired stubble to cover up the hollowness of his cheeks, he seemed in slightly better spirits than he had been.

The one thing that still worried Faith, however, was the change that she had noticed in him. To her he was gentler, showing more affection than he ever had done. He was quieter than before, to be sure, but he often found kind words to say rather than teasing her. This was all very well, but it was not right, it was not like him. And then there was the far bigger problem. The minute she had heard that Malcolm had come to stay at the cottage, Bridget had hurried round. Faith had been glad, thinking that her coming would cheer her brother up. Yet his reaction had been nothing like what she had expected. She had had to exercise all her powers of persuasion to get him to see Bridget, and when he had seen her, his behaviour had been distant, almost cold. Bridget had gone away near to tears, and although she had returned every day since, not much had improved. Today, Christmas Eve, Faith knew that Bridget would come again, but again she feared that her brother would be as odd as before.

With a sigh, she finished the last touches to the icing on the Christmas cake and stood back to admire it. She heard the step in the hallway creak and went to investigate. She found Malcolm just reaching the downstairs hall. His smile when he saw her was, perhaps, just a little too quick - and more than a little guilty.

"I told you to wait upstairs until John comes back indoors," Faith said reproachfully.

"I can manage to walk the stairs on my own, thanks," Malcolm replied. "I'm feeling a lot better this morning and I wanted some fresh air."

He began to walk slowly, but determinedly, towards the door, taking his cloak off the hook in passing.

"Wait!" Faith called after him, and she went to the closet and returned a moment later, holding out a walking stick. Malcolm stared at her, then he shook his head decidedly.

"No way," he said. "There is _no way_ I'm using that."

"You're not going out that door without it," his sister informed him, and the look on her face told him she was just as determined as he was.

"Faith," he began cajolingly, "I'm better. I don't need a support."

"Better, perhaps, but not perfect. I realise I can't stop you from stretching your legs, but I won't let you go out that door without some kind of support. You may be glad of it after a while."

She held the stick out further, an expectant look on her face. With a sigh, Malcolm took it. Faith gave a satisfied smile.

"That's better. Go on, then. But not too far. If you're not back here in an hour, I'll send John after you."

Malcolm hugged her, and again she was reminded of how different he was nowadays. At one time, nothing in the world - and certainly not a mere insistence on the part of his little sister - would have made him do what was good for him. She helped him button up his cloak and watched him walk down the garden path and head towards the forest through the snow. Yes, she was glad he was here and it was Christmas. All the same, she could not feel entirely happy.

Malcolm walked out into the garden and looked around him. To his left, just on the edge of the woods, John was watching over an axe as it chopped firewood. His arm, though still bandaged around the elbow, was now free of its sling and he raised it in greeting. Malcolm waved back, but continued in a different direction, leaving John to watch him go with a frown.

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Snow sparkled on the window ledges of the house where Rose Evans now lived alone with her younger daughter, and a wreath of holly hung on the front door. Remus had been standing on the steps there for quite a while now, counting the red berries and the number of sharp points on the dark green leaves. He even began debating what material the red bow at the top of the wreath might be. Was it real velvet, or velveteen? He looked around him. So far the street had been deserted, but now a balding man on the other side of the road had just come out of his door in a chequered blue dressing gown and stooped to set a black cat down on the doorstep. He paused on his way back into the house to eye the young stranger in the fur-edged cloak curiously, then went inside. A minute or so later, the man's balding head appeared alongside that of a woman wearing a pink hairnet, peering down around the edge of a lace curtain from an upstairs window.

Remus turned his attention back to the door. There was nothing for it. He had two options, and two options only: Ring the bell, or turn around and go back home. He reflected. If he rang the bell, he would have to go through with what he had come here to do in the first place. If he did not, he would not have avoided his task, merely put it off to worry about some more and perform it at a later date. Of course, he could let James do it. That would, perhaps, be the easiest. It would make no difference to Lily. It would make no difference to James. But for some reason, he wasn't quite sure why, it would make a difference to Remus Lupin.

He began to contemplate this mystery. Why did it make such a difference to him whether it was he or James who spoke to Lily? Perhaps, he thought, because Lily had always been friendly and open towards him, and because getting James to do it seemed like a backhand, even cowardly thing to do. Yes, that might be it. Yet he was nervous, afraid. Again, he did not quite know why. The worst thing that could happen was that Lily would want nothing more to do with him. She couldn't hold it against James, and surely that was the main thing: for James and Lily to be happy. Even if she did refuse to have one of James's best friends in her house. Remus shook himself. Lily wasn't like that ... was she? There had been plenty of people his parents had thought they could trust, people they had thought loyal and intelligent, and yet each and every one of them had disappointed them bitterly, had invented excuses at first, had broken off all contact, had avoided them like the plague ...

"Excuse me!" Remus jumped and turned round. The balding man from across the road had come back out and was waving across at him. "Can I 'elp you?"

"No, thank you!" Remus called back. "I'm just ... visiting!"

"Oh!" The man paused, then went on, "Me wife an' I thought maybe the doorbell weren't working!"

Remus shook his head. "It's all right! Thank you!"

"Oh," said the man again. He added doubtfully, "Well. Merry Christmas, anyway!"

"Merry Christmas!" Remus replied.

The bald neighbour hesitated, then he returned once more to his hair-netted wife. Remus hastily rung the doorbell without further thought. He heard it ring inside the house and waited. He was just starting to think - or secretly hope - that there would be no answer when he heard footsteps drawing closer, there was a clicking of keys in the lock and the door opened. It was Mrs. Evans who stood in the hall. Her hair was tied back in a bun, she wore a bright red apron with a picture of a cross-eyed reindeer over a plain black dress and there were tell-tale traces of baking powder on her nose and cuffs.

"Good morning," she said in a friendly voice. "Merry Christmas."

Remus cleared his throat. "Erm ... Merry Christmas, Mrs. Evans. I'm ..."

"Remus Lupin, isn't it?" she asked, surprising him.

"Yes. How did you ..."

"Lily pointed you out to me once at King's Cross. I rarely forget a face. You're one of James's friends, aren't you?"

"That's right."

The woman smiled kindly. "Do come in."

She stood back and Remus entered, pulling his gloves and scarf off while she closed the door behind him.

"Let me take those," she said, taking them and helping him off with his cloak.

Remus pulled the collar of the roll-neck jumper he was wearing a little higher. He had no wish for Mrs. Evans to see the fresh scars from a few nights ago that shone there.

"Do go through into the living room," the lady was saying now. "It's that door on your left. Lily and I are baking biscuits. Would you like some?" She took a closer look at his pale face and thin figure and added thoughtfully, "Or maybe something more substantial? Sandwiches, perhaps. Do you prefer cheddar or corned beef?"

"Erm ... cheddar please, Mrs. Evans," Remus replied, realising that she was unlikely to take 'no' for an answer.

Apparently satisfied, Rose Evans hung his cloak in a closet and disappeared through a door at the back of the hall. Remus hesitated briefly, sniffing the air. The biscuits smelt good. He then went through the door indicated to him and found himself in a comfortable living room, where he took a seat on the sofa. He did not have to wait long. Lily soon appeared, wiping her hands on a tea towel. Like her mother, she was wearing an apron over black - hers had a snowman on it - and her red hair was in a loose ponytail from which a couple of strands had detached themselves, falling across her face. Lily tucked these behind her ears and smiled at Remus.

"Hello," she said. "This is a surprise, if ever there was one. What brings you here? Were you looking for James? If so, I'm afraid you're out of luck. I haven't seen him today."

"No, I wasn't looking for James. I came to see you."

Lily was about to enquire further, but just then her mother reappeared, bearing a large plate of sandwiches and some paper napkins. Remus rose quickly and offered to help her, but she waved him aside.

"You sit right back down, young man," she said, setting the plate down on the table. "Help yourself to a sandwich while I put the kettle on. Do you take sugar?"

"Two."

Mrs. Evans smiled. "Really? So did my husband."

She paused a moment, a distant look on her face. Then she flashed another smile and left the room. Lily looked after her thoughtfully.

"Is something worrying you?" Remus asked her.

Lily shook her head. "Not really, no. I mean, it hasn't been long since ... Dad ..."

"Yes, I see. Christmas has come round a little too soon perhaps."

Lily's smile returned, though it was a little fainter now. She sat down and said reminiscently, "Dad loved Christmas. He used to look forward to it for months in advance. He started buying presents as early as September - just after I left for Hogwarts. And he'd go hunting for the tree. You see, it couldn't be just any old tree, bought a week before Christmas from the salesman at the local petrol garage. It had to be _the_ tree. Often it turned out to be far too big." She laughed. "I remember one year, he couldn't even get it in the house. He had to cut a big chunk of it off the bottom just to get it through the door. He didn't waste the lower branches, though. He sawed them off the trunk, took a couple of odd pieces of wood and spent hours fixing the branches onto them so that Petunia and I could each have a 'tree' of our own. He was the one who always insisted on our baking biscuits Christmas Eve, too. My mother used to take both of us into the kitchen and we would bake all day long while Dad was nowhere to be seen, and in the evening we wouldn't be allowed in here."

She broke off as her mother returned with the tea tray.

"Here you are," said Mrs. Evans, placing a cup in front of Remus. "Two sugars. And I've put you a biscuit in the saucer, just in case you'd like to try."

She sat down, and it became clear that there was no way Remus would be able to speak to Lily in private until he had tasted the biscuit, drunk his tea and eaten a sufficient amount of sandwiches. Only after he had praised the biscuit to Mrs. Evans's satisfaction and consequently had another pressed upon him, eaten four sandwiches and politely refused a third cup of tea did Lily's mother pick up the somewhat emptier plate and tea tray and leave them alone again. There was a pause, then Remus said,

"I'm surprised you're still going ahead with all this. The tree ..." - he indicated the modestly sized specimen in the corner - "... the biscuits."

"Dad loved Christmas," Lily repeated. "He wouldn't have missed it for the world. We felt that we ought to go ahead with it because of that. It hasn't been easy," she added slowly.

"No, I can imagine it wouldn't be."

Again, they fell silent, Remus feeling unsure what to say next, Lily lost in her own thoughts and memories, until eventually she asked,

"So, what urgent matters are troubling your mind?"

"What makes you think it's anything urgent?"

"Well, I was under the impression from what James said that you'll be at the Hall tomorrow and we'll be seeing each other there. I therefore assumed that whatever you wanted to see me about must be urgent, or it could have waited until tomorrow."

Remus rubbed a crease between his eyebrows with his forefinger and continued his search for the right words. Lily waited a while, then she broke the silence again,

"Urgent or not, I gather from your silence that whatever it is, it's serious."

Remus stopped rubbing his forehead and glanced at her across the coffee table. He nodded slowly.

"Yes, it is serious. It's ... James asked me to ... He thought ... No, that's not the right way to begin at all."

He frowned. Lily studied him, her head a little to one side. Finally she said gently,

"Don't look so worried. Whatever it is, you can tell me. I can take quite a lot more than people think, you know."

"I'm sure you can. But the question is: _How_ will you take it?"

"You won't know that until you come out with it." She paused, then added, "Is this about ... your problem?"

He looked at her in surprise. "My ... problem? What do you know about that?"

"I know there was some reason why you disappeared from Hogwarts one night and everyone was so worried about you. Why you weren't there sometimes when we had lessons, or in the common room of an evening. Why you didn't want to go on seeing Heather ..." Lily suddenly grew awkward. "You see, I know that there's something wrong with you, and that there's no cure."

Now Remus was staring at her, surprise mingled with anxiety. "You know that? How?"

"I feel rather guilty about that part," Lily admitted. "I'd gone round to see your mother about performing protection charms for people with your father's help, and I saw those photographs on the wall. I was curious about this secret of yours that you didn't want to talk about and I ... I let on to your mother that I knew something was up. I let her believe I knew more than I did, and she told me ..."

"What exactly did she tell you?"

"Only that your parents have tried everything possible, but there's no cure. She said something about your dad blaming himself."

Remus nodded slowly. "That's right. He did ... Sometimes I think he still does. But it wasn't his fault. It's no one's fault, it just ... happened."

"What happened, Remus?" Lily asked. "That's the part that I don't know."

Remus avoided her eyes and lapsed into silence once more. Lily got up, came around the table and sat down beside him. She put her hand on his arm.

"You can tell me," she assured him. "Whatever it is." After a moment's hesitation, she went on, "Is it something to do with your grandfather?"

It was sheer surprise that made Remus look at her now. "My grandfather?" he echoed. "No. Why?"

"Oh." Lily, also surprised and a little worried that she had touched on something she shouldn't have, said ever so softly now, "It's just that I heard something once about him being ill. He ... died, didn't he?"

"Yes," Remus confirmed matter-of-factly. "He died when I was very young. I hardly remember him. He was ill for years, there was nothing anyone could do ..."

He continued to look at Lily in some bewilderment for a moment. She looked very pale and anxious and he could not see why. Unless ...

"Lily," he said slowly, "You've not been thinking that my problem is the same as my grandfather's, surely?"

"Are you saying it isn't?"

"No. No, it's nothing like that. I'm not what you could call ill. I'm not dying or anything like that."

Lily's face cleared. She heaved a sigh and closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, she was smiling.

"Well, thank goodness we've got that sorted. With all this mystery and your mother's talk of there being no cure, and now your sudden wish to speak to me, you had me worried! I can't quite see what all the fuss is about yet, of course, but at any rate I'm glad to know you'll be with us for a while yet."

"You are?"

"Of course." She squeezed his arm. "Come on, Remus, surely you know I've always been fond of you. There's really no need to look so uncertain. I keep telling you you can tell me anything you want - especially now I know it's not as drastic as I was beginning to fear."

"It's drastic enough. My parents lost a lot of friends because of it."

"Without knowing the details, it sounds to me as though these so-called friends weren't true friends. A true friend would never let you down. I certainly don't intend to. So go on, tell me. I'm ready for the terrible truth, whatever it may be."

"It's ... not all that easy for me to tell you. You see, I've never told anyone before. People have found out, but I've never actually gone to someone and told them outright ..."

Lily nodded, and seeing how distressed he was, grew serious once more. "I don't know how to make it any easier for you, I'm afraid. Would it help to tell you that I appreciate your courage in coming to me yourself? That I feel honoured to be the first to hear it from your own lips? Or that I can't imagine anything so terrible that it would make me turn against so good a friend?"

He gave a meek smile at her last words. "Yes, that might help. Well …" he sighed. "The fact is, Lily … I … I am … not so much ill, as cursed."

"Cursed?" she repeated, looking mildly alarmed once more.

"Yes, I think that describes it best. I'm …" he looked down at his hands "… a werewolf."

There was silence. It reigned so completely for such a long moment that he looked up again to glance at Lily nervously. She was staring at him open-mouthed. Her expression went from incredulous to shocked and back again.

"No," she whispered finally. "No, that can't be true. Not … not _you_."

"I'm afraid it is true," he said heavily. "I've been a werewolf since I was three years old."

"Oh my God!" Lily gasped, one hand over her mouth as she continued to stare at him. "Then you've always been … as long as I've known you …"

He nodded. Lily's expression changed again, the incredulity giving way to unmistakeable horror and something else that he couldn't quite fathom. Was it pity? She asked, keeping her voice under careful control,

"Is it … very awful?"

Remus said quietly, "I don't like to talk about it, really."

"Won't you talk about it to me? Please? I want to understand."

He hesitated, then began slowly,

"It doesn't get any better. Over the years, you get used to planning your life by the cycles of the moon. You even get used to the feeling of sickness that increases as the moon is waxing. You get used to the pain, the scars, the throbbing in every muscle as you awake when the moon has waned again. But …"

"But?"

"Even though I've transformed so many times now, I can never get used to the feeling of helplessness. The moment when I feel myself transform, when I still know who I am, but I also know that any second now all knowledge, all conscious thought will be gone. For a short while, I'm still capable of conscious, human thought, but my body is no longer my own, I no longer have any command over it. That's the worst part. I could kill someone in that moment and I would be conscious of it, but I wouldn't be able to stop myself."

Lily's eyes were damp now. Without warning, she suddenly put her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.

"I'm so sorry," she murmured into his shoulder. "I wish there was something I could do."

A slow smile crept across his face. "You just did," he said softly.

Lily sat back and smiled tearfully back at him. "Did you really think I would throw you out? That I'd want James to sever all ties with you because of this? Because of something that happened to you when you were three years old, through no fault of your own?"

Remus shrugged his shoulders. "My parents have experienced it often enough. I've learnt to take no one's friendship for granted."

Lily shook her head, still smiling. "Even if I had reacted that way, do you think James would have taken any notice? If so, then I think you underestimate his friendship. He's so fiercely loyal to his friends that I think he'd sooner throw me over."

"No. You underestimate his feelings for you. Nothing matters more to him than you do, I'm sure of it."

With a slightly doubtful look on her face, Lily remarked, "Well, let's just settle for the fact that he's very fond of both of us, shall we? And then you can tell me why James wanted you to tell me all this anyway. Not that I'm not glad you did," she added hastily, "I am. But you said James had asked you to talk to me. Why?"

"I think he felt he didn't have the right to reveal my secret to you without my consent."

"That explains why he didn't tell me himself, but not why he wanted me to know."

Remus cocked his head a little to one side, and gave her a slightly amused look. "Are you sure you're not secretly a legilimens?"

"Quite sure. But I have a very close friend who's excellent, perhaps some of her talent has rubbed off over the years. But let's get back to the point, shall we? Why did James want you to tell me all this?"

"Because of something he did for my sake. Something he would never have done if I weren't what I am."

"Go on," she prompted when he hesitated. "What did he do?"

"He ... broke rules," Remus said.

Lily's brow creased into a frown. "Remus, James spent at least half his time at Hogwarts breaking rules. It must be something more extraordinary than that."

"Well, yes," he admitted grudgingly. "It was actually a law that he broke. He and Sirius and Peter ..."

He paused once more, then explained the whole story to her in full. Lily sat and listened, her green eyes widening with nearly every sentence. When he had finished, she sat in silence for a moment. Finally she said confusedly,

"So James is ... can be ... he can turn into a stag? Just like that? Without warning?"

"As swiftly as McGonagall can change into a cat. Yes."

"That's ... odd."

"I'm not sure I know what you mean."

"Oh, I don't know. It's just that I've always found the idea of a human being turning into some animal a bit strange. I mean, to think I could be going for a stroll in Hogsmeade with James or ... or even _kissing_ him ... and he could suddenly change into an animal."

"I don't think there's much danger of that. After all, James can _choose_ when to transform ..."

Lily looked up sharply, the way he had emphasised the word 'choose' striking her painfully.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I didn't mean ... When I said I find it strange, I meant ... that anyone would want ..."

"It's all right," he assured her, smiling faintly again. "No offence taken."

"Really?"

"Absolutely."

"Good. Because I meant what I said earlier. If I go offending one of his best friends, I'm really worried James would send me packing. And I wouldn't like that. I'm afraid I really am quite besotted with him. Antlers or no antlers."

This time, Remus laughed outright. "At least he's seasonal. Well, I think I'd best be going now. I've kept you away from your baking for much too long."

"Oh, don't worry about that. I'm glad you came. And I'm sure my mother won't mind if you stay for lunch."

"No, really," Remus said. "You may not have noticed, but the last full moon hasn't been gone long, and I feel pretty much dead on my feet. I think it's time I went home and got some sleep." He rose from the sofa. "I'll see you tomorrow then, at the Hall?"

"Of course."

She accompanied him to the door and handed him his cloak, gloves and scarf. As he pulled them on, she said affectionately,

"Take care of yourself, Remus."

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**2 - Christmas Day**

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_I can't breathe_, Laura Lovegood thought, panicked. _I can't breathe, there's no air, my lungs - my lungs have collapsed_. She tried to move her hand to feel her chest, but couldn't. It refused to obey her command, and with every effort she made the pain increased, spreading from her shoulder to her elbow and then her wrist. _I must get up_, she thought. _Up off the floor._ But her legs were no more willing to cooperate than her arm had been. They too were throbbing with pain, as was her head, her chest, her back ... _At least open your eyes_. Even this proved impossible. _There's nothing to see anyway. Only darkness. Darkness and cold and brick walls that keep out all air, all light, all hope. I'm going to die. I'm going to die! There's nothing anyone can do, it's too late, they'll never find me in time._ She gave a strained gasp. _Malcolm. I won't be able to warn him. Travers got away. He's got to run._ But what could she do, lying here in Travers's cell - her cell? Nothing. She was helpless. _No. No, no, no, no, noooo!_

With a great shudder that ran through her whole body, she opened her eyes. The left one felt odd. Hard and swollen. She could not see much on that side. But the right eye blinked in the sudden, unexpected bright light. Laura tried to turn her aching head, but found it impossible. She gave a low moan, and almost immediately, a murmur of voices that she had barely noticed before broke off. Instead she heard slow, cautious footsteps. A head came into view, square-jawed, red-haired and freckle-faced.

"Oliver," said a pleasant voice as the lips in front of her moved. "I think she's awake."

There were more footsteps and a second head, this one dark and oval, appeared.

"Miss Lovegood?" said a new voice. "Can you hear me?"

Laura attempted to move her lips. They felt stiff and heavy. She ran her tongue over them and tasted something dry and rough.

"I hear you," she said weakly.

Both young men looking at her sighed with relief.

"Can you feel anything?" the red-haired one of them said, and as he spoke for the second time, a memory began to resurface. Gideon. Gideon Prewett. And Oliver McKinnon.

"I feel ... like every nerve in my body ... is on fire."

"Each and every one? You're sure?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Great!" He smiled broadly and said to his companion, "Oliver, I think it's safe to let Moody know she's awake and out of danger. That'll make his Christmas, I'll bet."

"Will do. You going to wake the brother?"

Gideon nodded while Laura did some more thinking. Brother ...

"Lance?" she murmured.

"He's right here," Gideon informed her.

Straining to raise her head a little, Laura looked past him. Sure enough, there in a chair sat Lance. His head had dropped onto his chest. His hair was dishevelled and he appeared not to have shaven for days. His tie was undone and his glasses hung loosely from the hands in his lap. Gideon strode over and touched his shoulder. With a start, Lance sat up. Leaning back on her pillows, Laura heard faint murmurs of voices that she could not make out, then approaching footsteps once more, a pressure at her side, and presently Lance's face appeared.

"Laura ..." He bent over her and she felt a pressure on her hand.

"Hello, Lance," Laura replied.

He smiled uncertainly, and even as she felt once more the strain of speaking, of even keeping her eyes open, she realised that he had never smiled at her like this before. There was a far deeper affection in his smile than she had ever been aware of, and it was in his voice too as he enquired, "How do you feel?"

"I'm aching all over. But that freckle-faced auror colleague of mine seems to think that's good news," she said with a little more strength.

"It is," Lance said eagerly. "The healers weren't sure if your body would be able to cope with all their treatment."

"Well, as long as you're all happy that it's hurting like hell." She winced. "I suppose it matches how I look. I must be a mess."

"You look fine," Lance told her.

Laura looked sceptical. She closed her eyes a moment, partly to relax them, partly to clear her thoughts. Amid the turmoil of what she realised now had been a memory of her ordeal, she knew there was something important. The cell. Baxter and Robinson. Travers gone.

"Malcolm," she murmured, and her eyes opened again suddenly. "Lance, has he been warned? The Death Eater that was being guarded, Travers ... it's important that ..."

"Shh, it's all right," her brother assured her, though his smile faded slightly. "Mr. Moody told me you're not to worry about that."

"But ..."

"He's fine," Gideon put in quietly, returning to the bedside. "Or he will be. But we can't talk about that here. Mr. Lovegood, I'm sorry, I think the healers want to check on your sister."

"Ah yes. Of course," said Lance. And kissing Laura on the cheek, he said "Merry Christmas", and drew aside.

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Iris Snape sat back and admired her work. Each candle was arranged perfectly on each richly green branch of the voluminous Christmas tree. The tinsel sparkled, the baubles reflected the candlelight and the parcels beneath the tree had just the right proportions. The fairy that crowned the top of the tree wore a shiny white dress, her golden tresses fell prettily to her waist. And yet something bothered Iris. Was it the expression on the fairy's face? Maybe. Didn't she look, somehow ... frightened? Were her wings perhaps not quite the right shape? The feathers drooping? Or was it the lighting? Did the glow of the candles lend too ominous an appearance to the dark green of the twigs? Was there something wrong with the shade of green? Something that reminded her of something wicked. She looked again at the baubles. They were red. Bloodred. She shivered. The hand that held the paintbrush trembled a little as she pointed it at one of the offending circles of red upon the canvas. She attempted a brushstroke, but it came out jerky, obscuring the area she had been about to correct and making it a blur of blood red and dark green, a blur that was shaped almost like a leering green mouth with a slithering red tongue. With a small gasp, Iris dropped the paintbrush and stepped back from the painting. She backed away from it, further and further, until her back came up against a wooden door. While one hand clasped the iron bolt behind her, she drew her wand with the other and waved it around the room. The oil lamps went out. Turning around, Iris slid back the bolt, opened the door and stepped out onto a rickety wooden staircase. She closed the door behind her, locked it with a tap of her wand, and began to roll down the sleeves of her robes.

"Ah, there you is, Mistress!" said a voice from below.

Iris gave a small start, spotted Mirmy the house elf standing at the bottom of the stairs, took a deep breath, and responded.

"Yes, Mirmy. Were you looking for me?"

"Yes, Mistress. You has a visitor in the drawing room."

"A visitor? For me?"

"Yes, Mistress. It is Miss Coronis."

"Josie?"

Returning her wand to the pocket of her robes, Iris descended the stairs and hurried to her bedroom. She took a short moment to check her appearance, in particular making sure there were no marks of paint on her robes, then she went down to the drawing room. Josie was waiting there, dressed today in what was clearly meant to be festive red and green, with a large bow on the front of her blouse. When Iris entered, she put a big orange bag down on an armchair and came forward to hug her.

"Good afternoon," said Josie. "I just thought I'd pop in to wish you a happy Christmas. Not that I was sure if you actually celebrate Christmas in this house, but I thought it was a better idea to bring along some seasons greetings to someone who doesn't want them than not offer them to someone who does, if you get my drift."

"Absolutely," said Iris with a faint smile. "And a very happy Christmas to you too. We don't normally celebrate Christmas in this house - my husband, you see, doesn't really approve. But while he's out ..." She shrugged, her expression slightly guilty.

Josie grinned. "In that case, while he's out, I've got something for you."

She returned to the bag on the armchair and took out an oddly shaped, brightly wrapped parcel which she now held out.

"I had no idea what to get you, and I'm afraid you might find this pretty awful, but I did make it myself and thought maybe you'd appreciate that it's the thought that counts."

Slightly flustered, Iris took the package from her and thanked her. She unwrapped it to reveal a rather lopsided example of homemade pottery. Presumably it was meant to be a kind of sweet dish - certainly she couldn't imagine what else it was meant to be - and it had greenish reindeer and pink snowmen all over it. Josie said apologetically,

"You probably think it's dreadful."

"No," said Iris truthfully. "On the contrary. It's wonderful." She looked at Josie and smiled again. "Thank you. I am, quite honestly, touched."

Grinning again, Josie said, "You're welcome. But I wouldn't show it to Mr. Snape if I were you. Or even to Sev. Goodness, if he sees what hideous creations I'm capable of, he'll probably dump me tomorrow! I suppose ... he isn't in ...?"

"I'm afraid not. He went with his father to ... well, I take it they're going to be 'busy' all day."

"Hm." Josie frowned. "And I'll bet whatever they're busy with is nothing either of us two would enjoy ..."

"Or even approve of. Quite."

There was a silence, then Josie asked suddenly,

"Just what exactly do you enjoy, Iris?"

"Would you really like to know?"

"Yes."

Iris hesitated a moment, then she took Josie by the hand and led her upstairs, right back to the dark attic space where she had been before the girl arrived. She locked the door behind them and waved her wand for light. Josie looked around her. The small, dark space was simply full of large, rectangular shapes draped with sheets, and right in the middle was a canvas depicting a Christmas scene - but a scene unlike any she had ever seen before. At first glance it was just a big, green Christmas tree with red baubles and tinsel and a fairy on top, but when you looked more closely ... She shuddered, and Iris took a deep breath.

"So it isn't just my imagination after all. There is something sinister about it. I enjoyed it while I painted it, but when I sat back and looked at it again ... it's rather horrible, isn't it?"

But Josie shook her head slowly. "I think it's magnificent. It expresses something. The whole atmosphere of this Christmas. At first glance it's just like any other Christmas, the fairy's on the tree, the tree's all big and sparkly, the presents are piled high, but underneath ... Secretly, we're all seeing Dark Marks everywhere, even in the reflection of a branch of pine in a glass ball, and every shade of red we see reminds us of blood and death."

She touched her own red skirt uncomfortably. Then she looked more closely at the fairy.

"There she sits," she said slowly, "looking all pure and clean and pretty and calm. But really she's scared stiff, isn't she? Desperate. But her beautiful white wings have been battered and she can't get away. That's right, isn't it?"

"I don't know."

"Yes, you do," said Josie with certainty. "You know very well." She turned and looked at Iris. "That fairy is you."

Iris stared at her for a moment, then gave an odd, self-conscious little laugh. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

"It's really quite obvious. She's perched all the way up there, trying to rise above all the blood and dark omens around her, but now that she's made it to that perch at the very top of the tree, she can't go any further, she's trapped. Her wings are crippled. She's you, all right. Besides," she added with a smile, returning abruptly to something more like her usual manner, "if she's not you, she's your identical twin. She looks exactly like you."

"Perhaps she does. As for the rest ..."

"What's under all these sheets?" asked Josie, strolling among them. "More dismal Christmas trees?"

"Oh, all kinds of things."

As she walked among them, Josie peeped under the sheets covering some of the paintings. She saw pictures of submissive-looking house elves being towered over by cruel-faced masters, centaurs in harnesses, vampires on leashes ...

"These are all very good!" she exclaimed. "All rather sinister, but you really can paint, and each painting tells a story - a sad story, of course, but very powerful. You should sell these, Iris. I think people would understand ..."

"Oh, I'm sure my husband would understand! Right before he killed me."

Josie glanced at her across the collection of covered-up canvasses. "He's got no idea of this collection?"

"No. I'm trusting you not to tell him."

"Of course." Josie looked down at a very large chest. "What's in here? More tales of woe?"

"No, rather a different collection."

Feeling intensely curious, Josie opened the chest. She looked through the paintings in it one by one, making little noises of surprise and wonder every now and then.

"Now these are really pretty," she said, holding up a painting of a unicorn with a dazzling silver mane galloping across a green meadow before a golden sun. "Wow! When did you paint these?"

"Years ago," said Iris dully. "Before my marriage to Augustus."

Josie returned the painting to the chest and said, "Why did you marry him? I mean, you're a sweet sort of person, and it seems to me like your husband is rather an arrogant sort of ... well ..."

"Brute? Yes, I suppose he is."

"I expect you'll tell me he wasn't always like that."

Slowly, Iris shook her head. "No. No, he ... he was always like that."

"Then why on earth did you marry him? That's if you don't mind me asking," Josie added, worried that she may have gone too far.

"I don't mind," Iris said quietly. "But if you don't mind, there's something I'd like to ask you first."

"All right. Shoot."

"Why do you come here?"

"Well, today I came to deliver a poor excuse for a Christmas present."

"I don't mean that. I mean in principle. Why should you want to be here? Why should you want to go out with my son? I know as his mother I should be blind to his faults, but I am not. There is too much of his father in him, and he follows his father's ideals too closely. Don't misunderstand me - I am fond of my son. But surely a girl like you can't find much fun in being with him. You want someone happier, someone you can laugh with."

"You'd think that, wouldn't you? I used to think so myself. I don't know why it is that I landed up with Sev. Perhaps it's because he's such a challenge. It's my dearest ambition to see him laugh," she said with a twinkle.

Iris shook her head. "Don't count on it, Josie. I've been trying that since he was three years old."

Shrugging, Josie persisted, "So what about you and Mr. Broody, sr.? How did you hook up?"

"My parents wanted me to marry well," Iris explained. "My husband's family were not only wealthy and respected, but they were purebloods. And so our families arranged for us to be married."

"You mean you had no choice in the matter? None at all?"

Iris shook her head. "No. If I had been allowed to choose, I would have chosen rather differently. Still ... there is nothing I can do about that now. But Josie, you're a nice girl, and I'd like to give you a warning if you don't mind: Think carefully about what you're doing. I know you think you have everything under control, but don't be too sure of yourself. Don't take it all too lightly. You may think your differences of opinion with Severus are unimportant, but his opinions are his father's, and they are strong. He upholds them firmly. Don't make the mistake of thinking you can change someone that fanatical."

"If there's even the slightest chance of making him a better person, don't I have a duty to try?"

"No," Iris said firmly. "You have a duty to protect yourself from what you know to be a dangerous situation. I don't know what your secret is, Josie, but I sense that there is something different about you. Be careful that it isn't something that could destroy you."

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Somewhere along its journey northwards the Hogwarts Express passed over viaducts and railway bridges that ran across rarely used roads. One such road led on to a narrow lane lined with trees on one side and an uninterrupted hedge on the other. Just at the point where the hedge was at its densest, anyone magical who knew of its location could plunge an arm into the thicket and take hold of an iron bell pull. After waiting a few moments, perhaps peering at a map with a carefully practised puzzled expression in case any muggles should choose just this moment to pass by, the hedge would part, allowing the visitor entrance to a tree-lined main drive.

This had once been the only means of access to Wandwood Lodge, the house built by Roderick Longbottom in the early 1800s. Later, a second access had been created which, though tucked away, nevertheless could theoretically be stumbled across by the odd stray muggle postman seeking to deliver a letter or two in this secluded spot.

But, on the whole, it was rare to meet a muggle down this path, and visitors normally still used the original gateway, then followed the drive round a bend to the house.

Wandwood Lodge was an odd sort of cross between a cottage and a manor house. It had two main floors with five bedrooms and one bathroom upstairs, a dining room, drawing room, living room and smoking room on the ground floor, and below that a basement that held the kitchen and comfortable lodging space for up to half a dozen house elves. Yet for all its size there was something very rural about it, overgrown as it was with ivy and with its thatched roof and tiny windows.

Old Roderick had spent most of his days in the smoking room, being a heavy smoker married to a notoriously asthmatic wife. They had had three sons together, of whom the eldest had departed home at the tender age of seventeen to seek his fortune in Egypt. His venture proved successful, but one morning he was found with an ancient ritual dagger stuck right through the breast pocket of his pyjama jacket. Some said it was the curse of the mummy's tomb that had struck him down, those less romantically inclined that it was his manservant Barnsley, who had never been heard of since.

Roderick's youngest son had been less interested in treasure, but he too had travelled far, his search being for knowledge, not wealth. He had explored many continents and studied magic rites so old that they were remembered only by the oldest tribesmen in their native villages, and he catalogued and cross-referenced them, intending one day to write a book upon the subject with which History of Magic teachers the world over could bore their students senseless. But somewhere in the ocean his ship had been attacked, it was suspected by a tribe of very hungry merpeople, and all that had remained for the rescue parties to find had been the crow's nest and a collection of soggy notes on the Disillusionment Charms performed millennia ago by the people of Atlantis.

The middle son had been very different from his two brothers. He had stayed at home and 'stuck in the mud', as the expression goes, faithfully tending the flowerbeds and his ageing parents, and had achieved nothing in particular, at least not in the sense that the word is usually taken to mean. After his parents' death, this son continued to keep up the house, and he and his wife had produced four children to fill the spare bedrooms, a son and three daughters.

Roderick's eldest and youngest sons had been well-known throughout the wizarding world as adventurers and brave men, and people had remembered their stories and written books about them. But it was the middle son, the most inconspicuous and unadventurous, who had really succeeded. For his legacy was one that endured ... he had given life and made a home, a home that was still in the family even now, though he himself was long dead and forgotten.

It was a grey brick building that waited at the end of the drive, with an archway on either side of the door. One of these led to the now long disused stable yard, the other to the extensive gardens, covered at this time of year in a thick layer of snow. Behind the front door lay a hallway with stairs going up and doors leading off it in all directions.

One of these doors was that of the drawing room, with its French windows overlooking the terrace, and it was here that Augusta Longbottom received her guests this Christmas Day with a gracious air. She was a tall woman, no longer young but possessed of a strong personality that made up for what could at no time have been regarded as a pretty face. Her style of clothing gave the distinct impression of being of the last century, but this suited her very well. Her manner was regal, and when talking she gave the impression of bestowing a royal gift upon a humble subject. Yet, oddly enough, the severe facade was not what struck Aurora most about her. Perhaps it was her own special gift that made her more perceptive, but it seemed to her that this woman's life centred almost entirely on one human being: her only child, Frank. However stern she may appear at other times, her eyes always softened when they looked upon her son, and her voice changed when she spoke his name. He was, very clearly, the apple of his mother's eye.

Aurora said politely, "It really is very good of you to have us, Mrs. Longbottom. Not everyone would allow strangers to intrude on their Christmas."

"It is our pleasure to have you here," said Mrs. Longbottom condescendingly. "Frank rarely invites anyone home."

There was a knock on the door and a man came in. Aurora knew at once that this must be Frank's father, even though she could see no immediately obvious resemblance between the two men. Richard Longbottom could not have been more unlike his wife. He was a stocky man with grey hair far receded from a low forehead, a friendly smile and gentle grey eyes, the only physical feature he shared with his son. Once introduced to his guests, he welcomed them both not exactly heartily, but warmly, and Aurora was sure at once that here was a man who was of an extremely kindly disposition. A quiet man, but one who was very affectionate and caring. In fact, she took an immediate liking to him.

"Welcome to Wandwood Lodge, my dear," he said to Aurora. "I wish I could say we have heard so much about you, but our son isn't really the gossiping kind."

"I know," said Aurora.

Mr. Longbottom glanced at the clock. "Well, I think we should have plenty of time before our guest of honour arrives. I'm told you positively refused to come unless famous Uncle Algie were present."

Aurora started to protest, but then she caught sight of the twinkle in his eye and realised he was teasing. It pleased her, and she smiled. Richard Longbottom went on, addressing Aunt Enid,

"And what can I tempt to you with, Miss Borealis? A glass of sherry, perhaps?"

"Oh," said Aunt Enid, flustered as always. "Oh ... if it's no trouble ..."

They proceeded into the dining room, where Richard Longbottom handed round aperitifs, but they had not been there long when they were joined by Perky the house elf, who was wearing a festive ribbon around each of her large ears and brought a strong scent of smoke and burnt meat into the room with her. With a sigh, Augusta Longbottom excused herself and went to attend to the catastrophe in the kitchen. Aurora looked around, but saw that Frank's father had gone on talking to her aunt as though nothing had happened.

"Is that normal?" she asked Frank in an undertone.

"Is what normal? Oh, you mean Perky burning the dinner? Yes, that's quite normal. Don't worry, you won't starve. Mother has plenty of experience in dealing with Perky - and plenty of turkey, too." He chuckled. "Poor Perky. She means well."

"Do you have many house elves?"

"No, just the one. We wouldn't have had any, if it hadn't been for Uncle Algie. He won a whole lot of them gambling against some poor fellow he met on one of his travels. He didn't know what to do with them, so he brought them here. He actually wanted to sell them, I think, but Mother wouldn't have it. She said it was bad enough that he'd agreed to use living creatures as gambling stakes. So he gave them away for free instead - at least, so he told Mother - all except Perky."

"Why not her?"

"No one wanted her," Frank said bluntly. "She was always dropping things, knocking things over, and generally getting everything wrong. So we ended up with her."

"Couldn't you just have set her free and let her go?"

"We could, but she'd have hated it. She was a miserable little thing until Mother agreed to keep her. Then she was over the moon, and she's been happy ever since - still as clumsy as ever, mind you."

Aurora sipped her sherry and studied Frank over the rim of the glass. She had never known him to chat so freely, without any apparent embarrassment or hesitation. He seemed quite at ease, and it was only now that she realised she had never seen him really relaxed before. He smiled at her and held out his hand for her now empty glass.

"Shall I take that for you? Would you like anything else?"

"Not just now, thanks."

While he took the glasses back to the tray on the sideboard, Aurora looked around her. It was not a particularly large dining room, but comfortable. There were paintings of countryside landscapes on the wall and many candles had been lit. The table had been draped with a table cloth in red and green and laid perfectly, with deep red napkins, tartan patterned Christmas crackers and wine glasses. It was all very nice, she thought. Warm and cosy and ... homey.

Rejoining her, Frank asked, "Hello, what are you smiling about?"

"Was I smiling?" she asked in genuine surprise. "I didn't realise. I don't know really. It's just all so nice. I'm glad you invited us."

"So am I," he replied.

Aurora was aware once again of how much more easily he seemed to be able to say that here, in his own home. He had been so shy when he had asked her, so unsure of himself. She said,

"You're quite different today, aren't you?"

"Am I?" he asked. "In what way?"

"Less jumpy. More sure of yourself. Not quite so anxious that I'll turn round and say I don't fancy spending Christmas with your family."

He shrugged his shoulders. "Well, you came, you've said hello to my parents, you've met the staff and faced the prospect of burnt turkey with crunchy stuffing, followed by rock-hard mince pies with congealed custard, and you haven't taken to your heels and run for the _Knight Bus_ yet. I'm taking that as a sign that you're not absolutely hating it here."

Aurora laughed so merrily that her Aunt Enid stopped saying whatever she had been confusing Frank's father with at that particular moment and turned to look at her niece in astonishment. Frank led the way over to the other two and murmured conspiratorially to Aurora's aunt,

"Too much sherry, I think."

Aunt Enid smiled. There was a knock on the door just then and Perky appeared once more, carrying an empty gravy boat under her arm.

"Perky is thinking Mr. Algie is here, master," she announced to Richard.

"Ah, good," he said. "Send him in."

"Perky would, sir, if Perky could find him, but he is bringing a big, big plant with him and Perky cannot see round it."

Raising an eyebrow, her master went to investigate. The other three followed. They stopped in the doorway - it was a case of having to. The entire breadth of the hall was spanned at the moment by a large green _something_. Apart from Perky's statement, only the colour of this object gave away that it was, indeed, a plant. It was completely shapeless and it seemed to be expanding further with every second that passed, growing in all directions and pushing Richard and Perky right back to the dining room door.

"Oh dear," Frank sighed. "This looks like another one of Uncle Algie's great discoveries. Is there any way we can shrink it, do you think, Dad?"

"There might be, if I could get at my wand. Unfortunately, I left it in the smoking room."

"And mine's upstairs," Frank said.

"I've got mine with me," Aunt Enid volunteered, reaching for the clasp of the handbag that was swinging from her arm, but Aurora stopped her quickly.

"No, Auntie. Remember what happened the last time you tried to shrink something? Mrs. Crackleby's vegetable marrow? It grew to the size of a baby elephant. I think maybe I should ..."

But as she spoke, the thing in the hallway was already beginning to shrink and shrivel, and the more of the rest of the house came into view, the more loudly they could hear Mrs. Longbottom's angry shouts at her brother.

"Yes, well ... shall we go back inside and wait for the storm to pass?" Mr. Longbottom suggested.

They did so. Presently the door was opened again, and in stepped Uncle Algie himself, a small man with a brown, monkey-like face and wiry grey hair that grew in all directions, still half tangled up in a scarf that was so long you wondered he didn't trip over it when walking. This he did with a springy step and, once he was in the room, it seemed as though there were no longer any room for anyone else. He was such a presence that one couldn't, somehow, quite take in anything else.

"Algie," Frank's father said, shaking hands with him.

Uncle Algie held out his left hand while the right continued to unwind his scarf.

"Happy Christmas, Dick," the funny little man said cheerfully.

"And happy Christmas, Frankie, m'boy," he added, shaking Frank's hand too. "And ... hello, hello, hello. Who have we here?" he asked, his bright eyes appraising the guests quickly. "Well, well, well. Now this is what I call a Christmas treat. How _do _you do?"

And he bowed briskly over Aunt Enid's hand, and a little more slowly over Aurora's, winking at her.

"When Gusty told me there'd be guests for Christmas this year, I thought she meant one of her school friends - of the usual creaking gate variety. If I'd known you were so pretty, I'd have left my hat on, just so I could draw it with a swish to greet you."

He imitated the motion anyway. Aurora caught Frank's eye over his uncle's bent back. He mouthed "_You wanted to meet him_". She grinned.

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**3 - A Pleasant Evening**

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Dinner at Wandwood Lodge passed pleasantly, Augusta Longbottom's occasional tendency to begin a tirade against her 'delinquent' brother forestalled quickly and skilfully by her husband, and after everyone had declared their incapacity to eat another morsel, the table cleared itself, and it was suggested that Frank show Aurora around the house while the older generation withdrew into the drawing room for coffee.

"I hope you don't mind missing out on coffee?" Frank asked her when they found themselves in the hall, not quite sure how they had been propelled out here so quickly.

"No, I don't mind," Aurora assured him. "And I would like to see the house."

"Good."

He showed her round the place, telling her as much of its history as he knew, and Aurora listened with interest. Finally Frank said,

"Well, you've seen it all now."

"No, I haven't," Aurora objected. "You haven't shown me the gardens. I'm sure they must be lovely."

"They are, at any other time of year. But it'll be freezing cold outside now."

"That doesn't worry me. I've been cooped up indoors for so long, Frank. I need to breathe."

He gave in. They fetched their winter cloaks and went out through the front door, then through the archway. Holding up his wand to light the way, Frank led them on a path that took them away from the illuminated French windows of the drawing room, to a point where a bench stood overlooking a frozen pond. He melted the snow off with a flick of his wand, and steam rose from the wooden seat as the last drops of water evaporated. Aurora sat down with a smile. For a while neither of them spoke. Then Aurora sighed,

"I've had such a lovely day. Thank you."

"Don't thank me. I'm glad you came."

She smiled. "You have a lovely family, Frank."

"They're all right, I suppose."

"They're wonderful," Aurora insisted. "Your father ... he's such a dear. I've been having to exercise all my restraint all evening not to get up, walk round the table and give him a hug."

Frank laughed. "Really? Well, I don't suppose you felt the same way about Mother."

"Oh no, I wouldn't dare hug her! She is rather formidable. And so, so proud of you," she added.

"I suppose. And Uncle Algie?"

"He's a character!"

"Yes."

They laughed again. Frank sat down beside her.

"I've enjoyed today," he said earnestly. "Very much."

"So have I. I've been at peace while I was here. I haven't felt like that for a long time. Lately I've been so restless, always wanting to do something, unable to do anything, having to hide away ... I've felt like a prisoner. Today I've been free and ..."

"Yes?"

"Happy. Yes, that's it. I've been happy. But now ... now it's almost over. Soon we'll have to go back to Gryffindor Hall, and everything will be the same as it was, and I'll have to start thinking again. I don't want to have to think."

"Think?" he asked. "About what?"

"About everything. The war, the future, what I'm going to do with my life from now on, whether I want to ..."

She broke off, casting a quick sideways glance at him. For the first time since they had come out here, Frank felt a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold. He said,

"You mean, whether you want to give Sirius another chance?"

"I suppose that's what I mean."

"Do you ... still care about him ... that much?"

"I don't know!" she exclaimed abruptly, getting to her feet.

She turned around suddenly and looked at Frank pleadingly.

"Can't you tell me? You know me well enough. Don't you know what I feel?"

"No," he said sadly. "I don't know. I'm sorry. I wish I could help you."

Aurora gave a frustrated groan and turned away again. Slowly, Frank got up to stand beside her. She wiped her eyes when she felt him approach. He did not comment on it. Instead, he looked up at the sky.

"Not a single cloud," he said. "Look at that star." He pointed. "It's winking at you."

Aurora looked. "That's not a star, it's an aeroplane."

"Is it? So that's why my wishes never come true, I've been wishing on aeroplanes all my life."

She gave a dry little laugh and took his arm. "You're a dear, do you know that?"

He smiled, but it was not a very happy smile. Being a dear, he thought, isn't enough.

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Gryffindor Hall had not seen a Christmas such as this for many a long year, nor could any of the house elves except for Cronky, who was very old, remember seeing their master in such good spirits. The festivities had begun in the morning, when a marvellous breakfast buffet had been laid on for the earliest guests. Bridget had been there with James and Sirius, Peter Pettigrew had joined them very soon, his sister Pippa had come round at lunch time and the Lupins and Malcolm had arrived shortly afterward. The last to arrive had been Lily, who had turned up at about three in the afternoon, having just dropped her mother off at her sister Petunia's house.

Gordon had absolutely forbidden anyone to bring him presents, saying that there was nothing at all that he needed except their company. He, on the other hand, had spared no expense. He had bought dresses for the ladies, the most expensive and high quality Quidditch equipment for James, new robes for Peter, books for Remus ... everyone had received presents they would never have dreamed of, and Sirius seemed happiest of all.

"It's magnificent," he kept gasping when he gazed lovingly at the enormous, shiny motorbike that was standing outside on the terrace. "But it's really too much. I'll pay you back, I promise."

"You'll do no such thing," Gordon said amusedly for the umpteenth time.

After an exceptionally good and rich evening meal, the old wizard looked around the grand drawing room. John and Faith were sitting together on the sofa, looking happier than he had seen them for some time. James, Lily, Remus and Peter were playing Exploding Snap on the floor in front of the fire and Pippa had fallen asleep in an armchair, an empty sherry glass in one hand. Malcolm sat in the chair next to hers and was staring vacantly into the fire, as though none of what had been happening today mattered to him in any way, as though he wasn't even really there. Gordon frowned and got up out of his own chair, crossed the room and went out onto the terrace through the same door through which Sirius was admiring his new machine, and through which Bridget had disappeared some time earlier.

He shivered in the cold night air, but walked along the terrace and round the corner of the house until he could make out a lonely figure standing just by the cherry tree where, years ago, his wife had liked to sit in summer, embroidering cushions while their little daughter played with her dolls on the lawn.

"You'll catch your death of cold out here, my child," the old man said quietly.

Bridget jumped and turned towards him. She did not bother to wipe her eyes.

"Father. I didn't hear you coming. I was just thinking ..."

"About your mother?"

"Yes. About her, and about you. And about myself and Malcolm ..."

"Have you not spoken at all since his return?"

"Not much. I've tried to speak to him, but he's so strange nowadays. It's like he doesn't want to talk to me at all."

"He has been through a terrible ordeal."

"I know! I'm not stupid, or blind. I know it must have been awful for him, that's just it. I want to help him, but I don't know how. He just won't let me. I've spoken to John, but he's almost as puzzled as I am. He reckons Malcolm's still trying to protect me in some way, but that's nonsense. I'm in no danger, if anything he is!"

Gordon shook his head. "I don't think the Death Eaters will really come after him now. It's too late for the process of that potion to be continued. If they had found him in the first couple of days ... but they couldn't. He was safe at Hogwarts, and he'll be safe now, at his sister's."

"I'm not so sure about that. Voldemort must be able to guess where he is, and that John, at least, is as much his enemy as Malcolm himself."

"All the same, the house has been well protected ..."

"I know. I didn't really mean that kind of danger. I think he's in far more danger of being lost in quite another way. And I don't want to lose him, not again."

"Do you care about him that much?"

She nodded. "I do."

Gordon breathed in deeply and studied her thoughtfully. Slowly, Bridget's look changed to one of mild derision.

"I know, you think I've always been a fool where men are concerned," she said bitterly.

But her father shook his head.

"No, Bridget. You made one mistake, and only one, and then you were very young. On the whole, I would say you are a very good judge of character. Malcolm Marley is a good man."

Taken slightly aback, Bridget said quickly, "Oh. I'm sorry, I thought you were going to say ..." She paused and then added guiltily. "Forgive me, Father. I haven't been very fair to you lately, have I? I sent you off to rescue Malcolm and look after John, and I never even thanked you for it."

"You don't have to thank me. I feel I owe you for all the times in the past when I haven't helped you."

With a smile, Bridget said, "All the same - thank you."

He bowed his head, returning her smile. "You're welcome."

They heard the faint sound of laughter coming from the direction of the house.

"Perhaps we should go back into the warm," Gordon suggested, and Bridget nodded.

They walked back along the terrace in silence and re-entered the drawing room together. Malcolm glanced up fleetingly, but quickly looked away again. Gordon returned to his chair and Bridget took a seat on the sofa beside Faith.

"Oi, Sirius!" James called from his seat on the floor. "How about tearing your eyes off that bit of scrap metal out there and playing with us?"

Sirius looked reluctant.

"You can't ride it tonight, anyway," Peter pointed out. "You've had far too much egg nog."

"Not to mention wine and firewhisky," added Lily cheerfully. "Being a wizard doesn't exempt you from the rules of traffic."

"And being the owner of a brand new motorbike doesn't exempt you from playing card games," said Remus, laughing. "And that must be the ninth time in a row that I've lost."

"The eighth, Remus. Let's not exaggerate," Lily corrected him. "Here, have another glass of egg nog for luck."

"Oh no," he protested. "I'm not touching another drop of that stuff. I'm sure you've laced it with loser's lotion or something."

Lily giggled.

"And you lot claim I've had too much of everything," Sirius muttered, returning reluctantly from the window to join them. He flopped down next to James. "All right then. Prepare to be beaten by the champion, the lot of you!"

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Frank accompanied Aurora and her aunt back to the great gates of Gryffindor Hall and down the long gravel path. Aurora had slipped her arm through his again and was chatting merrily all the way, while Aunt Enid followed a little way behind them. They waited for her outside the front door, where she turned to Frank.

"Thank you again, so much, for inviting us."

"You're welcome," he replied politely. "I hope you had a nice time."

"Oh, I can't remember the last time I've enjoyed myself so much. Please do tell your parents again how much I appreciated it."

"I will."

Aunt Enid beamed at him and shook his hand. "Well, goodbye, dear boy," she said, and with those words entered the house and left them alone on the front doorstep.

Aurora looked up at Frank, smiling. "She'll be talking about this for weeks and weeks to come, I dare say. She's not had such a treat for years. And you really must say thank you to your parents, and your uncle, for their patience. Aunt Enid isn't exactly the easiest of people to converse with, she does jump rather."

"I'm sure they didn't mind," he said.

There was a pause in which Aurora looked around her at the snowy grounds sparkling in the moonlight and sighed.

"How beautiful everything looks. It's hard to believe that there can be anything evil in the world when you see something so beautiful, don't you agree?"

Frank, who was looking at her rather than admiring the scenery, did not answer immediately. She looked up again questioningly.

"Frank?"

"What? Oh ... yes, I know what you mean. I agree."

"Well," Aurora said with a sigh, "I suppose I'd better go in now. It's late." She shivered. "And it's chilly too."

"Yes. All right."

But still Aurora remained standing opposite him on the doorstep. After a while she said,

"Will you be very busy tomorrow, or will you be popping in at all?"

"Oh, I ... I forgot to tell you," he said hurriedly. "We're going away."

"Going away? Where to?" Aurora asked in surprise.

"A tiny little island off the north coast of Scotland. My grandparents live there. My grandfather's very old, and very ill, so this might be the last time ... Well, anyway, we're leaving tomorrow morning and we probably won't be back for three weeks."

"Three weeks!" she exclaimed, looking stunned.

"It's not very long, really, when you consider we haven't seen them for about a year. It'll be nice to see them again," he remarked unenthusiastically.

"But ..." Aurora stammered. "But I ... you ... oh."

She looked so crestfallen that Frank was puzzled, and also secretly pleased. Aurora lowered her gaze.

"I'm going to miss you," she said heavily, sounding almost as though she was only just realising it herself. "I suppose it's selfish of me, but I've got so used to seeing you practically every day." Looking up again, she added eagerly, "You'll have to call me by floo network. Will you?"

He shook his head. "I can't, I'm afraid. They're not connected. They like things peaceful and secluded - shut off from the outside world. No floo network, no newspaper, no wireless."

"Do they have owls?"

"It's not easy to get owls to go there and back. But yes, they do have owls sometimes."

"Then you must write to me! Please, Frank, say you will. Not every day, of course, but once or twice perhaps? Will you write to me?"

"Of course, if you want me to. Though I won't have much to tell."

"That doesn't matter, just tell me any little thing. But please promise me you'll write."

Frank nodded. "I promise."

"Good." Aurora smiled sweetly and a little sheepishly now. "I'm sorry to be such a fuss, but I feel so cut off from everything here. Without your visits, I won't know what to do with myself. Besides, I'd be worried if I didn't hear from you for all that time." She suddenly hugged him tightly. "I'm going to feel all at a loose end without you here to look after me, Frank," she said. "You are my guardian angel, you know."

He gave a small laugh at this. "Hardly an angel. But I do my best."

"That's good enough for me," she said, looking at him once more. "Goodbye, Frank. Take care."

And with that, she kissed his cheek and hurried into the house.

Frank watched the door close behind her and remained there, staring at it for a moment. Very quietly he said to himself, "I'm sure I couldn't have asked for a better Christmas present." Then he turned around, walked down the steps, and followed the gravel path back to the iron gates.

Aurora, meanwhile, had flung off her cloak over a nearby chair in the entrance hall and dashed upstairs, ignoring Sirius in the passage, who had just stepped out of the drawing room to fetch his own cloak and Bridget's. From an upstairs window, she watched Frank leave. Sirius joined her at the window.

"Glad to see he brought you home safely," he remarked in a subdued tone.

Aurora turned her head. "Oh. Hello, Sirius," she said as though she had not noticed him before. "Still here? I thought you'd have left by now."

"We were just going. Did you have a good Christmas?"

She nodded. "I had a wonderful time. And you?"

"It was okay." There was a pause in which Sirius looked thoughtful and far more serious than usual. "Look here," he said at last. "About what happened last time, when I came to see you and ... Well, I'm sorry, Rory. I realise I behaved pretty stupidly. Kissing you, I mean. It wasn't the right time, not with all that I'd just told you, and because ... because it was just all wrong. I mean we're not ... like we used to be. But sometimes I do wonder whether that was all just a mistake. I behaved like an idiot at school, I know. I should have seen then that you were the best thing that ever happened to me. And I'm wondering now if it wasn't wrong of us to give up so easily, maybe if we'd only tried ..."

"Sirius," Aurora interrupted him. "Before you go on, how much have you been drinking?"

"What?" he asked, confused. "I don't see what that's got ..."

"You don't sound like yourself," she said. "All this seriousness and apologising, it isn't you. If you want to apologise and have it all out and make it up, please come back when you're perfectly sober, will you? At the rate you're going you'll be dropping down on one knee before you know it and tomorrow you'll wake up with a splitting headache wondering what on earth possessed you."

He stared at her. "What's got into you? I thought you said you'd had a nice day. And didn't you always want me to be sincere?"

"Yes ... no ... oh, I don't know!" she burst out. "That was then. Now, I ... I don't know what I want any more. I used to think one day I would know, but instead it's like I know less and less each minute. I'm confused, and I'm tired, and I ... I did have a lovely day," she added dreamily. "And I don't want to spoil it. I'm going to bed. Good night."

And she turned on her heel and left him standing there, bewildered. But once upstairs in her bedroom, she did not go to bed at once. She stood instead looking out of the window for quite a long time, wondering why, after having felt so happy and content a couple of hours ago, she now felt so strangely forlorn and restless. She played with a tassle on the curtain and thought of Sirius. Had he meant what he had been starting to say just now, was he truly sorry for everything, did he really consider her the best thing that had ever happened to her? And if he had meant it, how did that make her feel? She shivered and wished Frank hadn't already left. If only he had still been here, she could have told him what Sirius had just been saying. And maybe, though he claimed he couldn't help her in this matter, but just maybe he could have told what this strange cramped-up feeling was that she had inside her.

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"Lily," James began as they stood in the hallway of her home. "Remus told me he visited you yesterday."

"That's right," she said, leading the way into the living room. "He told me everything you wanted him to tell me." She sat down on the sofa and continued, looking upset, "It's so sad."

Sitting down beside her, James nodded. "I know. It's totally unfair. He doesn't deserve to suffer like that."

"No. Nobody does."

"On that point, I'm afraid I might disagree. I could think of a few people ..."

"You wouldn't really wish a thing like that on anyone, James," Lily said firmly.

"I dare say you're right," he admitted. "In any case, I'm glad you've accepted it like this. Not that I ever had any doubts. I knew you were too soft-hearted to hold it against him."

"So are you."

Shaking his head, James said, "I've never considered myself soft-hearted. Except, of course, where you're concerned."

Lily touched his cheek and leaned closer, but taking her hand, James shook his head once more.

"No, Lily, wait. There's ... something I've got to tell you. Something I think you know, but ... Lily, I love you. I love you more than I ever thought it was possible to love anyone in the world."

"James ..."

"Please, let me finish," he begged her, "before my nerve leaves me completely. Lily ..." He took her hand between his and knelt on the floor before her. "Lily Evans. Will you marry me?"

Lily stared at him for a moment, her cheeks going from white to red. Then her green eyes filled with tears and she smiled and nodded. She slid to the floor beside him and they kissed.


	32. Part 32: A Great Shock

**Prequel, Part 32: A Great Shock**

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**1 - Storm Clouds Gathering**

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It was the second week in January and a day of glorious sunshine, though Laura Lovegood suspected the air was probably still very cold outside. She stretched a little on the sofa and smoothed her blanket out a bit more evenly, debating what to do next. Though she had been reading, and enjoying this latest book Lance had brought her, somehow she didn't feel like it any more. She replaced the bookmark, put the book on the little table beside her and removed her reading glasses. She had never needed to wear glasses of any kind before, but since the attack, not everything was as it had been. There was a deep cut still in the process of healing over her left eye, from the eyebrow right down to the cheek, from when her face had struck the wall, that would never vanish entirely, and a good deal of swelling around it. A blow to her head had damaged some nerves and though the vision of her right eye was only slightly impaired, the left had been greatly weakened. A few stray bruises to her face had not yet quite faded and a scar marred her lower lip on the right-hand side of her face. On the whole though, it was the left side of her body that had suffered most.

Still, she could not complain. The incident had not, for example, left her completely blind or entirely disfigured. Moreover, Lance had been kind to her, and he and his fiancée Gloria had taken such good care of her as to be downright irritating at times. She knew they only meant well, and had felt a pinch of guilt about getting a little sharp with Gloria two days ago, when the younger woman had insisted on reading a whole three essays on the possibilities of taming vampirical doxies to her. All the same, one really couldn't stand that all the time, especially when one's mind still secretly dwelt on much more important things.

Laura closed her eyes and leaned back on the sofa. There was a ring at the front door and presently she heard Lance cross the hall and answer it. After a brief murmur of voices, her brother knocked on the open living room door behind her. Opening her eyes again, but without turning her head - since she knew from experience that it would be painful - Laura said,

"Yes, Lance. What is it?"

"Someone's come to see you. If you feel up to it."

"Of course. Who is it?" she asked.

But Lance did not answer. Instead she heard a different set of footsteps approach her from behind. A shadow cast by the bright light from the window preceded the man. She drew in her breath sharply when she saw him.

"Malcolm?" she exclaimed disbelievingly.

Looking up at him, she saw at once how much leaner he was in the face. His drawn cheeks were slightly disguised by a thin layer of beard, a little grey had crept into his hair at the temples and he walked slowly. But what really startled her was the eyes, so dark and unfathomable now, though she remembered them brightly sparkling and full of cheer.

"Hello, Laura," he greeted her. His tone was light, but not quite naturally so. "I thought it was about time I dropped in on you to let you know I'm still alive."

"I knew that," she said. "Mr. Moody told me. But I understood you were supposed to be resting at your sister's place."

"That's right. But I've never seen the point of lying around indoors all day as Faith would like me to do. It only leaves you one thing to do, and that's brood. Not that that can be avoided. But if you're going to brood, you might as well get out and stretch your legs at the same time, get some fresh air. That's always been your idea of a cure, hasn't it? You never used to think much of ..." He broke off suddenly, very abruptly, a startled look on his face as though a thought had only just occurred to him. He stumbled on, "I ... I mean ... good God, Laura, I've only just thought ... you're not ..."

"What, you mean this?" she asked, indicating the blanket that covered her legs. "I'm not paralysed, if that's what you're thinking. Nothing so dramatic as that. Although the staff at St. Mungo's were kind enough to point out that I owe that fact entirely to luck. However, it does look like I won't be taking much action in future. I can walk, but my left leg was crunched up rather badly, so as you can imagine, my limp rivals Mr. Moody's these days - but I like to think that creates a rather heroic impression."

Malcolm smiled. It was nothing like the old roguish smile she remembered, but it felt good to see it all the same.

"I'm sure it does," said Malcolm.

He pulled up a chair, sat down, and studied her face for a moment until Laura remarked uncomfortably,

"I'm afraid while that new 'haunted' look of yours is rather appealing, my change of appearance has not been quite so fortunate. Bones can be re-grown - and so many of mine have been that I don't think I shall ever forget the taste of _Skele-Gro_ - but they like to leave skin to heal itself. But though you may not believe it, I look far worse in other places."

"You look ... all right," Malcolm said.

The comment might have been taken negatively if spoken in a different way. But there was such a warmth in his voice as he said it that Laura could not help but smile.

"The bruises will fade soon enough," he went on.

"Yes, I dare say they will. But the scars won't," she replied quietly.

He realised, without her needing to say it, that she was no longer talking about the damage done to her face.

"I'm told they beat you up pretty roughly. I've not heard any details, but it must have been grim what they did to you. It must have been a pretty powerful _Imperius_ curse, neither of them would ever have been inclined to be so brutal otherwise. I suppose you don't know who controlled them ..."

"I ... I can't be sure," Laura said. "I may have a suspicion, but that's all it is. It's nothing to found an accusation on."

"Nevertheless, you shouldn't keep it to yourself. Whoever it was turned two of our own, pretty strong wizards, too, right against you. And then just left you there ..."

Laura bit her lip. She did not want to cry, but she was very much aware that her eyes were suddenly beginning to brim with tears. Malcolm looked tactfully down at the floor.

"We've certainly been through hell, haven't we?" he murmured.

"Yes," she agreed in a choked voice.

"It's hard to remember there were times when we'd complain over a mere scratch, and say we were tired after a long day at Headquarters. Looking back, I don't think I was ever really tired then. I'm tired now. Terribly tired."

Laura pushed her blanket aside and sat up, leaning across to put a hand on his arm. "So am I," she said. "But what can we do? What's done is done. The scars are there and now we must live with them. We mustn't give in and be defeated."

Malcolm looked up again. "You're a brave girl," he said.

She shook her head. "Not nearly so brave as you think. A lot of the time, since it happened, I've felt positively terrified. I have flashbacks, you see. Memories of what they did to me, and they seem awfully real at times. And though they pass there are other things. For a start, I ... I can't stand doors being closed," she told him with a shudder. "I simply can't stand it. I have to have the door open all the time. And I need a window. I can't bear to be in a room without light ... But it gives me comfort to know that I don't have to live with all that alone. Lance," she added with feeling, "has been wonderful. We're lucky to have people who love us, and will help us." When Malcolm did not answer, she added, "How is your family?"

"They're fine."

"And Bridget?"

Malcolm was silent. Laura eyed him curiously.

"What's wrong? Has there been some kind of trouble between you?"

"No."

"Then why this strange silence?"

Malcolm left his chair abruptly and paced the floor. "You said yourself the scars will be with us forever. We'll never be rid of them. They're like a curse that rests on us now, and I ... I don't mind telling you _I'm_ frightened too, Laura," he admitted, interrupting his pacing. "And I have flashbacks. Nightmares. For a while I thought it would be all right, that it would all go away, but it hasn't. I have them nearly every night."

Rising from the sofa, Laura came to stand beside him and he realised that in fact, her limp was rather worse than Alastor Moody's.

"It can't all go away," she said, forcing him to look at her. "Not of its own accord, and certainly not if you keep brooding alone. You need to get it out of your system. You've got to find comfort, Malcolm. You need help."

He shook his head. "This is something I have to sort out by myself. I can't burden anyone with it, certainly not Bridget. She's too dear to me ... and much too young for all this ..."

"She's not as young as I am, I think," Laura said with a faint smile. "And yet from what you've said before I gather she suffered at a much earlier age than either of us. We can none of us choose when burdens are to come our way. But they are part of any life, not just ours. The great thing about ... about love ... is that it allows us to share our burdens, and in that way they become lighter."

"I can't, Laura, I ... I don't want to hurt her."

"What if you are hurting her?"

He stared at her. "What are you trying to do? Make me feel worse?"

"No, Malcolm. I'm just trying to make you realise that it's all right to accept a bit of happiness when you get the chance. We none of us know what will happen tomorrow. It's no good shutting yourself away. If Bridget truly loves you, then that's not what she wants. Of course you can't forget what you've been through. But you can lessen its power over you. Believe it or not, talking to someone does help. You can still be happy if you allow yourself to be. You're very lucky to have someone who loves you. And you shouldn't cast that kind of luck aside."

Very slowly, Malcolm said, "I am sorry, Laura."

"You don't need to apologise ... not to me," she said.

Then, returning to the sofa, she went on in quite a different tone, "Sit down, Malcolm. I've had enough of all this dark talk. How was your Christmas?"

Malcolm sat down obediently and began telling her what it had been like at Gryffindor Hall.

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"Miss Aurora?"

Aurora looked up from the book she had been reading by the fire in the library at Gryffindor Hall to see Gordon Gryffindor himself approaching her.

"Yes?"

"Alastor Moody is downstairs and wishes to speak to you. He says it is extremely urgent."

With an inexplicable feeling of panic at the news, Aurora darted past the old wizard and down the stairs. Moody was waiting for her by the front door, looking at once angry and a little upset - as upset as Alastor Moody's always grim face allowed him to look.

"Sir," Aurora exclaimed breathlessly when she reached him. "What is it? Has anything happened? Is it ..."

"Am I right in thinking you're fed up being stuck indoors here at the Hall?" he asked without giving her an answer.

"What? I ... yes, that's right."

"Then come with me. Don't just stand there, girl, get your cloak on! Hurry!"

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The Leaky Cauldron was far from busy today. Once upon a time it had been packed every lunch time with witches and wizards who worked in London, but these days there were hardly more than a handful of people to be found here. Sirius rejoined Remus and Peter at their table, carrying three mugs of butterbeer.

"Cheers," he said, sitting down.

The other two took gulps of their own drinks. Peter took out a sheaf of papers and began leafing through them.

"Oi, oi, what's this?" complained Sirius. "You don't bring work to lunch with your best friends. The next round of butterbeer's on you, Wormtail!"

With a shrug and a smile, Peter put his papers away. "Whatever you say, Padfoot."

"Tough day at work?" Sirius enquired in a more friendly tone.

"I thought we weren't going to _talk_ about work either," Remus pointed out.

"Right you are," agreed Sirius. "All right then. Pleasanter subjects. Hm ... can't think of any. Can you?"

"How about James and Lily?" suggested Peter.

"Nah. That's not pleasant, that's sad," Sirius grumbled. "Poor old Prongs. He's done it for himself now."

"Personally, I think he's done very well for himself," said Remus.

Sirius snorted. "Yes, we all know you and Lily are thick as thieves now she knows the whole truth."

"We're no more nor less 'thick' than we were before, actually."

"Ha, that's what you may think. Maybe you haven't noticed the mother-hen look that comes into those emerald eyes of hers - which, as something of a connoisseur on the subject, I will admit are pretty fine - whenever she looks at you these days. You've awakened her motherly instincts with your hard luck story, I think."

"I didn't tell her a hard luck story. Only the truth."

"That's worse," Sirius claimed, but then he nudged Remus playfully. "Well, never mind, Moony. I'm sure once she and James have got a handful of little cubs of their own, she'll stop fussing over you. Unfortunately, James will never be the same again either."

Remus smiled. "For all your grumbling, Sirius, I'm sure you're every bit as pleased for them both as Peter and I. And I'm just as sure you'll love being a godfather one of these days."

"Godfather? Me? No one in his right mind would trust me with a kid!"

Pretending to consider him seriously, Remus gave a mock sigh. "True. You're just an overgrown child yourself, aren't you? But then so is James. Neither of you will ever really grow up, will you?"

"I hope not," said Sirius. "After all, what's the point? If acting all grown up and sensible won't win me a girl any more than being my usual boyish, prank-playing self ..."

"What do you mean?" Peter asked.

Sirius twisted his mug between his fingers. "Nothing much. It's just that I tried talking to Rory Christmas Day. Yes, I know you disapprove, Remus. No need to look at me like that. But there was something I needed to sort out with her and then I sort of got talking. Seems like I did something wrong though. Mind you, I'm damned if I know what. I was being all serious and sincere and everything, just like she used to want me to, and she seemed to think I was drunk or something."

Remus and Peter both suppressed a chuckle, but Sirius continued undeterred.

"I know you think this is as much a spur of the moment fancy of mine as any other, but that's not so. The thing with Rory is that she ... she's different. I don't know what it is, but there's something about her ... And I'm not going to give up so easily, not while she hasn't outright told me to scoot."

"Look, Sirius," said Remus, "I know Aurora is a special girl. She's not only exceptionally good looking, she's popular, she's brave, she's clever and interesting and she's also an extremely nice person. But there's one more thing about her you've never given enough thought to. She's extremely vulnerable. And you're temperamental, you blurt things out and act on a whim without thinking. You can be very ... unexpected, Sirius. I think what Aurora wants is reliability, not spontaneity."

"You can't really mean she wants someone like Frank Longbottom, surely? Don't get me wrong, I like Frank, he's an honest enough stick-in-the-mud. But where's the excitement in that, the adventure, the passion? That's what a girl really wants."

"What do you really know about what Aurora wants?" Remus asked him. "You never bothered to ask her, did you? You just go around assuming that what every girl wants is you. The trouble is that in this case, I think there's a real danger you'll persuade her. There was a time when I thought that was how it ought to be, but I don't think so any more. I think I know her a little better now than I did then, and I think she's actually very insecure. And I don't think you've got what it takes to make her feel safe."

"Oh, so suddenly you're an expert on what Rory wants and needs, eh? Suddenly you think you've got a right to sit there and criticise me?"

"I wasn't criticising you, Sirius. I just don't think that what you're proposing is a good idea - for either of you."

Sirius opened his mouth to protest again, but Peter got in first.

"Please," he said. "Haven't we got enough to worry about without you two arguing?"

Smiling at him, Remus said, "Right you are, Peter." He raised his mug of butterbeer to them both. "To friendship," he suggested. "And to Lily and James."

Grudgingly, with the eyes of the other two on him, Sirius raised his mug too and nodded. "Yes. All that stuff," he grumbled and drained his mug.

The truth was that, deep down, he knew Remus was right, of course. Aurora Borealis, for all her courage and openness, was secretly shy and insecure. Probably it was only fair of him to leave her alone, and not tempt her into something he knew would only cause her more anxiety. But it was true what he had said. She was not like any other girl ...

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**2 - News of a Tragedy**

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On the whole, Frank could not say he hadn't been enjoying his stay at his grandparents' house on the lonely Scottish island. The weather might be as awful as any he had ever experienced and his bedroom here was rather cramped, but it was good to wake up to the sound of roaring waves each morning and look out across the stormy sea, wild and treacherous but also beautiful and magnificent. More than once he caught himself wondering what Aurora would say if she could see it. He had a feeling she would like it very much. The sea was so endless and so totally untamed that it really could make you forget everything else. And that, he thought, would be good for her.

There was a knock on the door and he turned away from the window.

"Come in."

His mother appeared in the doorway, stooping slightly to avoid bumping her head against the sloped ceiling. She held out a newspaper to him.

"Your grandmother was able to get a _Prophet_ for you," she explained. "She said you seemed so anxious for news from the outside world the other day that she sent an owl to the mainland to get you a newspaper. It seems to be two days old though."

"That's fine," he said, pleased, and took the paper from his mother's outstretched hand.

"Breakfast will be ready in about half an hour," she informed him, and left the room.

Frank spread the newspaper out on an old mahogany desk that stood against the wall opposite his bed and flicked through the first pages, skimming the headlines. More attacks, more torturing, more killings ... it was all the same as ever, and sadly to say one had got all too used to this kind of report, so that they mostly failed to shock. An article in the middle of the paper caught his attention, however. There was a photograph of several bodies sprawled on the ground in front of a roaring bear in a cage. The caption read: "_Bears look on as Death Eaters and aurors battle at London Zoo_". Frank bent over to look more closely at the picture. One of the figures lying there unmoving looked familiar. It couldn't be, surely ... He leafed through the paper until he reach the obituaries at the back. His finger travelled swiftly down the page and found what he was looking for: _Daniel Moore, auror in training, killed in a fight with Death Eaters at London Zoo on January 8th, aged 18_. Frank swallowed hard. He hadn't known Daniel particularly well, but back in their Hogwarts days the Ravenclaw had always been around whenever there was any kind of action going on, and he had been a member of their auror training group from the very beginning. Frank looked up and down the list, spotting other names of aurors he had known here and there. Suddenly he stiffened as he looked down at the page, but only for a moment. He read and re-read the name, holding the paper up to his face now with trembling hands.

Several minutes later, there was another knock at the door, but Frank did not answer it. The door opened slowly, and this time it was his father who looked in.

"Breakfast's ready, Frank. Your mother's secured you an extra slice of bacon, but if you don't hurry ... Frank?"

He came into the room, looking anxiously at his son. Frank had dropped the newspaper back onto the desk and was swaying where he stood, his face drained of colour and his fingers gripping the edge of the desk for support.

"Sit down," said his father hurriedly, pushing a chair under him. "What's the matter?"

Frank sat, but was still unable to speak. He sat staring straight ahead of him while his father picked up the newspaper and looked at the open page until he found the name that had shaken Frank so. Then, with a swift, worried glance at Frank, he went to the door and called his wife.

"Augusta! Augusta, come quickly!"

Augusta Longbottom appeared within a few moments to look at him questioningly. She glanced from her husband to her son and back.

"What's happened?" she asked briskly.

"It's Aurora," said her husband sadly, pointing to the newspaper. "She's ... dead."

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Severus Snape had read the same newspaper as Frank, but with a very different reaction. A smile played about his lips as he used the middle pages to wrap up some herbs he had been using for a new potion on which he was experimenting, and placed them carefully in a drawer. Locking the door of his laboratory behind him, he went upstairs and got changed before going out to meet Josephine. He found her, as they had agreed, by the city wall in York where they had first met. She was dressed as colourfully as ever in bright blue, grass green and orange, but her face was devoid of makeup and she wore a frown that did not suit her.

"Is anything wrong?" he asked as they began to walk along the wall without any particular destination in mind.

"I read the _Prophet_ the other day," she said thoughtfully. "And I was wondering how much longer the news is going to stay so dreadful. You'd think there'd be some good news eventually, but it's all just death and terror."

"There'll be good news again some day," said Severus forcefully. "When the Dark Lord has completed his mission, when he has gained total power and all the mudbloods and blood traitors have been destroyed."

She cast him an unhappy glance that he did not notice.

"Do you really think there will ever be peace?" she asked. "When your Dark Lord has finished 'purging' this country of all the people you like to call 'scum', do you really think he'll be satisfied?"

Severus shook his head without hesitation, and without regret. "Of course not. Once this country is under the control of those who have the right to control it, he will progress to other lands. He has already recruited allies in other countries. It will take time and effort, and it will cost many valuable lives, I dare say. But he will establish the rightful order of the world." He added slowly, "However, once his mission is finished here in England, we will no longer need to worry about it. It will be up to others. We'll be free to do as we choose."

"You might," Josie said quietly. "But not me."

"Why not? You're as pureblood as any of us, and there will be good times coming for purebloods. You could be someone important."

"I don't want to be important," she murmured. "And the more I hear of all this, the less I want to be pureblood."

Shrugging his shoulders, Severus said, "But you are pureblood."

"Yes," Josie agreed. "I am pureblood, but ..."

Her voice trailed away. Severus studied her confusedly for a moment, then he said in quite a different tone,

"You look out of spirits. I know the weather doesn't exactly suggest it, but ... I wonder ... might an ice-cream cheer you up?"

Josie looked up at him, a puzzled expression on her face. Then she smiled, slowly forcing herself to return to her usual carefree manner.

"That sounds like the best idea you've ever had. Yes. Why not?"

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Owls whizzed back and forth under the ceiling of the Auror Headquarters at the Ministry of Magic on Tuesday morning, passing over the heads of the staff who had assembled today. There had rarely been so many people here all at once, but ever since the loss of those young aurors at the zoo, nearly everyone had been coming in to work all week long, ignoring the holidays and weekends and showing more effort and eagerness than ever to fight the Death Eaters and put a stop to their terror once and for all.

Against the advice of the healers and her brother, Laura Lovegood was back for the first time as well, and had been received warmly by all her colleagues, who had tried hard to be casual and mostly failed, either staring too long at her scars or avoiding looking into her face altogether. Only Alastor Moody had treated her much the same as ever, at least following a brief, gruffly offered "Glad to have you back", and having made sure her desk was moved to somewhere more open. She was sitting there now, going through a recent report with him, when suddenly there was a lot of murmuring behind the partition wall and Moody looked around it to ask what was going on. He fell silent almost at once, however, and Laura pushed back her chair to look around him.

She saw Frank Longbottom, standing among all the others with his cloak flapping open and his shirt half hanging out of his trousers. He looked as dishevelled and distraught as her brother had on Christmas Day, and she felt an immediate pang of sympathy for the young man as he faced Moody, his eyes burning.

"What were you thinking?" he asked loudly and without preamble, waving an old newspaper in Moody's face. "You took her away from the Hall? You put her in danger? You knew they were after her, you knew they'd kill her if they could! What was the big idea?"

Moody said quietly, ignoring the murmurs all around, "She was fed up being locked away and kept safe all the time, Frank. You know that."

"Yes, I know that. I also know that we agreed she needed to be kept safe in spite of herself! I thought you cared about her! I thought you realised how important it was ..."

"Frank, listen ..." Moody called, but Frank was not listening.

"I was supposed to be protecting her!" he cried. "I swore I'd look after her, and I ... I failed!"

"No, lad, you didn't fail," said Moody sharply, gripping his shoulder. "You did everything you could have done for her."

Frank dropped into a chair, shaking his head and burying his face in his hands. Laura left her chair and fetched him a cup of steaming hot tea, which shook so badly when he took it from her that she kept hold of the cup to steady it.

"How did you find out about it?" asked Moody, watching.

"The _Prophet_," Frank replied a little more calmly after he had taken a sip. "I saw the picture of Daniel, and then I read on ..."

"You read it in the _Prophet_? But I thought there were no newspapers where you were going?"

"There aren't as a rule. But I mentioned that I'd like to have one and my grandmother got it for me."

"I see."

The older auror pulled up a second chair and looked Frank in the eye.

"Look, I'm sorry you had to find out this way. I didn't mean for that to happen." He looked around him at all the other aurors watching them, and exchanged a glance with Laura Lovegood. She took over from him, speaking cautiously,

"Frank, we realise this must have been a terrible shock to you. These are terrible times. But I'm sure Aurora wouldn't want you to be upset. I think she would want ..." - here she looked a question at Moody, and he nodded - "... she would want you to take care of the only family she had left as best you can. Her aunt has left their old hiding place now, since there was no more need for her to hide. She's moved to Hogsmeade, to live with Alice Spriggs. I don't know if you read that part too in the papers, but Alice's family were all killed last week. I think perhaps you should visit her there ... very soon."

Frank nodded slowly. "I will go and see her, of course. But there's something else I have to do first ..." He looked at Moody. "Sir, where ... where was she buried?"

Moody looked taken aback. "I really don't think you should put yourself through this ..."

"Sir, I have to!" said Frank firmly, his voice rising again. "Please. Tell me where ..."

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**3 - Talk on the Tor**

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Malcolm had got into a lot of trouble with Faith the other day for slipping off quietly to see Laura Lovegood without telling anyone where he was going. Though he had been angry at first because she seemed to be treating him like a child, he had calmed down fairly quickly and realised that, after all, perhaps she had been right to be cross with him. There was nothing to stop him going out when he wanted to, but also no reason to keep it a secret and lead her to worry where he had got to. So now they had agreed that he would always let her know when he went out and roughly where he was going. Today he had told her that he wanted a walk in the woods.

This was quite true. He had walked from the house straight in between the trees until he had come to the little creek, then he had followed it to its source, coming out of the forest on the slope of a hill. He had climbed to the tumble of rocks at the top of it and sat down on a large slab, feeling rather breathless. Now he was gazing out over the countryside, taking in deep lungfuls of cold, crisp air that was wonderfully refreshing. The sun sparkled on the snow that covered the gentle slopes and valleys all round, transforming the bleakness of the moors in winter into a magical fairyland. Here and there he could see tiny dark shapes moving slowly among the snow-covered ferns and heather, probably ponies and sheep roaming the peaceful countryside.

For the first time in a very long while, Malcolm felt reasonably at peace, able to stop thinking about all that had happened in the final months of the previous year, even daring to look forward to what he hoped would be a more restful time to come, though he had not yet thought about what he would do from now on. He sat there, enjoying the tranquillity and wishing he would never have to move from it, or take any kind of action or even think again, until he heard the soft crunch of the snow under someone's foot behind him, and turned his head. It was Bridget. She was wrapped in a heavy brown coat with a fur-lined hood on her head and raised a gloved hand in greeting.

"Hello," she said a little shyly. "I hope I'm not intruding."

"I ... no. Of course not," Malcolm answered, not knowing what else to say.

Bridget gave him a small smile and came a little nearer. "Faith told me you'd gone for a walk in the woods. I don't think she expected you to go quite this far."

"I'm surprised you found me."

"It took me quite a while. You may not realise it, but you've been out for at least a couple of hours."

"I didn't know that, no," Malcolm admitted.

Bridget studied him a moment from under her hood. He was gazing fixedly out at the landscape that stretched before them again, and though he spoke politely, there was barely a hint of any kind of emotion underlying his words, and certainly no enthusiasm for the conversation. It was as though he were saying as little as possible without being rude.

"How long have you been sitting on that rock?" she asked.

"I don't know."

"You'll catch a chill."

He did not reply. Bridget hesitated a moment. While Malcolm was not being exactly forthcoming, at least they were managing to exchange a few words without him seeking the nearest escape route. She decided to risk moving closer still, and came to stand right in front of him so that he could no longer see much of the moors.

"Malcolm, if you don't mind ... I'd like to talk to you," she said cautiously.

"I thought that's what we were doing."

"I meant _really_ talk."

He raised his head to look at her reluctantly.

"I was afraid you might."

"Why?" she demanded quickly. "Why should you be afraid of talking to me, _really_ talking? It's what we should be doing, what we should have done at once, the minute you got back. The others said you didn't feel like talking just yet, that you needed some time to recover. I tried to understand that. I tried to give you time, I thought if I waited long enough, you'd come to me yourself eventually and talk to me, but you haven't. It's been nearly a month now, and you haven't said a word."

"What do you expect me to say?"

"Anything - everything. Whatever's on your mind, anything you want to tell me."

"And if there isn't anything that I want to tell you?"

"Are you saying there isn't?" she asked.

He thought for a moment before realising he could not lie to her. So he answered, "There are things that I would like to talk about to someone, yes. If I could. But I can't."

"Yes you can, of course you can if you really want to."

Malcolm shook his head. "They're things that I don't really want anyone to know. Things I don't think I could make anyone understand. And even if I could ... that might be worse. To understand the things I've experienced, the things I've allowed to happen in my presence and the things I've done ... yes, I think that would be worse."

"I'm sure you're wrong, at least where I'm concerned. Nothing could be worse than what is happening to us now. I feel like I'm losing you, even more than I was when you weren't there. At least there was hope then. I could hope and wait for the day when you'd come back. I used to think about it sometimes when I couldn't sleep ... picture how it would be."

"How did you picture it?" Malcolm asked, and for the first time since they had begun to speak the neutrality of his tone was broken by the vaguest hint of a tremor.

"Always the same," Bridget said purposefully, looking straight at him so that he could not avoid her. "In different places, at different times, but always the same. You would take me in your arms and hold me so tightly that I felt like there was nothing else in the world, just you and me. It was wonderful, and it hurt." She added with an unhappy laugh, "It made it even more impossible for me to sleep."

Malcolm closed his eyes and turned his face the other way. Bridget reached out a hand to touch his cheek, and he flinched.

"Don't, Bridget," he begged. "Please ... don't. Don't."

"Why not?" she asked, sounding hurt. "I love you."

"Don't say that, you mustn't," he said, looking at her again in spite of himself.

"It's the truth, why shouldn't I say it? You loved me too, didn't you? Before you went away. Perhaps you don't now," she ended, removing her hand and walking away a few paces.

"Of course I love you!" Malcolm cried painfully, getting to his feet. "Desperately. But don't you see it's no use? Things were different before."

"Different?" she repeated, staring hard at him. "In what way? I loved you and you loved me. I know that hasn't changed for me, and you say it hasn't changed for you either. So what's so different?"

"_I'm _different. I've changed. I'm so much older ..."

"You always were, that didn't matter before."

"But I didn't feel it before. I felt no different than when I was your age. But now I ... I _feel_ older."

"Because you're doing what you never did before - you're dwelling on the negative, you're allowing yourself to be drowned in pessimism, forgetting to look ahead. What happened to you is past, Malcolm. I realise you can't leave it behind you and forget it all just like that. But it is behind you, it's only a memory. One that I think I can help you get over, if you'll only let me."

He shook his head again. "I have no right to ask that of you."

"No, you've got it wrong. You have no right to push me away from you now, not when we feel the way we do about each other. You're not helping me with this, or yourself. All you're doing is putting us both through more pain than is necessary!"

Malcolm looked deeply into her earnest face. She did look, at that moment, so very, very young. She also looked as desperate as he was feeling. He thought about what Laura Lovegood had said, that he was hurting Bridget while trying to protect her, and he saw now that she was right.

"Bridget," he said slowly, fully aware that his own resolve was breaking down. "If I start to tell you what I've been through, there'll be no going back. Once you've heard it all, every detail - and I won't be able to spare you any once I start - you won't be able to just forget and carry on as if nothing had ever happened."

"I don't expect to. I just want to know where these nightmares that I know you've been having are coming from, and I want to do whatever I can to make them go away. I want you to let me love you, that's all. Is that so much to ask?"

"It would be selfish of me," he replied heavily.

Bridget smiled, pushing back her hood. "Oh, but I intend to be selfish too. I shall expect you to absolutely adore and idolise me."

He looked at her lovingly and said, "I saw you like that so many times while I was away, with the sunlight shining on your hair just like it is now. That's how I wanted to see you again for the first time. Smiling in the sunshine. I wanted to take you in my arms and kiss you and say 'will you marry me' and hear you say ..."

"Yes," Bridget broke in very quietly.

She stepped up close to him and rested her hands on his shoulders. Malcolm was staring at her.

"Do you mean ... you would?" he asked. "If it wasn't for ... I mean, if you weren't already ..."

"Under whatever conditions you like, I don't care." She gave a short laugh. "You could have made it somewhat easier by sticking a knife in my husband's back while you had the chance, of course." Then she turned serious. "But I'm talking nonsense. I haven't got a husband, I haven't had one for years. And you're the only husband I want."

At last, Malcolm too smiled. "Then I suppose I should have phrased the question: will you commit bigamy with me?"

"The answer is still yes," said Bridget.

Malcolm cupped her face between his hands. "Whichever way I phrase the question, I do mean it, Bridget."

"Then that's settled," she said contentedly, and reached up to kiss him.

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Despite the fact that the afternoon sun was still out, the cemetery at Hogsmeade was the coldest, greyest and most miserable place Frank had ever been or heard of. He followed Moody's directions, pulling his cloak more tightly around him as he did so and dragging his feet through the snow. Down four more rows, then turn right, and keep going ...

He walked on, looking neither left nor right, staring only at the snow on the ground before him and taking no notice of the dark figure one row down, whose head was bent at least as low as Frank's own. Finally he reached a place where the earth had recently been cleared of snow, and only very few flakes had fallen on top of it since. Frank stopped and returned Moody's note to his cloak pocket. He turned to the side and then, very slowly, raised his head to look at the gravestone.

It was made of white marble, most of which had turned grey with the weather, and the larger part of it was taken up by an inscription he barely skimmed: _In loving memory ..._ _Roald Borealis, 1916 to 1966 ... Martha Borealis ... _It was then, as he reached the cleaner part at the bottom of the stone, that Frank looked closely and felt as if his heart had stopped. For there, plain for him to see and therefore erasing any doubts from his mind that might have lingered, he read the name _Aurora Borealis_. It seemed to glare at him almost mockingly. He closed his eyes and immediately saw the face that had gone with that name. He saw her in their Hogwarts days, surrounded by people, laughing as she talked to them, and he saw her that day when she had entered the Death Eater Travers's mind, how she had lain curled up on the floor and the terror in her face ... how she had told him about her parents' death. Standing by her side as she prepared to examine the auror Williams's mind in Paris, fearing she had been lost to his empty mind ... holding her hand as she lay in bed, asking him not to leave her ... telling her one of Uncle Algie's stories ... sitting beside her on the stairs at Gryffindor Hall while she cried on his shoulder ... and Christmas ...

His eyes travelled back up the stone to the angel that stood atop it, looking mournfully down at the grave, and what had been almost her last words to him echoed in his memory. "_You are my guardian angel, you know_." From then on he neither heard nor saw any more, but dropped down on his knees on the frozen earth and cried.

He did not know how much later it was that he found his feet again. He was unaware that he had been watched for a time by the other figure on the cemetery before that person had walked slowly away, their black cloak billowing, and drawing a mask down over their face. Frank touched the angel and said quietly, looking down.

"If anyone was an angel, you were. I'm sorry I couldn't protect you as I should have."

And he kissed the top of the angel's head, then turned and walked slowly away.

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Lord Voldemort, pacing the floor of the new hideaway to which he had moved after Slytherin's Rock had been compromised, halted when he heard a knock on the door.

"Enter."

It was Lucius Malfoy who came in, removing the mask from his face and bowing low.

"Well, what is it?" snapped the Dark Lord.

"I did as you requested and visited the cemetery."

"And?"

"What the _Daily Prophet_ reported is true, my lord. The legilimens Aurora Borealis is dead."

"You're sure of that?"

"Yes, my lord. I saw one of her closest friends mourning over her grave."

Voldemort smiled coldly, his red eyes flashing. "Good. That is one obstacle less in our way."

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_Thistledown_, Hogsmeade, the address written down on the note Frank held in his hand very late that evening, turned out to be a small cottage not far from the _Three Broomsticks_. It stood on a little plot of land surrounded by a white fence, leaning against which was a large, shiny thing on two wheels that, had he been in a better mood, might have reminded Frank of the photographs of motorbikes that he had seen in the magazines Sirius Black had so enjoyed looking through at Hogwarts, which in turn might have prevented him from being quite so surprised when, applying his hand to the knocker some time later - after a good, long walk and a mug of butterbeer - the door was opened a short while after by Sirius himself.

"Oh, it's you," Sirius said by way of a greeting and returned the wand he had drawn for precaution's sake to his pocket. "You're back early, aren't you? I thought Moody said you'd be away for another week or so."

"I came back when I heard the news," Frank replied rather hoarsely, shaking hands as he entered and looked about him without any real interest.

Sirius locked the door and then looked him up and down. "You look like hell warmed up," he remarked. "What's up, Frank?"

But Frank did not hear him, for at that moment Enid Borealis came bustling into the hall through a door at the back, asking,

"Who was at the door? Oh, it's y..."

She got no further than this, for quickly and unexpectedly, Frank walked straight up to her and, to her enormous surprise and Sirius's, hugged her tightly.

"I'm so sorry," Frank murmured, while she looked helplessly across his shoulder at Sirius.

"I say, Frank," Sirius said, "Look out, you'll suffocate the poor woman."

Frank stood back, leaving Aunt Enid to smooth out her dress, looking flustered. There was a creak somewhere above, footsteps on the landing and then a cheery voice exclaimed,

"Well, I never ... Frank!"

He turned his head to look up, but his eyes could not believe what they were seeing any more than he was able to trust his ears. Even when the person to whom the familiar voice belonged came running down the stairs, hugged him and then stood back to look at him, smiling, he still couldn't grasp what was happening. Neither of the other three could quite describe to themselves the expression on his face. He staggered a little as though someone had struck him between the eyes, and Sirius grasped his shoulder quickly.

"Steady on, Frank. Are you all right? You look as if you've seen a ... a ghost," he finished with a sudden realisation. "Oh heck, you don't mean to say you didn't know!"

He looked at the girl who had joined them from upstairs and their eyes met.

"Oh my goodness," said Aurora. "Frank, didn't Mr. Moody tell you about the plan?"

"Plan?" Frank echoed feebly. He shook his head, looking utterly bewildered. "I don't know anything about a plan."

"Damn it!" Sirius burst out. "Moody swore nothing like this would happen, what the hell was he thinking?"

"Oh, I'm sure he couldn't have done it on purpose," said Aunt Enid.

Frank stared dumbly at Aurora for another minute or two, then with a quick "Excuse me" he wheeled round and pushed the nearest door to him open, disappeared through it, and closed it with a bang.

"Hope he's all right. He looked like he might be sick," Sirius remarked quietly.

They stood in silence for a bit until Aunt Enid said she would go and put the kettle on, and wandered off down the hall. The other two looked at each other. Sirius's expression was somewhat undecided, as though he were torn between two options. Finally he said darkly,

"I'm going to have a word with Moody. This was totally unfair ... You'd better go in and check on Frank, make sure he hasn't passed out or anything. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Sirius!" she called after him when he was almost at the front door.

"What?"

"I ... don't know."

She glanced toward the closed door through which Frank had disappeared.

"Go on in," said Sirius. "The poor devil needs cheering up. I'll go to the Ministry and talk to Moody, and then I'd best be getting back home anyway, or Bridget will start worrying."

"All right. Goodbye."

Sirius turned and walked out through the front door into the cold night air. He strolled down the garden path to where he had parked his motorbike. Swinging a leg over it, he threw back his head and breathed in deeply. Then he shook himself, and a moment later a smile spread across his face as he revved up the engine, and with a roar the heavy machine sped down the road for a few yards, then took off.

Meanwhile, back inside the cottage, Frank was in the dining room, standing with his back to a cabinet, his hands over his mouth and his eyes closed. He did indeed look every bit as sick as Sirius had said, and he was trembling. Even when Aurora touched his arm, he did not dare open his eyes.

"How did this happen?" she asked gently. "I thought it was safe. I made Mr. Moody promise me when he first suggested this plan that he would make sure no one got hurt, and that everyone who needed to know would be told."

"My grandmother got me a newspaper," Frank's muffled voice replied.

"Oh."

It was a short response, but it expressed that she understood just what had gone wrong, and now Frank looked at her, his expression oddly frightened, as though he still wasn't sure if he dared believe his eyes.

"What exactly did happen?" he asked.

"Mr. Moody came to see me one evening and asked me if it was true I wanted to get away from the Hall and lead a normal life again. He said he had the perfect solution, even though he didn't seem entirely pleased about it. There'd been a big fight at London Zoo, people had been killed. One of them was Alice Spriggs. She was the same age as me, and the same build and height. And her whole family was killed while you were away. There was no one left alive who was really close to her, she didn't even really have a best friend, Mr. Moody seems to think Gemma Crowe was the one who knew her best, but of course she's dead too. He said he could have minor adjustments made to the memories of anyone who didn't know her all that well, so they wouldn't realise the difference in our facial features ... And so I took Alice's place and Mr. Moody got Aunt Enid to identify her body as me, and they buried her with my parents ..."

"I know," Frank interrupted, his voice quavering. "I saw your ... what I thought was your grave."

She went very pale. "Oh no. No, you didn't, surely!"

He nodded, and without meaning it to happen, he found a few stray tears running down his cheeks. He rubbed his eyes with his fingers, but it was of little use.

"I'm sorry," Aurora whispered. "I'm so, so sorry, Frank."

She put her arms around him and felt him clutch her tightly with a sudden, desperate force she had never experienced before in her entire life. She felt suddenly bewildered and confused. Of course she had known, for a long time now, that Frank was fond of her. He had become her friend, someone she could always rely on to be there when she needed him. But until this moment, it hadn't occurred to her that his attentions might have been down to more than mere friendship. She had used him as a rock to lean on and poured out all her troubles to him, and he had taken care of her, listened and offered advice and cheered her up when he could, and he had never once asked for anything in return. Her heart beat a little faster as she began to understand.

"I'm sorry," she repeated softly.

Frank straightened up and shook himself, pulling himself together with a struggle. "It's all right. As long as you're all right really."

"I'm all right." She took his arm and led him to the table, trying not to let him see what confusion he had just plunged her into, and what new thoughts and doubts and questions were in her mind. "Come, sit down and tell me all about your visit to your grandparents. I read your letter over and over, by the way. From the way you described their little island, it sounds like a lovely place."

"It is," he agreed, "I'm sure you'd like it there."

And he began telling her all about it. They sat talking for a very long time, and after a time it was almost the same as ever, as though nothing had ever happened to shake them. Whether Aunt Enid had forgotten about making tea once she reached the kitchen, whether she had never really meant to make any in the first place or whether she had made it and then thought better of disturbing them, they did not know. It was quite late when Frank asked,

"So, have you seen much of Sirius since Christmas?"

She gave him an odd look, and seemed to consider her answer carefully.

"Quite a bit. He first came up wanting to talk to me on Christmas Day, just after you'd left. He was pretty quiet and serious - quite different from what he's normally like, funnily enough. So much so that I accused him of being drunk. But he's kept it up since. I think it must be some kind of New Year's resolution of his. I suppose you could say I've seen quite a lot of him lately."

"Well, I expect you're pleased about that."

"I suppose so," she answered, looking uncertain. "I think ... yes. In a way. But ... I remember saying to Remus once that if ever I could fit Sirius into the mould I had in mind, I might not like him any more."

"And now you think you have fitted him into that mould?"

"Possibly. But I don't know if I'm happy with the result or not," she said thoughtfully.

Then she shook herself, and squeezed his hand.

"I'm so glad it wasn't true," Frank said quietly, suddenly changing the subject again. "It looked true enough though. The whole thing, the ... the grave ..."

"Please, try not to think about it if you can. I ... I don't like to see you looking so upset."

He gave her a soft smile. "I'm afraid I don't think I'll be able to forget it in a hurry. It was ... just about the worst thing I've ever experienced."

She returned his smile a little uncertainly. "Dear Frank," she whispered, then she leaned her head against his arm so that he would not see the deeply thoughtful look on her face.

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**4 - All's Well that Ends Well**

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On that same night, when the sun had long made way for the moon and thousands of stars twinkled above, Faith - in her nightdress and with a dressing gown over her shoulders - stood looking out of Remus's bedroom window, the only one that overlooked the front garden, towards the edge of the forest.

"You look tired, Mum," said Remus, watching her. "You should get some sleep."

She smiled round at him. "I'm sorry, I know I'm really keeping _you _awake, dear. But I feel I can't sleep until your uncle's safely back. I wish he wasn't out so late, he should have come home hours ago."

"I'm sure he's all right," her son replied. "After all, you sent Bridget after him, didn't you?"

"Well, yes. To be honest, I hoped that if she caught him off his guard, out in the open, relaxed ... but she hasn't come back either."

"That sounds like a good sign to me," John remarked, turning up at the bedroom door in his pyjamas.

"I'm not so sure." She frowned.

Remus closed the book he had been reading and leaned forward. "Mum, surely, either Bridget never found him in the first place, in which case she'd have come back here and told you so, or else she did. If she did find him, and if she was unable to talk him round, again she'd have come back here to tell you about it. So the chances are that ... what is it?"

As he spoke, his mother had turned back towards the window and she was now pointing.

"Here they come. Both of them. Oh ... look, Remus ... John, come here."

They both joined her at the window, John standing behind her with his arms around her, and looked out. There on the grass below were Bridget and Malcolm, returning hand in hand, as far as the three watchers could tell, from the forest.

Smiling, Remus said, "I'll go down and be ready to let him in when he knocks."

When he had left them, Faith sighed happily,

"At last. I'm so relieved. It's good to see them back together again, isn't it?"

"Yes," John agreed.

"Now, finally, we can all breathe freely again. I feel like everything will be all right now. Yes ... everything will be all right, now that we're all back together again, as we should be."

John began to smile, but suddenly he felt a chill, though he didn't know where it had come from or why. He pressed Faith very closely against him and breathed in the scent of her hair, then he kissed her cheek.

"What's the matter, John?" she asked. "Is anything wrong?"

"No," he replied, though deep down he felt it was a lie. "I'm sure you're right, my love. Everything will be fine as long as we're together."

He realised even as the words came out that he had phrased it wrongly, not in the way she wanted to hear it. But she turned round just then to kiss him and he did not think she noticed the way he had said "... as long as ...".

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Three days later, on the Monday, Frank came home very late. It had been a long, hard day. He had been about to leave Auror Headquarters at half past nine that evening when they had heard that a group of Death Eaters, apparently drunk, had somehow got hold of a mountain troll and set the beast loose in a muggle theatre. He had dashed off to the scene with some of the others at once, but by the time they got there, the troll had escaped from the theatre and gone rampaging about the streets. It took them an hour to catch him, by which time the Death Eaters who had brought the creature along had managed to get away. There had been a lot of clearing up to do, and they had had to make absolutely certain that every muggle witness had their memories modified so that they would have no idea of what had occurred.

It was now past midnight and Frank, with scratches on his face and bruises all over his body, was feeling dead on his feet and longing for his bed. But when he had entered the hall and was taking off his cloak and gloves, a lamp suddenly flickered on behind him. He turned around to find a figure sitting on the stairs, half in shadow, waiting for him.

"Auro... I mean ... Alice!" he exclaimed, reminding himself that, hard as it was, he must call her by this name now. "What are you doing here?"

"Your father insisted on my coming in, he seemed to think I might catch cold if I waited for you on the doorstep all night."

"Why would you want to do that?"

"I couldn't sleep. I haven't slept properly for a couple of nights. I just keep lying awake, thinking. But you look exhausted. I'm sorry, it was silly of me to come tonight, I should have thought ... I shouldn't keep you up. Perhaps you'd better go to bed and I'll come back and bother you tomorrow."

"I can't just send you home after you've been waiting all this time," he said, sitting down next to her. "And you know I don't mind being bothered. Any time."

She looked at him closely and touched a cut on his temple. "You're hurt," she noticed, sounding so upset about it that he smiled.

"Mother's always telling me not to play so rough. But you know me, I love a good brawl."

This remark earned him a scornful look, so he amended it.

"It's just a couple of ordinary scrapes and bruises. Nothing to worry about."

"I have been worried," she said earnestly. "I expected you much earlier, and when you didn't come, I started to think ... well, what if something had happened to you?"

"But it didn't. I'm all right."

"I'm glad. Because you see, I've got to explain something to you. What's been going through my mind ever since you came to Hogsmeade the other day, thinking I was dead."

"I thought we'd decided to put all that behind us."

"No, no, we can't, not entirely. I mean, yes, we have put it behind us in the sense you mean, but I'm talking about something else. How you were then, when you thought I'd been killed. It opened my eyes. It showed me what an idiot I've been. I've always considered myself to be an expert at recognising people's feelings, but I discovered then that I'd always been totally blind to yours."

He said slowly and cautiously, "I'm not sure I know what you mean."

She took his hand gently. "It's quite simple, Frank. Are you in love with me?"

He gaped at her for a second, completely taken aback at being asked this question, and so directly at that. "W-why do you ask?"

"I'll tell you that when you've answered me - truthfully, of course. Well?"

Frank looked down at their joined hands, hers soft and white and his scratched and dirty.

"Yes," he replied in a voice that was barely audible.

"Why did you never tell me?"

"I suppose ... because I was afraid that I would lose you if I did. I knew you'd cared for Sirius, and later Remus, that you might still care for Sirius now. And I thought if I told you how I felt, you'd probably want me to stay away from you. For my own good, of course, I know you would have meant it kindly. But I couldn't bear the thought."

"Dear Frank," she said softly. "You've been so kind to me always. And I've been so heartless in return."

"No, you haven't," he objected, looking at her. "You couldn't."

"Well, thoughtless, if you prefer. I didn't mean to be either of those things, but I was. I poured out all my fears and heartaches to you and never spared a thought for yours. That's what I realised the other day. You looked so hurt, quite broken, and it shocked me. Believe me, it had never occurred to me before that you - or anyone - could care that much about me."

"Don't let it worry you, please," he said quickly. "If you decide to make things up with Sirius again, that's all right, as long as it makes you happy, and as long as we can still be friends. I'm willing to let things continue as they have done."

"But I'm not, Frank. That's what I'm trying to tell you."

She let go of his hand and stood up to walk back and forwards a few paces in the hall. Then she returned and stood looking down at him.

"I've been thinking, Frank. Looking back on all the times we've been together. The bad times when I got trapped in my own and other people's nightmares and you were there to protect me."

"I'm afraid I wasn't much use ..."

"You were _there_," she insisted. "And I told you things about my past I'd never told anyone before, things that had always been too private to tell anyone - and it made me feel better. And the times when I was afraid or upset and you would always be there to comfort me. And then the other times, the good times. Times when I've been able to forget about what's going on in the world and laugh and be happy and be ... just myself ... and be content with that. They've been wonderful times, haven't they?"

"They have for me," said Frank.

"And for me too," she assured him, sitting down again, her face eager now. "I've been looking back on them all and wondering ... and I've come to a conclusion. I've felt safer and happier and more free and content than ever before when you were with me. And when you left on Christmas Day, I felt so terribly, terribly lost. I didn't know what to do with myself, and I didn't know why. I think I've been an idiot where more than your feelings are concerned. I've been blind to my own. I thought I didn't know what I was feeling. Now I've begun to think that's just because I was looking in the wrong place for answers. I was asking myself how I felt about Sirius. I never stopped to think how I felt about you."

"Look, I know there was never more than friendship on your part, but it doesn't ma..."

"No, you don't know that. I don't even know it myself! I thought it was, but now ... Now that I've started to think ... I've come to the conclusion that if I'd only opened my eyes, I might have seen what was creeping up on me. And the more I try to make out this funny feeling inside of me, the more I think it might be that I ... I just might be falling in love with you. They say it can happen like that, not suddenly like a bolt of lightning, but gradually, so you don't even realise it's there, and you're not sure at first if it's real or not." She paused for breath and to give Frank time to speak, but words had failed him, so she prompted, "Won't you say something, dear?"

"I ... don't know what to say," he replied hoarsely. "I can't believe what you've just said."

"I can repeat it if you like. I said that I think the reason why I feel so safe and content when you're with me is because I'm falling in love with you."

Frank stared at her in disbelief. "You can't be. I mean, I'm not at all your type. I'm not dashing and handsome, or mysterious and clever. I'm not adventurous or spontaneous or tragic or any of those things that you find attractive. I'm just ... ordinary."

"I know, and I think that's part of the reason why I'm so fond of you. I never really wanted adventure or tragedy or anything of that kind, it wasn't good for me. What's good for me, what I need, is someone I can trust, someone I can rely on, someone I know would never hurt me. I think I must have been a fool not to realise until now that what I needed was right under my nose. I need _you_, Frank. And besides," she added with a faint grin, "Now that I think about it, you _are_ more handsome and clever than you think."

He shook his head bemusedly. "I still can't believe it."

"I can barely believe it myself, but the longer I sit here with you, the more I'm convinced that I am finally interpreting my own feelings correctly. I can't be sure that it's the real thing, of course, not yet. But I ... I think it's a theory worth trying, don't you?"

"Worth trying?" he repeated, still confused and bewildered. "I'm not sure I know what you mean."

There was a pause, then she closed her eyes and leaned towards him slowly. While Frank was still inwardly trying to pinch himself, to wake himself up from what he was sure must be a dream brought on by late nights and overwork, her lips found his and she kissed him, cautiously at first until he, unable to help himself now, began to kiss her back with more tenderness than she had thought possible. When they broke apart again, her eyes were filled with tears and so were his. He smiled at her uncertainly, and she smiled back. She found that there was a lump in her throat which barely allowed her to speak, but managed it.

"I've never been kissed like that before."

"I'm afraid I don't have much experience. In fact ..."

"Don't apologise. It was wonderful."

"Yes," he agreed in a whisper. His hand was resting against her neck now. "I could almost believe it was real and not just some amazing dream."

"Me too," she replied in the same tone. "Do you think you could prove to me that it was real?"

He smiled. "I think so," he said, and kissed her once more.

Then he put his arm around her and she laid her head on his shoulder. For a long time, they just sat there like that without speaking. Then, looking at him, she said,

"We should get you cleaned up and put some ointment on those so called 'scrapes' of yours. Up you get."

He allowed her to drag him to his feet and they went upstairs to the bathroom, where she made him sit down while she washed his face and applied the ointment gently. He watched her as she tidied up the items she had used, and he said,

"You're so beautiful."

She laughed. "Looks aren't everything, dear. But then, I have brains too."

Winking at him, she kissed him on the forehead. "Besides, my looks are going to change soon. Well, slightly, at least. It's no use my calling myself Alice Spriggs if I still look like Aurora Borealis. I'm afraid I shall have to cut my hair for a start. But for now, we must get you to bed. You really do look exhausted."

He nodded reluctantly. "I suppose so. I'll take you home first though."

"You'll do no such thing," she scolded. "There's a perfectly good fireplace in the smoking room downstairs that will take me straight home by floo powder. You need to get some sleep now. Come on. I'll tuck you in."

True to her word, she refused to leave until he was under the bedclothes and tucked in warmly. Then she stroked his hair and kissed him once more. He held on to her hand for a moment.

"I don't care what you call yourself or how long or short your hair is," he said. "I love you."

She smiled at him. "Good night, Frank."

"Good night," he said, hesitated, and then finished, "Good night ... Alice."


	33. Part 33: Wedding Bells

**Prequel, Part 33: Wedding Bells**

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**1 - Coming Together**

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The next months simply flew by, or so it seemed to many members of the Order of the Phoenix. After their reunion on that cold winter day, Bridget and Malcolm had not waited long before they took a short holiday together and returned wearing wedding rings. Of course, all their friends and family knew the marriage was not really legitimate, but no one blamed them, all the same. Malcolm's flat having been wrecked by the Death Eaters who had been looking for him, they decided that the easiest thing would be for him to move in with Bridget and the boys, at least for a while. It was a little cramped to begin with, considering the flat had originally been the home of only a very young girl and her small son, and now housed four adults. However, it was not long before Sirius announced his intention of finding a place of his own now that James would soon be getting married. Bridget seemed rather upset at first that both of them would be leaving so soon, but she had understood that it was only natural for Sirius to want to move out. This he did in March, at about the same time as Gordon proudly announced that he had found the perfect little house for James and Lily at Godric's Hollow, not far from his own Gryffindor Hall. They had all gone to see it together - Gordon, James and Lily, Bridget and Malcolm, and Sirius - and it had been obvious from the start that Lily simply adored the place. It was a quaint little old cottage with ivy growing up its walls and rose trellises in the back garden, and James, Sirius, Remus and Peter had spent a lot of time repainting the walls and window frames while Lily had begun thinking about curtains and rugs and making up a list of things that they would need.

Lily and James's wedding was not, however, the only one this year. Lance Lovegood and Gloria Boom took their vows in April, and Oliver McKinnon and Marlene Moss were married almost as soon as she left school in June, with Gideon Prewett as best man. Marlene joined the Order at once, as did Gideon's younger brother Fabian, who had also left Hogwarts this summer. It was now July, and it had been a Sunday of glorious sunshine.

Malcolm and Bridget had been sharing their lives for five months now. It had been, on the whole, a happy time, during which he had recovered visibly, regaining some of the weight he had lost during his time with the Death Eaters, though he kept the stubble of beard that covered his still narrowed cheeks, and gradually becoming a little more his old self again. The other day, when they had been round for dinner, Faith had said as much privately to Bridget in the kitchen, and complimented her on what she had termed her "healing influence". There was no denying, however, that things were still a little difficult at times. Even though Bridget remained firm in her views of everything Malcolm had told her, and her opinion that anything he had done while pretending to be the Death Eater Travers had been necessary, his sense of guilt was no less than it had been at the beginning. And though he no longer had flashbacks of what he had experienced every night, every now and then he would have intense, highly realistic nightmares that took him back to those days, to what he had done and what Voldemort and the Death Eaters had done to him.

When she woke up in the middle of the night some three weeks before James and Lily were to be married and found the pillow beside her still warm, but empty, Bridget knew at once that this was one of those occasions when the past reared its head to haunt them. She strained her eyes in what little light from the street lamp outside was filtering through the blinds of their bedroom, trying to see if Malcolm, unable to sleep, might be sitting up in the chair by the dresser. But she could not see him there. Concluding that he had probably gone to kitchen, Bridget tried to remind herself that it was silly to lie awake waiting for him when he might easily decide not to come back to bed at all - he had done it before - and turned over, closing her eyes.

She opened them again almost at once. She could hear noises somewhere beyond the bedroom door, a kind of muttering and then a shout. Bridget sat up at once, put on her slippers and dressing gown and opened the door into the hall. The sounds were louder here, though still muffled. She followed them to the living room door and opened it softly. There were no blinds in this room, only pale curtains, so that there was more light here than in the bedroom, and by that light she could see the two people already in the room. Malcolm was on the floor by the sofa, shuddering and crying out as he had done most nights in the early days of their marriage, and James was crouching beside him, keeping a tight hold on his arms to stop him from flailing about and breaking something or hurting himself, and trying to calm him in a whisper. Hearing the door open behind him, James turned his head. His face, ghostly blue in the pale light, registered relief.

"Hello, Mum. I shut the door hoping I could deal with this without having to wake you, but I think it might be better if you ..."

"Thank you, James," she said, joining him swiftly and feeling Malcolm's forehead. "He's feverish," she murmured.

"I thought if I talked to him, maybe I could wake him, but I don't think I got through."

Bridget nodded, and gripping Malcolm firmly by both shoulders, she shook him.

"Come on, darling, time to wake up."

He showed no reaction except to shout again and give a shudder so great that James nearly let go.

"We could chuck a bucket of cold water over him," he suggested dryly.

Bridget shot him an ironic smile.

"If this doesn't work," she said, "that may be our best option."

She murmured a quick apology and slapped Malcolm firmly in the face. The effect was immediate. He gave a violent start and one last yell, then his struggling stopped and his eyes opened unnaturally wide, darting around unfocused. James let go of his arms, and Bridget gently touched his cheek where she had slapped it and he focused on her face.

"It's all right, darling," Bridget said soothingly. "It was a dream."

Malcolm stared at her with eyes that were full of bewilderment and pain for a minute, then he suddenly retched as though he were about to be sick. Bridget wrapped her arms around Malcolm and pulled his head onto her chest, stroking his hair. He trembled against her, one hand finding her arm and clutching onto it tightly.

"James," Bridget said quietly, "get us a glass of water, will you?"

James gave a nod and departed.

Bridget buried her face in Malcolm's hair and whispered softly,

"What was it this time?"

"The ... potion," he said breathlessly. "I was ... in that room ... with the cauldron, and they ... held my head while he ... he poured it down ..."

He retched again, but Bridget still held him closely and he relaxed a little in her arms. James came back carrying a glass of water, which Malcolm took from him gratefully.

"Better not drink it too quickly. It's cold," James advised.

"Good," said Malcolm, and drank every last drop slowly. "Thanks," he said, handing the glass back to James. "Sorry about this. I didn't mean to wake you too."

"I don't suppose you meant to wake anyone, but it can't be helped. Want another glass?"

"No, thanks."

"I'll just pop this in the kitchen and get back to bed then if you two can manage. Mum?"

She nodded. "Thank you, James."

James left them again. Malcolm straightened up a little and wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. Bridget kissed his cheek.

"Feel any better?"

"How can I not, in this position?" he asked with a flicker of a smile which faded quickly. "It was damnably lifelike. Even the taste ..."

Bridget listened patiently. She had found out that it was better to let him talk about his dreams, because if he didn't, they only got worse.

"God, it was murder," he went on slowly. "Knowing what they were doing was going to make him immortal, and that I couldn't do a single thing to stop it happening, and having him gloat over it in my face. I honestly believed I was done for then. I thought he'd won, and my death was going to help him get what he wanted. If there'd been any way to do it at the time, I think I ... I probably would have killed myself, rather than let that happen."

Kissing him tenderly on the lips, Bridget whispered, "I'm glad there wasn't a way."

He sighed and looked deeply into her eyes. "Do that again, and I might forget all about these dreams. After all, that's all they are now."

"No, Malcolm. That's not all they are, and you couldn't forget. You know that, and you know we have to talk this through."

"Can't that wait until morning?"

"You know it can't. In the morning you'll find another excuse, and what we haven't talked about will fester and get worse. So, remember what I said about this?"

He nodded sombrely. "You said that I mustn't feel guilty because it was my life force that made him stronger."

"That's right. It makes no sense to blame yourself. What you did - every single thing you did - you did for a good cause. You did it for all of us, for your family, for the Order, and for every man, woman and child that has ever suffered and will ever suffer at the hands of the Death Eaters. You did it because you're a good man, and a brave man. You have nothing to reproach yourself with."

"You know that's not true."

"Yes, it is," she said firmly.

"Bridget, how can you say that? I've told you everything that happened. Every little detail. About every time I stood by as more people took their oaths as Death Eaters, every time people were murdered in my presence and I stood by and watched, and did nothing to save them. I've told you how I hurt people. That kid in Newcastle ... I never believed myself capable of it, but I tortured her, damn it. Me! Don't you understand? If you'd seen ... what I did ..."

He broke off, his voice failing him. Bridget stroked his rough cheek.

"You saved that young woman's life," she told him. "I've told you before. They wanted you to kill her, but you couldn't. You took the only way out, for both of you. Thanks to you, she's alive."

"Alive," he repeated bitterly. "What good is that when you've suffered what I made her suffer, at her young age? Do you think I haven't told myself exactly what you're saying, a hundred times over, since it happened? But the thing of it is ... you have to _mean_ the Unforgivable Curses, Bridget, or they won't work ..."

"Yes, that's true. And I dare say you did really want to perform that curse at the time. But what matters is the reason behind it. You willed yourself to perform it because you had to, because it was your only hope, not because you wanted to cause pain. I wish I could make you see that." She sighed heavily. "What Voldemort did to you on Slytherin's Rock was nothing, was it? Not compared to everything else. Everything he ordered you to do. Because you couldn't fight the potion, but you feel in everything else you had a choice, even though you didn't really."

"Yes, I did! I did have a choice, and I chose to do his bidding." Malcolm gave a shout of frustration and turned his face away from her. "How am I ever to live with that?" he murmured. "I was a fool to think I could. To think that life could just go on as it was, that you and I ..."

"Stop it," Bridget said sharply. "We've covered all this before. I need you as much as you need me, Malcolm, and I will not let this beat us, not when you've already come so far. It's the small hours of the morning now, things always look darker then. When daylight comes, you won't feel quite as bad. And I'll help you, darling. I'll help you in any way I can."

She turned his face towards her and kissed his lips passionately.

"Well, that's a good way to start," he said hoarsely when she finally stopped.

He kissed her neck gently and she ran her fingers through his hair and whispered,

"Let's go back to bed, shall we?"

He stopped kissing her to look at her, his face barely an inch from her own. "I love you," he whispered, and she smiled at him, then closed her eyes and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, her head nestling against it as he got to his feet, a little gingerly at first, but stronger with every step, and carried her back into the bedroom.

But as Bridget lay staring at the ceiling an hour later, feeling his steady breathing against her cheek, a frown creased her brow. She could love him as much as she liked, but how was she ever to overcome the guilt by which he was punishing himself? She decided she must do something about it, and soon. And for that, she needed help. She must talk to John.

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"Shall I come and visit you in your lunch break?" Malcolm asked at breakfast.

Bridget shook her head. "No, we're going to be pretty busy at the shop. Stocktaking."

"I thought you did that kind of thing after Christmas."

"Usually, yes. But Mrs. Shaw's decided we ought to do it now as well."

"Some books not been selling as well as they used to, is that it?"

"Probably," Bridget agreed, readily accepting the excuse he offered. "Anyway, I'm not likely to have time for a proper lunch."

"It's not healthy to skip meals, you know."

"Just the one won't hurt me. What will you do?"

To her surprise, he looked slightly embarrassed. "I ... I've been thinking. I've been living off you for half a year now ..."

"Malcolm!"

"No, let me finish," he went on quickly. "It's not right for you to foot all the bills on your own."

"It's no problem, really. And Father would always help out if ..."

"You think I'd let your father pay the rent while I sit around all day doing nothing?"

"You need time."

He shook his head determinedly. "No, I don't. I need something to occupy me. I need a job."

"What kind of job were you thinking of?" Bridget asked carefully, pouring him coffee.

He sighed, "Well, the Dark Arts - one way or another - are all I really know anything much about. Fighting's the only thing I'm any good at."

"Not true," she objected with a smile, and he grinned back affectionately. "Anyway," Bridget went on, "Crouch fired you, remember? I don't know that he's quite desperate enough to have you back."

Malcolm laughed dryly. "I see you have a high opinion of my prospects. Well, perhaps you're right. It'll have to be something else then. I'm hanged if I know what, but I'll think of something."

He dank his coffee and Bridget, half smiling and half serious, said, "Make sure it's something nice and safe, darling. You're not as young as you were."

Malcolm pretended to look offended for a second, then he jumped up, laughing,

"I'll have you for that, young lady!"

He chased her round the kitchen table and she squealed when he caught her round the middle. He kissed her tenderly.

"Do you think old men kiss like that?" he asked her quietly.

She smiled and shook her head. Just then, there was a knock on the door and they drew apart quickly.

"Sorry," James apologised. "I didn't mean to interrupt. I just want a slice of toast, then I'll leave you to it."

"Nonsense, dear," said Bridget at once, smoothing her dress. Malcolm sat back down with his elbows on the table and his chin resting on folded hands, casting her smiles with his eyes as she moved around James, enjoying the way she blushed.

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"So," Sirius asked James as they travelled up in the lift to Auror Headquarters together a short while later. "How are things at home? Malcolm got over those freak nightmares of his yet?"

"Not quite," James told him. "He was pretty rough last night. Seems to have got over it okay though."

"Usual treatment, I presume?" Sirius remarked with a sly grin.

James felt himself go red and had the uncanny feeling that everyone in the lift was listening in on their conversation when, in fact, the other passengers were all too busy carrying on conversations of their own. But he didn't need to answer.

"Well, Bridget is one hell of a good-looking woman," Sirius commented. "Bet she could take anyone's mind off just about anything."

"Shut up, Sirius, that's my mother you're talking about! Might as well be yours, too, you spent enough time at our place."

Sirius shrugged. "I can still appreciate the fact she's beautiful. Can't you?"

James nodded.

"Well then. Wouldn't blame Malcolm for laying it on a bit thick now and then to be 'comforted'. I suppose it is a bit awkward though."

"Will you just shut it?" James said, only half annoyed now because he realised Sirius was mainly trying to provoke and tease him.

"All right, all right." Sirius raised his hands defensively. "You'll find out all about it soon, though. Young married life, like. Getting nervous yet?"

"You always ask that," James said irritably. "And the answer's still the same."

"What answer?"

"No, damn it," said James, fiddling with his collar now.

Sirius laughed loudly. "I knew it. Jumpy as a rabbit, that's what you are."

"Whatever," murmured James as the lift doors slid open and he stepped thankfully out into the corridor.

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**2 - Making Plans**

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The group lunching together at the _Leaky Cauldron_ today was small. It consisted only of Remus, Peter and Lily, the young aurors-in-training having been called away on yet another emergency. They certainly couldn't complain about any lack of practical training, as Remus had pointed out when they had first entered the pub and Lily had seemed anxious. She had shot him a wan smile, but cheered up a little since then. Now she was brooding over a sheet of notepaper filled with oddly shaped circles and rectangles and scribblings, tapping a biro against her cheek and occasionally picking at her sandwich.

"What is that?" Peter asked, tucking into his toad-in-the-hole.

"Seating arrangements," Lily sighed. "But I can't make up my mind who to put where. I mean, we're inviting some of my muggle friends as well as everyone else, but I can't possibly sit them with someone like Professor Dumbledore, or ... well ... you do see my point?"

Remus pushed his salad and the sheaf of parchment he had been studying with knit brow to one side, apparently glad of a distraction, and held out his hand for the sheet of paper. "May I?"

Nodding, Lily offered him the biro as well, but he took out his wand instead.

"What are you doing?" she asked, but Peter was grinning.

"I know," he said. "Moony's making you a Marauder's seating plan."

With a smile, Remus told Lily to watch, which she did, and waved his wand across the paper. All the names she had scribbled floated to one side of the paper and the lines of the tables that she had sketched so untidily straightened themselves.

"Now," said Remus, pointing the tip of his wand at two of the names. "Let's start with you and James, shall we?"

With a twist of his hand, he moved the names of Lily and James to the centre of the main table.

"Yes, I got that part sorted all right," Lily said. "But then ..."

"You'll want your mother sitting next to you." Remus moved the name there as he spoke. "And some good friend of hers, so she'll have someone to talk to?"

Lily pointed out a name and he made it move next to her mother's.

"Then you'll have Bridget and my Uncle Malcolm on James's other side. And Sirius, being best man, will have to sit at the main table - with the girl of the moment. And your sister and her husband ..."

He searched the list, but Lily was already shaking her head.

"You won't find them there. They're not coming."

"Why not?" asked Peter.

"Vernon's got some vitally important appointment that day, so he says. They asked us to make it a week later, actually."

"Couldn't you have done so? Surely you want your sister at your wedding," Remus said.

Lily looked at him, raising her eyebrows a little. Suddenly realising, he said haltingly,

"You didn't ... not because ..."

"You don't really think James and I would consider marrying under a full moon, do you?" Lily said reproachfully. "We'd both much rather have you there than Petunia and Vernon, who are only really looking for an excuse not to come anyway."

"Makes sense," said Peter through his last mouthful of lunch.

Remus had an odd, closed expression on his face. "I ..." he began, but Lily cut him short.

"Don't say you're touched, I can see that for myself. And let's not have any more nonsense about considering my sister. She doesn't want to come, I assure you, so don't worry about it. That is, I assume _you_ do want to come?"

"Of course."

"Well then. No Dursleys on the seating plan. I had Gordon and Dumbledore that end of the table." She leaned over his arm to point. "Do you think that's all right?"

"Is Gordon coming then?" Peter said, surprised. "I thought no one was supposed to know he and James are related."

"No one outside the Order, and anyone in it already knows. The muggles won't know him from Adam. The only problem cases really are whatever girl Sirius drags along and ... and ..."

"And?"

"Heather," Lily said quickly, leaning back again and casting a worried glance at Remus. "Fabian asked if he could bring her along and I didn't know how to say no. Do you mind awfully?"

Remus's hand closed a little more tightly around his wand, but otherwise he betrayed no emotion.

"No," he said steadily. "I don't mind."

Lily smiled. "Of course, I knew you wouldn't admit it if you did mind."

"Let's get on with this, shall we?" he said evasively, looking away.

Lily nodded, and drew a little closer to him as he fitted all the other names around the tables.

"Now, do you see my problem?" she asked when he had finished. "It doesn't work out. You've got to have three magical people at a table of muggles. What have you got there?"

She leaned closer to read the names around each table.

"Oh ... but ... Remus, wouldn't you rather sit with your parents?"

"I'd like to, but there's no room. Look, I've put Alice and Frank and me on this table, the one you labelled 'old school friends'. Alice knows how to behave among muggles and Frank doesn't talk very much to strangers anyway. Neither do I." He added with a crooked smile, "And I promise I won't bite."

The last remark caused Lily to frown at him reproachfully for a moment. Then she grinned.

"On your own head be it, then. You've put yourself next to Ellie Simpson. She's sweet, but she's a terrible giggler, and she hasn't had a boyfriend for three months."

"Then let's hope _she_ doesn't bite _me_," Remus commented.

All three of them laughed.

"Thanks for the help, Remus," Lily said cheerfully. "I never dreamed a wedding could be so complicated and involve so much planning."

"You're welcome."

Remus reverted his attention to his salad. Peter swallowed his last sip of pumpkin juice, and being the first to finish his lunch, was also the first to notice Lily's change of mood when he looked across at her. She appeared lost in thought all of a sudden.

"What's up, Lily?" he asked, causing Remus to look up at her too. "Did you forget to invite someone?"

"I can't think of anyone. Except perhaps our dear old friend Severus," she said with a brief twinkle. Then she turned to Remus once more, and her expression was oddly grave.

"I've still got one problem," she said. "I was hoping your dad might be able to help me with it. What do you think?"

"Tell me what the problem is, and I'll let you know."

Lily told him, and he smiled.

"Will you ask him for me?" Lily requested.

Remus shook his head. "You ask him. I'm sure he'd like that much more."

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John Lupin was having one of those days. Many private citizens, it seemed, were having the same idea as the Ministry about breeding new kinds of creatures for their protection, and today he had already dealt with a winged guard dog, a ferocious knarl with poisonous fangs and a cage full of fire-breathing Cornish pixies. He was applying ointment to a burn from one of these when there was a knock on the door. It was Bridget.

"Hello," she said when he received her with some surprise. "I'm sorry to butt in on you like this. Is it inconvenient?"

"Not at all. Come in."

Bridget did so, closing the door behind her, and took off her cardigan.

"Do you mind if we don't go out? I told Malcolm I didn't have time for lunch, and it would be awkward if we bumped into him anywhere."

John cast her a curious look, and dropped the bandage he had been trying to fasten around his right wrist with his left hand.

"Let me do that," Bridget said. "Sit down."

John sat on his desk and she picked up a clean bandage and began applying it gently.

"You should be more careful what you do with your arm," she said. "It wasn't all that long ago that you last had this bandaged."

"Half a year," he reminded her. "It's been half a year now, Bridget."

"Yes. But it doesn't seem that long ago. Time flies by so quickly, doesn't it? When you're happy."

"You don't look happy now," he noted. "Why are you here, Bridget? It must be a beautiful day outside."

"It's because of Malcolm," she answered. "He's still having nightmares. Not as often as before, but ... well, last night's was rather nasty. He sleep-walks sometimes, and it worries me, because his dreams are so vivid that he loses himself in them, he thinks they're real, and it frightens me when I think what might happen if ... if some night I don't wake up soon enough. I worry he might hurt himself.

"I see."

Bridget, having secured the bandage around John's wrist, sat next to him on the edge of the desk. "I just feel that I must do something. Waiting for these dreams to just go away of their own accord isn't enough."

"Do you have any ideas?"

"Not really. Just half an idea. Very vague. You see, the biggest problem seems to be that he still holds himself responsible for his actions while he was pretending to be a Death Eater. He doesn't see that he did any good, he only sees the bad. And he seems to focus a lot of his guilt on this one event in Newcastle."

"Ah. That."

"You know about it?"

"I know that something happened there that he blamed himself for, and badly. He wrote to me at the time. It was a dangerous, careless thing to do, and not at all like him. From that letter, I gather he was forced to hurt someone."

Bridget nodded. "It was a girl. Or a young woman, rather. I think she was about eighteen, but I've no idea who she was. Anyway, he tortured her. With the _Cruciatus_ curse."

She waited for John's reaction, and he nodded slowly.

"Yes. That's what I guessed."

"The others wanted him to kill her," Bridget went on quickly. "Naturally, he couldn't do that. But he had to do something ... something cruel, or they'd have killed the girl, and him with her."

"And Malcolm's nightmares are all to do with this?"

"Not all of them, no. A lot of them. Sometimes it's other things. But I think this event, and others like it, are at the bottom of his problems. Why he can't let go. And just letting the memory of it become more and more distant isn't helping."

"I don't think we will be able to make it go away, Bridget," John pointed out gently. "Not unless you're considering modifying his memory to a large extent."

"He'd never agree to that!"

"It could be done without his agreement."

Bridget shook her head adamantly. "No. No, John, I couldn't. I couldn't face myself, and I ... I don't know how to explain it ... I'd miss something. I want him to be happy and carefree and all that ... but ..."

"But there are some things about the new Malcolm you don't want to erase?"

"Yes. Yes, that's it. All these experiences have made him ... softer. More vulnerable, more in need of my care, and I've liked caring for him. I want him to be strong again, but I don't want him to forget ... those moments. Not entirely. I suppose that sounds awfully selfish."

John smiled and took her hand.

"Selfish, to want him to keep the memory of what have probably been some of the most tender moments of your life together? To want him to remember how much you love him? No, dear. That isn't selfish. It's human, and it's the way it should be."

"I do think you're being a little too indulgent towards me. But thanks," Bridget said, returning his smile. "But the point is, what alternative is there?"

John let go of her hand, got up and paced a bit.

"There is the possibility ... one would have to make sure first that it was safe ..."

"What do you mean?"

"What if we found the girl? If we brought him to her, showed him that she was all right? Maybe that would help."

"What if she's not all right?"

"We'd make sure of that first, of course."

Bridget said thoughtfully, "It might work. It's worth a try." She got up and smiled at him again. "I knew you'd think of something to help me. I don't know what we'd all do without you."

"Spend less money on bandages?" he suggested, indicating his arm.

"I'm sure there must be easier ways to learn how to be ambidextrous," Bridget replied. She kissed his cheek. "I'm serious, John. Like a lot of people, I often forget to tell others how much I appreciate them. So I'm doing it now. Thank you, dear John."

He inclined his head with the hint of an amused bow. "You're welcome."

Bridget sighed. "You know, all things considered, we're all pretty well off at the moment, aren't we? Considering how things were a little over half a year ago. Apart from Malcolm's nightmares, of course, I ... I'm quote content. Are you?"

"I'm ... yes, I suppose ..."

She looked at him sharply. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, it's just ... I can't believe we can go on like this, in the reasonable security we've lived in these past months, forever. At the end of last year, things were in such a turmoil. And then we saved Malcolm, and what with Aurora ... Alice, I mean ... and everyone becoming engaged and happily married ... We've all shown our true allegiance, one way or the other. Our enemies won't suffer it forever without some kind of retribution."

"Meaning you fully expect to come home one night and find a Dark Mark over your house? John, Faith is safe. Safer than any of us. No one can get in unless she lets them, and you know she wouldn't without a password."

"I know. I wasn't necessarily thinking of Faith, not this time. I was thinking about something Philippa once said, about how the other side must be seeking allies and spies among us. And yet they don't seem to have done so very actively yet. Or else we haven't heard about it."

"So what you're saying is, if anyone has been asked to turn spy, they haven't come forward and said, and therefore ..."

"Quite."

Bridget shook her head. "I don't believe that. But you're right, of course, that we ought to be careful. I think ..."

She broke off. A knock on the door had interrupted them, alerting them both to how incautious they were being, discussing these matters in a public building. They were both rather relieved when, at John's call of "Yes?", a familiar red head looked in on them, and Lily's smile flashed apologetically.

"Hello," she said. "Can I come in?"

"Of course," said John.

Bridget nodded. "I was just leaving anyway. I must get back to the shop. Goodbye, John, and thank you again. Goodbye, Lily."

She went out, closing the door behind her. John offered Lily a chair, but she declined.

"I really don't want to take up too much of your time. I just wanted to ask you a favour."

John asked, smiling encouragingly, "What can I do for you?"

"It's about the wedding. We want it to be traditional, you know, and ... well, with Dad ... dying last year ... it leaves me a bit at a loss. Someone has to give the bride away, don't they, and it ought to be a man, so I can hardly ask Mum, so I was wondering ... Would you?"

"Me?"

He looked at her rather like Remus had looked when he realised that it was for his sake, as much as anything, that they had refused to hold the wedding a week later.

"Yes. I really can't think who I'd rather have. Please."

"I ... well, I mean - yes, of course. If that's what you want."

"Oh, thank you!" Lily hugged him suddenly. "Remus said you wouldn't mind."

"Mind? I'm honoured."

Lily's smile broadened.

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**3 - Ties Made and Ties Broken**

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The day of the wedding drew near quickly, more quickly than either Bridget or Rose Evans liked, and soon James was standing in a church with Sirius just behind him, forever straightening the collar of his brand new, black silk dress robes, and looking at his watch.

"I _told_ you we'd be hours too early," Sirius mumbled.

"Better early than late. I didn't want to give her a chance to change her mind before I got here. Hello, Remus."

Remus joined them, and patted James on the shoulder.

"Chin up, Prongs. It won't be long now."

"About time you showed up," Sirius hissed. "You haven't got the rings, by any chance?" he added slyly.

James turned his head so quickly he cricked his neck. He turned, if possible, even paler.

"What do you mean, has he got the rings? Sirius, you promised ..."

"I promised I'd have them at hand when the crucial moment comes. I decided to play safe and let Moony look after them until then."

"And I have," Remus reassured James, as the latter's eyes swivelled immediately to him. He drew a small parcel out of his inside pocket and handed it to Sirius.

"Thanks, mate."

James heaved a sigh of relief. "Would you mind doing us another favour, Moony? Could you wait outside and keep your eye out, and tip us the wink when she's coming?"

"Yes," chuckled Sirius, "you do that. And if you see her running, catch her and drag her back here, will you?"

James said anxiously, "You don't think ..."

Sirius and Remus exchanged amused glances. "Cool customer, this one," Sirius remarked ironically.

Remus smiled faintly. It seemed to his friends - or to Sirius and Peter, since James was too preoccupied to notice - that there was something weighing on his mind today that had nothing to do with the wedding. He looked paler than usual and more tired, and slightly distracted. However, he went outside as requested. The car bringing Lily and his father arrived soon, and Remus went towards it to hold the door open while his father helped Lily out. This was not easy, owing to the large amounts of white silk and lace that surrounded her. She turned to face Remus, and for a second any other thoughts that might have distracted him vanished from his mind. He was vaguely aware of his mouth hanging open and shut it again. Lily's pink lips spread into a sweet, shy smile.

"Hello, Remus. I see you approve of the dress. Do you think James will like it?"

"Not quite as much as the girl in it, I'm sure," he said, recovering quickly. Then he added with sincerity, "You look beautiful."

"Thank you. Well, run along inside and let James know I'm coming and haven't changed my mind. That _is_ why you're on guard out here, isn't it?"

Remus just smiled, nodded, and made his way back into the church. He returned to his seat and caught James's eye. James looked more nervous than ever before in his life, but Remus smiled encouragement at him.

And then the bride entered to the sounds of a wedding march. Lily's entrance in her white gown, with white roses in her hair and a bouquet of pink roses in her hands, was a sight that none of the guests - and least of all the groom - were ever likely to forget. James found himself unable to breathe for several seconds when he saw her, and it was only when her green eyes, at once nervous and sparkling with excitement, met his own, that he finally managed to relax slightly, and he took her hand gently and smiled at her.

"I love you," he whispered.

"I love you too," she replied just as quietly.

Many eyes were dabbed at during the ceremony, and everything went smoothly and perfectly, like a dream. Sirius produced the rings on time, and soon everyone was back outside in the sunshine and photographs were being taken, they all hugged the groom and kissed the bride, and then made their way to the reception.

Unbeknownst to the happy couple's muggle guests, the venue was well protected by all manner of charms that warded it against intruders. The seating arrangements seemed to suit everyone well, Sirius had them all in fits of laughter with his traditional best man's speech on the escapades of their 'youth', of which he spoke as of something long gone by, and James's constant obsession throughout his school years with the red head now at his side, who Sirius claimed was much too good for James and would have been much better off with him instead. John, too, had prepared a speech for the occasion, though it could not have been more different from Sirius's. He thanked Lily for having asked him to stand in for her father today, and went on to wish the young couple good fortune and joy ... in a way that had more than one of those guests who were part of the Order guessing that his speech was meant for more than just Lily and James.

When they had all had as much and more as they could eat and were beginning to relax into a pleasant hubbub of chatter, the band struck up the first dance tune of the evening and Lily and James stepped onto the dance floor.

"Oooh, don't they look happy?" cried Ellie Simpson in Remus's ear.

He smiled absently. Lily had certainly been right where this muggle school friend of hers was concerned. Ellie - a slender, rather pretty girl with a head of unruly blonde curls and large blue eyes - had started chatting and giggling at him from the moment Remus had introduced himself and sat down, and had been exerting her not inconsiderable charms on him ever since, flashing smiles, fluttering her eyelids and giggling girlishly at everything remotely amusing that he said, so that Frank more than once shot him a look of sympathy. Remus, however, was not really annoyed - in fact, he was barely aware of the girl. He conversed lightly enough with her, but his thoughts were elsewhere, as anyone who knew him could easily tell. When the dancing started, Ellie kept emitting small sighs and shifting in the chair beside him, but Remus remained unmoved until suddenly, a second girl's voice broke into his thoughts.

"Hello," it said. "Remus ...?"

While Ellie fell silent, studying the newcomer with suspicion and resentment, Remus looked up at the girl with the tentative, shy voice he would have known anywhere. Heather Woodcock had pinned her brown curls up elegantly and allowed a few loose locks to frame her pale face. Her dress was a delicate shade of pink, and matched the current colour of her cheeks perfectly, and her clear, blue eyes were as anxious as ever. Remus managed to make his smile friendly, but - he hoped - not too encouraging.

"Hello, Heather," he greeted her. "It's nice to see you."

He was quite surprised to notice that his own voice sounded quite steady, and he felt quite calm at this moment, too. Remembering his manners, he indicated the girl beside him and added, "This is Lily's school friend from her first school. Ellie Simpson. Ellie, this is Heather Woodcock."

The two girls exchanged polite smiles, and Heather became a bit awkward.

"Remus," she ploughed on with an effort, "Could I talk to you for a minute?"

There was a pause, then Ellie gave a sigh and reluctantly said she really must go in search of a drink, and left them together. Heather sat down on what had been Frank's chair, since Frank and Alice were currently on the dance floor.

"I'm glad you're here too," Heather said. "It's been a long time since we met in Hogsmeade."

"Yes, I suppose it has." He added in an attempt to change the subject, "So, are you and Fabian enjoying the wedding?"

"Oh yes," said Heather. "Lily looks so beautiful, and she and James look so nice together. It's like they were made for each other. Although Jean - my best friend - says there's no such thing as a 'match made in heaven', being meant for each other or ... or love at first sight. And she says your first school-time romance never lasts ..."

"In most cases," he said gently, "she is probably right."

"But not in this case! There can be exceptions," Heather said quickly. "Some people go on caring about each other forever."

He looked at her closely. She did look very pretty today. As pretty as he had ever seen her. Except perhaps on that first day, the first time they had bumped into each other. He wondered if he would ever forget that moment. Love at first sight? No, he realised with a jolt. It hadn't been love. An infatuation, perhaps. But not really love. And as he managed to admit that to himself, to accept that he, Remus Lupin, for all his cool logic and reason, had been infatuated with this girl, he began to realise something else. That infatuation had come to an end. He was sitting here, facing her, and he felt calm. No more nervousness, no more fearing to tell her outright what he must, that she must not expect anything to come of their time together at school - at least not for himself. His only anxiety now was for her. She looked so wistful. He found himself taking her hand.

"Yes," he said cautiously, "some people go on caring about each other. Some people even find that they care more about each other than about anyone else. Certainly, that applies to Lily and James. But your friend is right, Heather. In most cases, people drift apart and move on."

"In some cases, they might do so although they don't really want to."

He shook his head regretfully. "But you must, little Heather. I'll admit that, perhaps, I was wrong not to speak out more plainly when we were at school together. On the other hand, maybe I was right. I've a feeling if I had given you a reason, if I had told you the whole truth, you wouldn't be looking at me like that now. Please believe me, Heather, I did have a reason, a good reason. And it's better that you don't know. And don't cry," he said quickly, seeing her eyes begin to shine. "You look so pretty, and you were having such a nice time. You should dance with Fabian, he's bound to be looking for you."

"I'd like to dance with you," Heather whispered.

He smiled and released her hand. "Go and dance with Fabian," he repeated. "I'm sure you'll enjoy it."

She got up reluctantly, half turned away, then looked back. "What if I said I want to know that reason? What if I insist you tell me the whole truth, so I can make up my own mind whether you were right?"

With his head a little to one side, Remus studied her thoughtfully for a moment. He pictured her that day, in his seventh year at Hogwarts, scrambling frantically away from her boggart. He remembered the look in her eyes, and he looked into them now. And despite the fact that he no longer felt awkward and nervous in her presence, even though he knew what he had once felt for her was passing, he also knew that he had been right, and that even now, he could not bear it if she looked at him that way. And he said slowly,

"Do you trust me, Heather?"

"I always have, you know that."

"Then trust me once more, and don't insist on the whole truth. Just believe me when I say that the reason was and is because I was fond of you - and I still am."

She looked at him intently for a moment, and something in her eyes seemed to change. There was a hint of something beyond the usual anxiety and eagerness to please, beyond the fascinated glow, that made him wonder if the part of her that feared what he was sensed some of the truth, instinctively. Then she said quietly,

"You're so grown up, Remus. And so ... wise. I suppose it was silly to think we could be together, when you're so far beyond me."

And with these words, she walked slowly away. Remus watched her go, then lapsed back into his own thoughts until they were interrupted yet again.

"Is everything all right?"

It was Lily. He looked up and smiled at her.

"Fine."

"I saw you talking to Heather just now, I hope it wasn't too awkward for you."

"No. I think she understands now that there's no point for her to keep hoping ..."

"Did you tell her why?"

He shook his head. Lily did not look surprised.

"Are you sure ...?" she began, but he replied before she had finished.

"I'm quite sure it's for the best, and in fact I feel less bad about it than I did before."

"That's good," said Lily, smiling. "Well, if you're not too busy right now, I can ask what I came over here to ask."

"And what's that?"

"Will you dance with me?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Lily, I ..."

"I may as well tell you," Lily said quickly, "that that question was rhetorical. This is my wedding day, Remus. You do not deny the bride a wish on her wedding day. Or else."

She looked at him with determination as well as amusement, and he laughed.

"I wouldn't dream of denying you a wish, today or any other day."

"Good."

She grinned and took him by the hand, and he allowed himself to be dragged past the returning and disappointed-looking Ellie onto the dance floor.

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It was almost midnight. Frank had gone to fetch a couple of drinks, and Alice was standing by the door to the terrace, a little way back from the dance floor, fanning herself with a napkin and watching the dancers with a smile on her face as Sirius ambled towards her.

"Hello, beautiful," he said, leaning against the wall beside her. "Having a good time?"

"Fantastic," she replied a little breathlessly.

"I'm surprised to see what an enthusiastic dancer Frank's become all of a sudden. I don't remember him ever dancing at all before tonight. Didn't think it was his scene."

"I'm sure there are a lot of things you'd be surprised to learn about Frank."

Sirius gave a grunt that earned him a reproachful look, so he said quickly,

"Well, all right, I'll admit he's not a bad sort. I'd never have thought he was your type though. Now you and I, Rory ..."

"Sirius!" she hissed. "Don't call me that!"

"Loosen up, love. We're among friends here. No Death Eaters about after your blood." When she continued to look about anxiously, he pulled himself together a little. "All right then. _Alice_. I'm sorry. Got off on the wrong foot. That's what comes of leaving this nice little chat too late in the evening. I should have got it off my chest early on, before helping myself to all that punch. The thing is, without the punch I might never have had the guts."

"I haven't a clue what you're on about," Alice said slowly. "And I'm not sure I want to know."

"Oh, come on, beautiful. Give me a chance. I just started wrong, it didn't sound so stupid when I was rehearsing."

"Rehearsing? What in the world did you have to rehearse?"

"My speeches for the night. You've got to admit the first one was a corker. A best man's speech to be remembered. A real gem. That's because public speaking isn't half as difficult as private speaking. I'm not much good at that. Well, you ought to know, right? You know me."

She smiled. "Yes, I flatter myself that I do."

Feeling himself encouraged, Sirius went on,

"Well, then you'll have a pretty good idea what I'm going to say. Look, I'm sorry if ... no, _that_ I've treated you badly in the past. But you've got to admit, I've improved lately, haven't I? I've been positively saintly for months now."

"By your standards, I suppose," she laughed.

"Well then. Ro... Alice ... you know you're still the only girl I ever really cared about, don't you?"

Her smile fading, Alice asked, "Is that so? And did you tell Mary that when you asked her to come with you today?" She glanced towards the other side of the dance floor, where Mary Crimple was standing talking to Remus, casting glances in their direction every now and then. Remus, too, seemed to be looking over occasionally, and he did not look pleased.

"Never mind Mary," said Sirius, suddenly grabbing her hands to regain her attention. "What I'm trying to tell you is that I ... I miss you. Honestly. Sincerely. That's what you wanted, isn't it? For me to be 'sincere'? Well, from now on I will be, if you say you'll give us another chance."

"What are you talking about?" Alice asked, wide-eyed.

"I'm talking about us. You and me. That we should give it another try. I know it seems a bit caddish to spring this on you right now, behind Frank's back ..."

"Yes!" Alice exclaimed sharply.

He stopped talking and stared at her. She went on quietly, but without losing that sharp edge to her voice.

"Yes, Sirius, it is a caddish way to go about it. For heaven's sake, Sirius, this is your best friend's wedding, everyone's having a whale of a time, your girlfriend's waiting for you to dance with her and my boyfriend could be back any minute ..."

"Oh, come on, we both know he only caught you on the rebound, I bet even he reali... OUCH!"

Sirius rubbed his cheek where her hand had slapped him. Alice glared at him.

"I happen to be very fond of Frank," she said. "True, he's not like you. But that's what I like about him. He'd never hurt me, Sirius. Never."

"I know, I know," Sirius admitted quickly. "And I know he cares about you damnably. Hell, I felt as sorry as anyone for the poor devil that night when he turned up in Hogsmeade. But you've got to think about what _you_ want. You used to want me, and I'm offering you another chance to have me, if you'll risk it once more."

"No, thank you," she replied coldly.

"Don't answer too quickly," he begged. "You haven't thought about it yet. Look, I know it can't be like it was last time. I'll have to behave myself better. Well, I will. If you'll have me back, I'll ..."

"Is this the last time you're going to bring this up? Ever."

"What? Yes, I suppose."

"Promise me, Sirius. Promise me that, if I give you a straight answer now, you won't bring this up again."

"All right," he said sombrely. "I promise."

Alice took a deep breath. She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again, and smiled softly at him.

"I always wanted you, Sirius. For a very long time, I didn't know how I was going to exist if I couldn't have you all to myself." He started grinning, but she raised her hand to silence him. "No, wait, I haven't finished yet. I've got to tell you that I discovered long ago that I couldn't get what I wanted from you. I found it elsewhere. Someone who is loyal to me without having to make an effort, someone who's always at my side, who looks after me ..."

"Frank," Sirius grumbled dully.

"Yes," she said firmly. "Frank."

"Do you ... love him?"

"I need him, Sirius. I don't feel right without him. I don't feel whole."

"So the answer is 'no' then. No matter how much I pull myself together. Nothing doing?"

She hesitated very briefly, then shook her head. "No, there's nothing doing."

"Are you sure you know what you're up to?" he asked a little nervously. "Remember, I'm never going to ask you again."

"I'm sure."

Sirius studied her for a moment, then shook his head with a resigned sigh. He smiled at her.

"Don't look so worried, beautiful. I think you're making a big mistake, and you've just shattered all my dreams, but I'll live."

"We can still be friends?" she asked hopefully.

"Always."

There was a pause in which they stood looking at one another. Then, suddenly, he leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek.

"See you," he whispered in her ear, then he straightened up and said briskly, "If you'll excuse me ... I need a drink." And he walked away towards Mary and Remus.

"Sirius, you didn't ..." Remus began when he reached them, but Sirius forestalled him.

"Everything's fine as far as you're concerned, Remus. Looks like I'm out of favour."

"Oh. I'm ... sorry," Remus said slowly.

Looking at him Sirius realised with some surprise that he looked like he meant it. He patted Remus on the shoulder and turned to Mary.

"Care to dance?"

"What do you think I've been waiting for all evening?"

While they waltzed away, Remus glanced over to where Sirius and Alice had been talking. He discovered that she had gone, and the terrace door stood open a fraction.

A couple of minutes later, Alice heard footsteps behind her on the terrace and turned to see Frank coming towards her, bearing two glasses.

"Here you are!" he exclaimed. "I was wondering where you'd got to. I poked my head out the door once before but you've walked so far down, I didn't see you. Are you practising for the Concealment and Disguise exam?"

She smiled weakly. "Something like that. Thanks."

She took her glass from him and took a sip. He was watching her with a slightly troubled expression, and she wondered whether he had noticed her talking to Sirius. She did not have to wait long for an answer to that question.

"So," Frank said, struggling to sound casual, "did you and Sirius have a nice chat?"

"Yes," she replied, though her voice sounded a little unnatural in her own ears.

"Did he want ... anything in particular?"

With a slightly artificial-sounding chuckle, she teased, "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were jealous over a five minute conversation."

"Should I be?" he asked seriously.

Her smile fading, Alice looked up at him. He looked strangely resolute, as though steeling himself just in case the blow was about to fall. She took his glass from his hand and set it and her own down on the floor. Then she put her arms around him.

She said quietly, "I told him 'no'. Once and for all." Alice shifted a little, and looked into his eyes. "So no, you shouldn't be jealous."

After a moment's hesitation, seeming to search her eyes to discover how serious she was being, Frank softened and kissed her forehead. With a sigh, she rested her head against his chest.

"Are you happy, Frank?" she murmured.

"If you are," he answered quietly.

"I am. So happy I don't want to move ... ever. Can we just stay here for a bit? The fresh air is so lovely, and you're so warm."

He smiled and said gently, "We can stay here for as long as you want."

"Good," she said, and closed her eyes. "I'm so content," she murmured. "I could die right now, and not have a single regret."

"I'd have one regret," Frank disagreed.

"What's that?"

"That tango you promised me."

She looked up at him. "You mean the tango I _threatened_ you with!"

"Yes, well ..." He shrugged his shoulders and grinned.

Grinning back, Alice said, "I get it. Anything to stop me being morbid. But it's only because I'm so happy."

"What a funny creature you are sometimes," he said, and kissed her properly this time.

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**4 - All the Way**

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The moon shone brightly over Hogsmeade as Frank walked Alice to the front door of _Thistledown_ an hour later. She stopped on the threshold with the door open behind her and turned around to look at him.

"I suppose I can't persuade you to come in for a nightcap?" she asked hopefully.

"No, thank you. It is rather late - or early, depending on which way you look at it. I wouldn't want to start any tongues wagging."

It occurred to her briefly that this consideration would not have held Sirius back for a second, but she did not say so. After tonight, what Sirius would or would not have done, had she been his girlfriend again, belonged to the past. It was Frank who stood looking down at her now, his gentle grey eyes - so different from Sirius's despite sharing the same colour - filled with eagerness and uncertainty at the same time. And that was the way she wanted it. Well, almost.

"The neighbours are all in bed anyway," she coaxed. "And no one need ever know. It would only be for one drink ..."

"You're probably right, but all the same. If anyone was still awake, I wouldn't want them to think ..."

"What?" asked Alice, slipping her arms around his waist. "What wouldn't you want them to think? That we're an item?" She kissed him on the lips. "I don't think they need any more evidence of that."

"Yes, I know. But before we give them cause to suspect any more, I want ... I'd like to ... I've got to ask you something."

"Oh," she said, her heart suddenly beating a little higher. She stood back from him and smoothed his robes where her touch had rumpled them, and she smiled shyly. "All right. I'm ready. Ask away."

Frank cleared his throat. "I was wondering if ... would you consider ..." He broke off, swallowed, and then said quickly, "My grandmother's invited us to stay. She's been a bit lonely since my grandfather passed on, and ... well, would you like to go?"

"Oh," Alice said again. Her heartbeat dropped rapidly back to normal, and her face fell.

"Of course, if you'd rather not ...," Frank said hurriedly.

"No," she replied flatly. "I don't mind. If you'd like us to go and see her ... I'm sure it will be very nice."

He opened his mouth to speak again, but she cut him short.

"Good night, Frank."

Without another word she turned, went indoors, and shut him out. Frank stood staring at the door. Slowly he turned, walked to the gate, then stopped.

"You idiot," he muttered to himself. "Of all the ridiculous, blundering, tongue-tied, half-witted, idiotic fools ..."

He took a deep, steadying breath, turned again and marched back up to the door. He had time to knock just once before the door was yanked open from within.

"Frank," she said sharply. "That was lousy."

"I know," he apologised. "It's just ... I wasn't prepared. It was too sudden. It sort of came over me, I didn't have time to plan it, and then I lost my nerve. But if you'll forgive me, I'd like to try again. May I?"

"Now?"

"Goodness, no." He smiled, embarrassed. "I think I've rather killed the moment for now. But in the morning. When I've had time to think it through, and get it right. Do you mind?"

He watched her anxiously. She was scowling, but slowly the scowl slid into a fond smile.

"All right," she said softly. "I'll see you in the morning then."

And this time, she kissed him gently on the cheek before she went back inside and closed the door. She leaned against it, her heart pounding. In the morning. She should get some sleep so she would be well rested. She shook herself. As if she could sleep with this on her mind! How would he ask her? Would he be quick and impatient? Or slow and shy? Then she laughed at herself, and at his words. As if you could really plan any of this! She would just have to take it as it came, provided Frank ever got the words out. How funny it was that things had turned out this way, that she was soon to be asked the question she had dreamed about since childhood from someone she had never expected to be asking it. How different Frank was from Sirius. How delightfully, sweetly, lovably different. Lovably?

_It's true_, she thought. _There's no doubt about it now. I love him._

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When he got home with his parents, Remus went straight up to his room and went to the window. He opened it, and resting his hands on the windowsill he stared out into the night, his eyes unwillingly drawn to the silver glimmer in the sky that was growing ever larger. One more week and it would be full, one more week and ...

"Remus?" his father's voice broke into his thoughts. When Remus turned around, John asked, "Is everything all right?"

"Yes," said Remus. Then, realising he probably didn't look all right, he added, "I'm just tired. It's been a long day, and I've only got a week to go ..."

John nodded, but did not say goodnight and leave the room as Remus had expected him to. Instead, he closed the door, pulled out the chair that stood by the desk, and sat down.

"What else is the matter?" he asked quietly. "You've seemed a bit distant all day, but I doubt you've been tired all day. Your mother's convinced something has upset you."

Remus might have thought of denying his distraction, but he knew he stood no chance of persuading his father that his mother's instinct was wrong. It had never failed yet where he was concerned. He sighed and sat on the bed.

"I don't know that you'll want to tell her the whole truth," he said. "But anyway ... it's to do with the Ministry. They're satisfied that we've really got those vampirical doxies under control."

"Have you?"

"As much as we ever will have, I suppose. Not that I like the way it's been done. They've developed a potion that controls their minds. And now they want to start using them to guard certain things they want secured. Documents, records of the experiments themselves ..."

"And you disapprove?"

"Yes. I don't think any more of the idea of suppressing these creatures' nature than I thought of creating them in the first place. And besides, they could be dangerous to more than intruders. The idea is that the person whose documents are being protected will have a spray containing potion individually adapted to their doxy, so only they can control it. But if anyone steals the spray, or if the owner uses the wrong spray, the result wouldn't be pleasant."

"How dangerous are these vampirical doxies?"

"Well, they won't turn anyone into a vampire. But they're out for blood, all right. Once they bite, they hang on. And unless they're removed from their victim within the first seventy-five seconds, they're deadly."

John frowned. "Do you think something should be done about them? Should we talk to Dumbledore?"

"I'm afraid it might be too late for that. I was going to do something about them myself on Friday. I actually thought of ... using the second spray potion they developed. Putting them out of their misery ... Although I doubt I could have done it, in the end. Anyway, I never got the chance to try. They've gone."

His father drew in his breath sharply and began pacing.

"I suppose you have no idea who might have taken them?"

Remus shook his head. He was silent for a time, and John faced him slowly.

"This isn't all, is it?"

"Isn't it enough for one night?"

"Not if there's more that I should know. Remus? Please ... trust me."

His son looked up at him steadily. "I do trust you, Dad. But you're not going to like this."

Sitting down again, John braced himself, as he thought, for anything that might be to come. "What is it?"

"The experiments with doxies are over. All along, I think they were only planned as a kind of preliminary test to see how far it's theoretically possible to go, cross-breeding and controlling creatures. The Ministry's always been keen to do something more than that, really. Create something bigger. Cross-breeds with the muscles of trolls and brains clever enough to distinguish friend from foe, human vampires with control over when to give in to their urges and when not ..."

His voice trailed away, and for a moment John waited in vain for more. Then, suddenly, what Remus was hinting at sank in, and John turned deathly white.

"What?" he said in a choked voice. "You don't mean they're going to start experimenting on ... on ..."

"_Part humans_, as they call us. Yes," Remus said heavily.

"No!" John left his seat again abruptly. "No, enough is enough! This is going too far, they can't use human beings like ... like ..."

"The bits of flesh we are? Why not? They used doxies, and they're no less alive than we are. Less sentient, perhaps - and then again, perhaps not. Who knows? And they've used vampires before. They're just going a step further now - a logical step, in their eyes. They've always wanted to experiment with larger creatures, cross-breeding them with 'part humans' ... and they have me at their fingertips."

John shook his head frantically. "You'll have to leave."

"If they start going too far, I will. For now, all they want is a couple of blood samples ..."

"Remus, you can't seriously be considering this. They'll never stop there, you must know that!"

"Yes, I know," Remus said calmly. "But you said yourself that we needed someone in that committee to keep an eye on things, and give warning when it was time to put a stop to it all, somehow."

"But I didn't mean ... good god, Remus, you know I never meant this! I can't let you go back there ..."

"Dad," Remus said urgently. "If I leave now, it will do no good. They'll find someone else. Someone who might feel more cooperative, someone who won't warn the Order when they really do go too far. They'll create god-knows-what with some other werewolf's blood and we won't be prepared. We have to keep an eye on what they're doing for as long as we possibly can. I'm not saying I like the idea of going back there and letting them use samples of my blood to run tests on for whatever it is they've got planned," he added slowly. "But I don't see that we have any choice."

"We could close down the committee."

"How, Dad? More than half the Ministry is in Voldemort's pocket."

"Are you saying you think he's behind this, not the Ministry?"

"I'm starting to wonder whether there's any difference."

John dropped onto the bed beside Remus and looked at him. He could see that his son's mind was made up, just as Remus could see that he had just given his father one of the hardest shocks of his life.

"It'll be all right, Dad," he said, perhaps trying as much to convince himself.

"Be careful, Remus," John whispered. "They may be willing to go further than even you can imagine. For god's sake, be careful."

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The next morning, at about half past nine, Aunt Enid went to answer the front door without the least suspicion of what was to come. As always, she was pleased to see Frank. He surprised her by greeting her with a hug and a bunch of flowers.

"For me?" she exclaimed. "Oh, Frank, you shouldn't have!"

He smiled at the little lady. "Yes, I should. I need to butter you up a bit so you'll allow me to say what I'd like to - to your niece."

"Oh?" said Aunt Enid, then "Oh" again, as realisation dawned on her. "Oh, oh ... my _dear_ boy ..."

"Please," he forestalled her. "I might yet get thrown out on my ear."

Aunt Enid, taking the flowers, pointed him to the living room, where Alice quickly withdrew her ear from the door and went to stand nonchalantly by the fireplace. Frank entered hesitantly and stopped in the doorway, catching his breath. Alice, he could see, had prepared well for the occasion. She was wearing a cream-coloured dress he had admired previously, and her shoulder-length hair - light brown rather than auburn since she had taken on the new name - glistened in the sunlight pouring through the window.

"Hello, Frank," she said, smiling with pleasure at the effect her choice of dress had produced. "So, has Aunt Enid said she'll marry you?"

"I ... err ..."

"She's fond of you, you know. Always has been. Anyway ... What happens now? Do we get straight down to it, or beat about the bush, talk about the weather and go for a nice walk first? Then you'd have a bit more time to plan it all."

A slow, embarrassed smile crept across his face.

"You're not going to let me live that down, are you?"

"Never," she promised. "Not in all the long years ... But I'm jumping ahead. Would you like to make it quick to spare your nerves?"

Frank hesitated, and Alice sighed.

"Here," she said, and placed a cushion on the floor in front of him. "Knowing you, this could take some time, and I don't want you getting sore knees."

She grinned mischievously, but when she saw Frank kneel down solemnly in front of her, all trace of a smile gone from his face, she too became serious. From his pocket, Frank produced a golden ring adorned by a sparkling diamond, and she felt her throat constrict.

"Alice," he began in a shaky voice. Then, with a faint smile, he went on quietly, using the pet name her aunt still used, and which he, too, had occasionally called her by in private in the months that had passed, "Rora ... I don't pretend to believe that I'm anywhere near good enough for you, or that I have much to offer you. I'm plain, unambitious, and a bit slow at times, but ... but I do love you. I love you with all my heart, and I promise ..."

"Stop," she interrupted him, her voice just as shaky.

Startled at the interruption, he did indeed stop talking and lowered the hand that held the ring. Was she about to throw him out, after all?

Her eyes filled with tears and she knelt down, facing him.

"Don't say you're not good enough for me," she whispered. "Don't say that, ever again. It isn't true. You are. You're awfully good for me. I love you. And don't look so worried. I've already accepted you." She gave a little laugh. "Darling, you didn't think I'd have put you through all this if I'd meant to refuse?"

"Well, I hoped not," Frank replied, his throat dry. "But you can be pretty unpredictable at times."

"And I have been known to be unfair to you before."

"No. You're a perfect angel."

"Hardly that. I could have told you my answer last night. I did tease you a bit."

"You had every right to. I behaved like a fool."

"It was sweet!"

"I was a coward."

"You were nervous."

"I was."

"Are you nervous now?"

"Shaking like a leaf."

"That makes two of us," she said with a grin.

Frank raised the hand that held the ring again. "Well," he said slowly, "since I'm under orders not to go on any more about how you could do much better than me ... I'll keep it short, but I still have to do it properly. After all, I promised."

"You don't have to, I'll have you anyway."

"But I want to. So ... dearest ... will you marry me?"

"I thought you'd never ask!" she exclaimed happily, throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. "Of course I will!"

Then she sat back and let him slip the ring on her finger. She stared at it in wonder.

"It's magnificent. But it looks like a real antique, you shouldn't have gone to such expense ..."

Frank laughed. "Oh yes, in that part of my speech that I skipped, I was going to mention that you'd be marrying a man who's completely broke."

"Frank," she said, "be serious. This _is_ an antique, isn't it? It must have cost a fortune, it's too much!"

"It's a family heirloom," he told her. "To tell you the truth, I didn't have to pay two knuts for it. But if you'd rather have a new one ..."

"Are you kidding?" She held it up to the light. "I'm not giving this back! I think it's wonderful!"

"I think _you're _wonderful. I still can't believe you said yes. I didn't mean to suddenly rush into this. I was going to wait a while. But last night, when you said you and Sirius ... well ... I thought perhaps I had a chance ..."

She covered his lips with her finger and said, "You're starting again. I don't want you thinking I will ever, _ever_ regret anything in marrying you. You have to believe me that it's what I want, because I can't bear to be without you. I want us to be together forever, no matter what happens. I want to be your wife, as soon as possible."

"As soon as you like."

"Tomorrow?" she suggested, and laughed when he looked stunned. "All right, sweetheart. The day after, perhaps. Whenever. I love you. Kiss me?"

"Love to," he said with a smile, and did so.


	34. Part 34: The Sowing of Discord

**Prequel, Part 34: The Sowing of Discord**

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**1 - An Unwelcome Proposal**

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The wedding preparations, not unexpectedly, having taken longer than she had enthusiastically suggested on the morning of her engagement, it was not until September that Alice stood looking out of a window at the sea sparkling for miles around, listening to the cry of a seagull that drifted on the evening breeze, then swooped down to the ground and joined in a chorus with its fellows by the water's edge, where some waded in the shallows while others had settled their bellies amongst the pebbles.

"Well, what do you think of it?" Frank asked, coming to stand behind her.

"It's perfect," she said happily. "Your family certainly owns some beautiful properties."

"All in need of some work doing to them, I'm afraid. And it's _our_ family, remember?" he added gently.

"Of course," she said. "Our family. You were right about this place. It's so wonderfully out-of-the-way and peaceful, I feel I could just forget about everything else and be myself again."

"Aurora Borealis?"

"No. I don't want to be who I _was_, Frank. I want to be who I _am_, now. Who I will be for the rest of my life ... till death us do part. Alice Longbottom."

"I still can't believe it's real," he said wonderingly. "It seems like every moment of my life has been a dream, ever since I came home that night and found you waiting for me. I keep expecting to be wake up to the sound of Perky's voice and the smell of burnt toast, and find it's only the next morning and I fell asleep on the stairs."

Alice turned around to face him and kissed him slowly.

"Does this feel like a dream?" she asked.

"Yes," he said with a half-grin.

She jabbed her fist at him, laughing. "You're just saying that so I'll do it again. You're fishing!"

"Absolutely," he admitted freely. "I plead guilty on all counts."

She put her arms around his neck, running her fingers through his hair and kissing him again.

"I love you," Frank breathed when their lips parted long enough. "I can't tell you how much."

"Then show me," she whispered back mischievously. "There's no need to worry what the neighbours will say now."

Smiling, he leaned in to kiss her again, but she placed her hand on his chest.

"Is your grandmother the kind of woman who likes to provide tea and shortbread at half-hourly intervals?"

"Good point," he said, and reaching for his wand, he pointed it at the door. "_Colloportus_."

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"Oof, this is heavy!" Gloria Lovegood exclaimed, trying to lift a book off the table in front of her.

"Leave it, I'll see to it," said Remus, taking the volume from her.

They were the only ones left in the chamber on the courtroom level, below level nine, set aside for the Ministry's research concerning cross-breeds for "protection", everyone else had just left - everyone except the new man. He had turned up unexpectedly after lunch two weeks ago, accompanied by Mr. Westmore, who had explained that he would be in charge of the experiments from now on. Westmore had not looked too happy about it, and Remus could see why. Everyone could. Walden Macnair was not a man who inspired liking or trust at first glance. _And I doubt he'll improve on closer acquaintance_, Remus thought to himself.

"It's okay, I can just levitate it. Should have done so in the first place," Gloria said, but Remus had already returned the book to its rightful place on the shelf. "Thanks. Doing anything special this evening?" she asked.

"Just going to see some friends."

"The usual gang? Black, Potter ...?"

"Exactly. James and Lily have gone on ahead, Sirius, Peter and I are meeting in the Atrium to go round to their place."

"Well, say hello to everyone."

"Thank you, I will."

They began moving towards the exit and said goodbye to Mr. Macnair, who still seemed to be busying himself with something in a corner of the room. However, he now came to join them in the open doorway.

"Before you go, Lupin, I'd like a word," he said.

Gloria cast the man a doubtful look. "Want me to wait?" she offered, but Macnair said "no" so quickly and sharply that Remus had no choice but to shake his head and thank her.

"See you Monday," he said. "Give my regards to your husband."

She nodded, leaving them. Macnair waited until she had turned the corner and climbed the stairs to the _Department of Mysteries_ level. Remus could hear the sound of the lift doors opening and closing, and of the lift rumbling back upwards. He turned enquiringly to the strange man who was squinting at him closely.

"I want to thank you, Lupin," Macnair began, "for being so cooperative these last weeks - and before that, so I've heard. From what I've been hearing, you had certain ... reservations where these recent experiments are concerned. Glad to see you overcame them. That is, I assume you did?"

Remus studied the man warily for a moment, then he said cautiously, "To tell you the truth - no, sir."

"Mind telling me why you still don't approve?"

"I still consider there was a reason why the Ministry originally banned experimental breeding."

"But surely you agree that research must be conducted in the interest of progress, of making life safer for all of us ... and less mundanely, in the interest of evolution?"

"Isn't evolution defined as the natural development of species? I hardly think it's up to us to put ourselves above nature and meddle with a progress - if it is that - that wasn't meant for us to control. The experiments we are conducting here violate nature, and could easily get out of hand. In which case, it might serve us right for having treated living beings as mere test subjects."

"Especially part humans?"

"Beings of any kind," Remus said stiffly. "They have a right to live as they are, untouched, and as nature intended them to be. Not used and subjected to the whim of those who consider themselves superior."

Macnair chuckled. "You leave me wondering what the heck you're doing on this committee, young man. Suppose you needed a job, and beggars can't be choosers, is that it?"

Remus did not reply, but waited for the other man to continue, which he did quickly.

"So how long do you intend to go through with this? Letting yourself be used and 'subjected to the whim of others who consider themselves superior' because they happen _not _to have been mauled by a rabid werewolf when they were three and a half years old? Letting them look down on you, treat _you_ like one of their test subjects?"

Noting that Macnair must clearly have been looking him up in the files, judging by the information he had, Remus said slowly,

"What would be the good of refusing? It wouldn't change anything, it wouldn't stop them - it wouldn't stop _you _- from carrying out these experiments. You'd soon find someone else."

"Oh, I'm sure I would. But that would set them back. _They _are quite happy to let me go on taking your blood for their tests. They seem to feel they're making progress, figuring out what makes that beast inside you tick. They might have to start all over again with someone else. I don't think you realise to what extent they're willing to use you. If you refuse, well, you never know ... they might even order me to take what you won't willingly give." He lowered his voice and said sharply, "They don't give a _damn_ about you, boy. Quite frankly, I think you have every right to be angry at them. They'll go on using you till they know all they need to know, and then they'll probably sack you. It's always going to be that way, these jobs are the only kind of jobs human beings offer to people like you. Is that the kind of life you want, forever?"

"It's this life or none," Remus said calmly. "I intend to make the best of it."

"There is an alternative. I know people ... I have friends ... who are like you. But they don't let themselves be bullied and used by 'normal' people. They stick together and make a life for themselves. They'd take you in, if you wanted. Accept you for what you are, give you strength as one of their number. There's a lot of strength in you, Lupin. You could learn to use it."

"To abuse it, you mean. To intimidate, threaten ... kill?" He shook his head. "No."

"Think about it. Think about what your life has been like, and what it's likely to be like. Where do you go from here? What have you got to look forward to? You'll never amount to anything, you'll never get anywhere in the Ministry ..."

"I don't want to."

"No, I know," Macnair said with a self-satisfied smirk. "You want to be a teacher, don't you?"

Remus had been starting to walk away, but now he stopped and looked sharply at the man. "Who told you that?"

Macnair shrugged. "I have friends everywhere. They tell me things." He smiled crookedly. "But tell me, how do you expect ever to be a teacher, when even as a student you had to keep your complaint secret for fear of being kicked out of school? I'm not asking you to turn around at once and become the opposite of what you have been until now," he went on persuasively. "You've shown courage sticking it in this half-life of yours, and I respect that. But think about it, Remus. Think about being able to be what you have been for most of your life, without having to hide. Think about being one of a crowd, accepted, equal. Not treated as a _thing _any more. Think about it. That's all I'm saying."

"I ... will think about it," Remus answered cautiously. "Good night ... _sir_."

He turned and walked slowly away. Just beyond the corner of the stairway, Sirius Black held his breath and crept quickly back up the stairs. He called the lift, slipped inside it, and pretended to be coming out of it as Remus reached the top of the stairs. He waited with interest to see how Remus would greet him after what he had just overheard, and caught the merest glimpse of a pensive frown before Remus gave him a tired smile that was apparently meant to look casual. Sirius said,

"Hello, Moony. Pete and I were starting to wonder if you were ever coming. Gloria came by ages ago."

"I know, I had a few more things to sort out."

"I see," said Sirius, non-committally. "Well, shall we get going? We don't want Lily burning the dinner because you couldn't bear to leave a book standing crooked on its shelf for a couple of days. It's the weekend, Remus, time to relax, put our feet up - until we get news of the next Dark antics, that is."

"Hm," murmured Remus, and they both fell silent as the lift carried them up to the Atrium, Remus lost in thought and Sirius casting him surreptitious sideways glances that he never noticed.

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"Dobby!" bellowed Lucius Malfoy. "Dobby! Where the devil has that useless worm of a house-elf got to?"

Just then, there was a loud _crack!_ and the miserable, terrified creature popped into existence right in front of him.

"Master called?" he murmured timidly.

"Master did!" said Lucius harshly. "Five minutes ago. Where have you been?"

"Dobby was helping Mistress hang your new portrait in the dining room, Master."

With a grunt, Lucius acknowledged this as a reasonably permissible excuse. Then he said, "We shall want dinner for nine tonight in the dining room, and you can serve your mistress's dinner in the morning room."

"Why, Lucius?"

Narcissa, pale as a ghost with her long, fair hair and white face contrasting starkly with the midnight black robes she wore, joined them from the direction of the drawing room.

"Because I shall have business to discuss with our guests," he snapped.

"What guests are they?" she asked, then seeing the frozen look on his face, she guessed. "The Dark Lord? He's coming here?"

Lucius bowed his head. "He'll be here any minute."

Narcissa came right up to him and placed a hand on his arm. "Why, Lucius?"

"He doesn't like to stay in one place for two long these days. Ever since Slytherin's Rock was compromised ..."

"But that was ages ago! And you told me he had improved the protection there."

"He has. But he likes to move around now, to prevent our enemies always knowing where he is."

"But surely he has nothing to fear from anyone."

"Of course not!"

"Then why ...?"

"Stop asking questions, Narcissa, and get ready." He added a little less sharply, "Please."

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**2 - Conferences**

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"Awww, Sirius, that stuff is disgusting!" James half yelled, half laughed that evening, wiping orange goo off his glasses.

He, Sirius, Peter and Remus were sitting round the kitchen table playing gobstones while Lily was preparing the pastry for their dinner. She turned her head to check what was going on behind her back when he said this, and her jaw dropped.

"What on _earth_ is that stuff all over the table? Do you lot _realise _I spent all afternoon _cleaning_ that so we could eat our dinner off it tonight?"

"Do _you _realise the rest of us have been doing _real_ work all day?" Sirius retorted, pretending to look reproachful. "We need some fun time!"

"Not in my kitchen, you don't!" Lily replied just as quickly. "Get out of here, _now_!"

"Lily's right," Remus said mildly, picking a stray blob of goo out of his hair. "This isn't the kind of stuff that should be spread all over a table we intend to eat off of."

To his slight surprise, Sirius did not answer him, merely glanced at him with an oddly closed expression on his face, then turned to James and said,

"Is this what you signed up for, Prongs? When you signed that bit of paper on your wedding day, did it say anything about being denied a bit of fun in your own home?" James just grinned, and Sirius went on, "Still, if we're being chucked out of the kitchen, that gives us a good excuse not to help lay the table or any such nonsense."

Lily waggled her rolling pin at him. "That's it! You, Mr. Marauding Padfoot, can do the dishes after we've eaten. _Muggle_ style, that is."

Sirius emitted a few tutting sounds and shook his head in mock distress. "That's the thing with these red-heads. Absolute corkers to look at, doubtlessly pretty hot stuff all round, but dangerous when roused."

He winked at Lily, and though she was scowling back at him, the corners of her mouth were distinctly twitching.

"If you're not out of this kitchen in ten seconds, I shall make you wear that spare apron my mother gave me."

"You mean the pink one with the floral pattern?" James chuckled.

"Oh yes, that would suit you, Sirius," Peter joined in.

"I hear girls these days really like a man wearing pink ... with floral patterns," added Remus.

Sirius rose abruptly. "You lot," he said, looking round at them all, "are the worst bunch of traitors I ever met, siding with that fiend disguised as a red-haired angel over there." He then turned to Lily. "All right, since for some reason my poor, dumb best friend here is as besotted as ever with you, oh beautiful demon lady, I shall pack up my gobstones and walk ... to the living room. And on your own favourite rug be it."

"It had better not be, or else ..."

"Come on, Prongs, let's get out of here and let her think about what exactly she'll do if we stain her precious Axminster."

He grinned and marched out. The others rose from their seats too. James kissed Lily before going after Sirius, and Peter followed him out. Remus remained by the table and drew his wand. Pointing it at the orange stains, he said,

"_Evanesco_."

The goo obligingly cleared itself up, and Lily thanked him.

"A whole afternoon's cleaning work?" he queried.

With a grin, she said, "Actually, it took me just half a second longer than it just took you. But it's impossible to resist arguing with Sirius sometimes. And anyway, I know he enjoys a good word-fencing match. So, are you going to join the boys in the living room and be covered in goo, or would you rather give me a hand in here? I've still got that spare apron."

"Ah, yes, but will it suit me as well as it would have suited Sirius?"

"With those big, brown eyes of yours? It'll be a knockout."

"I'll just go and wash my hands," he said, without so much as a hint of the smile she had hoped to elicit.

Five minutes later, he was cutting up vegetables while Lily put the meat pie in the oven.

"You don't have to do that muggle style just because I do," she commented, seeing that he was cutting everything manually.

"I once asked my mother why she sews everything by hand, when she could easily just wave her wand at the darning needle. She said the result gives her much more satisfaction if she's actually worked towards it."

"Well, I agree with her whole-heartedly. But if you're not careful, there's going to be extra meat among the carrots."

"Ouch!" Remus exclaimed just as she said this, and quickly sucked his thumb where he had just cut it.

"Let's see that," Lily said, and swiftly healed the cut with a charm.

"Thank you."

Lily smiled at him, but it was not her usual, open smile. Evidently, he realised, she was fully aware that he was just not his usual self tonight.

"Something bothering you?" she asked almost casually, tipping the vegetables he had cut into a saucepan.

There was a pause before he answered, "Just the usual."

"Ministry experiments, treating living creatures like things that have no feelings, that kind of "usual"?"

"Hm."

She shot him a shrewd look. "I see. Not that kind of "usual". And if I know you, not something you want to talk about until you've mulled it over for a year or two."

Her words at last caused him to smile faintly. "Will we be needing dessert spoons?" he asked.

"A change of subject? Very subtle, my dear. Yes, I made us some bakewell tarts."

"Ah, James's favourite."

"Yes. I was thinking of doing that chocolate gateau you like next week."

"You shouldn't spoil us all so much," Remus said, and went to fetch the spoons.

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Narcissa Malfoy couldn't help but feel foolish creeping as quietly as she could through her own home, not daring to perform perfectly normal routines in the usual manner. Having the Dark Lord as a house guest had that effect, however.

She knocked softly on the door of her husband's study, and entered when he called.

"They're here," she informed him.

"Ah." Lucius set aside his quill and rose. "Have you shown them to the Dark Lord yet?"

"No. I thought it would be better if you did."

He nodded. "I'll do so immediately. Tell Dobby to open a bottle of our best elf-made wine and bring it up, will you? Oh, and tell him he's to knock before he comes in."

"All right. What time will you want dinner?"

Lucius looked up at the clock on the wall. "In about an hour." He stood still while his wife straightened the collar of his robes. "Thank you, Narcissa," he said, and headed off downstairs to welcome his guests.

Soon he was sitting in his own dining room, at his own dining room table, feeling more like a guest than the host. Lord Voldemort had taken the seat at the head of the table, and after Dobby had brought the wine as instructed, it was he who began the talking. Lucius looked around him at the people seated around the table, the Dark Lord's closest and most trusted companions. Leonard Lestrange and his wife, Augustus Snape, Lothian, Rosier, Mulciber and Macnair. When addressed by the Dark Lord, the latter reported on the situation regarding the Ministry's experiments, and on his conversation with Remus Lupin earlier that evening.

"Do you think he can be persuaded to join us?" Lord Voldemort asked.

"I'm not sure, my Lord," said Macnair. "I think some of what I said to him hit home, but I don't know him enough to be able to guess whether he can be turned by ordinary persuasion or not."

"What do you think?" Lothian asked Lucius suddenly. "I believe you knew him at school, didn't you?"

Lucius said slowly, "We were barely acquainted. But he and his friends always seemed very definitely against the Dark Arts. I got the impression Lupin was quite close to our Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, as a matter of fact." Suddenly remembering, he added, "He tried to fight off the Dementors that day in Hogsmeade, when the old fool decided he'd try and hold us all off single-handedly."

Voldemort seemed to think for a moment, then he said, "Well, we shall just have to wait and see."

"Do you want me to talk to him again, my lord?" Macnair asked.

"No. No, I think it might be better coming from ... someone else. I think you know who I mean."

"Yes, my lord, but with all due respect, I don't think he'll be easily persuaded to do anything more for us. He likes his independence."

"I know," Voldemort said, and his voice held a note of cold anger. "You must pay him another visit, Walden, and be more persuasive this time. Promise him power, promise him freedom ... but make sure he joins us."

"Yes, master."

"My lord, may I make a suggestion?" Mrs. Lestrange offered at that moment.

He turned his head towards her. "Certainly. What suggestion do you have?"

"It occurred to me that it might be a good idea to approach more than one angle at once."

"Do you have another to suggest?"

"Yes. Someone we - or at least I - know more about, and can therefore more easily manipulate."

"Who?" Evan Rosier asked.

She smiled slyly. "Wait and see."

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"Sev?" Josephine whispered in the almost complete darkness. "Severus, are you awake?"

He didn't reply, didn't even stir. She turned around and pushed a button on the alarm clock that stood on her bedside table. The dial lit up, and showed her the time. Half past one in the morning. She got out of bed, pulled on a dressing gown and went to sit by the window. She pushed the curtains aside a fraction with a trembling hand and pressed her nose against the cool glass. Condensation rose up in front of her, fogging her view of the street below. At the same time, her eyes clouded over with a mist of tears.

_What have I done?_

She had been so stupid. Not just last night, but ever since that first day in York. She had known then, just from talking to him, that Severus was not really her type. But it had seemed such harmless fun, teasing him, seeing if she couldn't get him to brighten up in spite of himself.

_I let it go on too long. I let it go too far._

That day when they had argued, when she had tried to make him see that not only purebloods were worthy of being treated well, that everyone else wasn't worthless - that day should have been the end. She should never have gone back to him. She had known that he wouldn't change, whatever she did, or whatever she told him.

_I knew he was on You-Know-Who's side. I knew it. And Iris ... Iris tried to warn me. I should have listened to her._

She wiped a tear off her cheek. If she had been blind before, or if she had chosen not to see what was obvious, she couldn't close her eyes any more. She had seen the Mark on his arm. The Dark Mark, a horrid skull with a serpent for a tongue. _His_ sign, on Severus's arm. She knew it could only mean one thing. Severus more than agreed with _He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named_ and his followers. He was one of them.

Another silent tear rolled down her cheek, but she didn't wipe it away. Last night, everything had seemed so perfect. Her parents were away, wouldn't be back for another week. She and Severus had opened a bottle of wine to celebrate the fact that they'd known each other for more than two years, and that they'd had such a nice day in the sunshine. She had had too much wine, she had been elated and happy. But at some point during the night the wine had worn off, and Josephine Coronis had returned to earth with a bump.

_Damn it. He's a Death Eater, you idiot! This has got to stop. Get a grip on yourself now, before it all gets even more out of hand._

She drew a deep breath and turned away from the window abruptly. She walked over to the bed, and after only a short moment's hesitation, shook Severus hard. He woke with a start and sat up groggily, looking around him with a puzzled expression.

"W-what am I doing here?" he asked her. Apparently, he too had had too much of that wine last night. "J-Josephine ... did we ...?"

"Get up," she said sharply, fighting against the tears that were stinging her eyes. She thrust his robes at him. "Put these on and go."

"Josephine ..."

"Get out. I ... I don't want to see you any more. Ever. Go."

"But ..."

She shot him a frustrated look, then rushed out of the room. She ran along the corridor and into the bathroom, slammed the door shut behind her, and burst into a fit of sobs in the middle of the tiled floor. She ignored his knocking on the door and waited a long time after he had gone before she finally stood up and went to the sink. She turned the cold tap on and stuck her head under it for a full five minutes. When she straightened up, she had stopped crying. She would not dwell on this. It was over, and the best thing she could do was forget about it all as quickly as possible. And if Severus ever came calling again, or contacted her in any way, she would throw him out without hesitation.

"Yes," she told her mirror image firmly. "I'll just tell him it wasn't anything serious in the first place. So there."

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**3 - Morning Calls**

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The underground chamber was dark, its walls hewn out of solid rock, grey and cold, the furniture sparse and worn. A splintered table, a mismatched assortment of often - though none too expertly - mended chairs, and a heavy trunk, all illuminated by the flickering glow of a couple of torches that had left black soot marks on the walls. Two doors were let into the walls, both made of thick, strong oak and reinforced with iron bands. In one door there was a small window, about eight inches square and barred, but it let in no light, and not just because it was so early in the morning. Beyond this door lay a long, narrow underground passage that twisted and turned before it came out in the heart of a dense forest, under a near impenetrable canopy of treetops that blocked out the sun.

It was on this door that a series of thudding knocks fell. The other door opened, and through it came a man. He was big and broad-shouldered, with matted hair that hung down to his shoulders and was so filthy that it barely permitted one to guess that it might once have been of a tawny shade. His face was unshaven, rough and dirty, and his clothes were ragged. He walked to the door with the barred window in it, but did not look out. Instead, he stood a little to one side so that whoever was outside could not see him either, and growled in a rasping voice,

"Who's there?"

"Walden Macnair," came the reply.

"Prove it."

"Let me in, Fenrir, or I'll let myself in and skin your hide for a new winter cloak."

The man unbolted and opened the door, his mouth shifting into a hideous, snarling imitation of a smile.

"I'd rip you limb from limb before you so much as draw your knife, Walden."

Walden Macnair walked past him into the chamber and looked around him.

"Nice place you've got here," he remarked sarcastically.

The other grunted. He closed the door and re-bolted it, then gestured at one of the chairs.

"Have a seat," he said.

Macnair chose the least rickety looking chair and sat down. He waited a moment for his host to sit too, but he did not. Producing a rather ugly, insincere smile of his own, Macnair enquired,

"So, how have you been doing, Fenrir? How's the cub coming along?"

"What do you want?" the other spat back. "You didn't come here to talk about the weather and my health at half past five in the morning."

"Suspicious sort of ... erm ... _creature_, aren't you?"

"You show up before breakfast and with your first breath remind me of the 'gift' your beloved master gave me. With your second, you point out that you consider me unworthy of being referred to as a 'man'. That tends to make me suspicious."

"_My_ master, Fenrir? Isn't it time you acknowledged him as yours, too?"

"I don't have a master!" came the angry retort. "I refuse to be ordered about and treated like your Dark Lord's lapdog."

Macnair gave a humourless laugh. "Fenrir Greyback, a lapdog? Hardly. A bloodhound, more like. Except for that annoying little detail - a bloodhound should hunt, not be hunted."

"No one hunts me!"

"No, I can see that," Macnair remarked snidely, indicating their surroundings. "A werewolf's home is quite a castle, isn't it?"

With a sudden movement, Fenrir Greyback sprang forward, grabbed his guest by the collar, swept him across the room and pinned him against the wall, his face and putrid breath somewhat too close for the other's comfort. "Get to the point, Walden," he snarled, displaying two rows of sharp teeth. "Before I demonstrate mine."

Macnair caught his breath for a second, then said slowly and deliberately, "You're a hunted man, Fenrir. Normal wizard society would shun you and feel safer to see you locked away, even if you hadn't committed the acts for which they outlawed you years ago. To them, you're worthless."

"I'm worthless to you too," said Fenrir coldly. "And to your precious Dark Lord. He has no love for half-breeds."

"But he has uses for them. And in exchange for certain ... services ... he is willing to offer more than the occasional cub for your amusement."

"Like what, for instance?"

"Power, Fenrir. The power to put fear into the hearts of the people who condemn you and give free reign to your hunger."

"I already have that. I don't skulk and hide when the full moon comes, I go out into the woods and revel in it!"

"Maybe so, but that doesn't bring you what you need. You're still isolated, cut off from the world, on the run from wizards who would kill you or lock you up for life if you crossed their path. The Dark Lord can change that. Already his influence in the Ministry runs deep, and it won't be long now before he has it entirely in his hand. He can stop them hunting you. He can make _you_ the hunter, you and others like you. He can give you prey, flesh to find and bite and kill - without persecution. How does that sound?"

Slowly, Greyback relaxed his grip on Macnair's collar and walked back to the table. He thought for a while in silence, then he said,

"In return for all this - this power, this freedom to hunt as I want to - what does your master want from me?"

Macnair walked up to him and bared his arm, displaying the image of a skull, a serpent protruding from its mouth like a tongue. Greyback growled,

"He expects me to let him brand me as his slave, his pet wolf?"

"No, Fenrir. He's offering you the symbol of his trust and his protection. Become one of us, and he will give you what you crave. You, and the cub, and any others of your kind that you are able to bring to our cause."

There was a pause in which the two men looked at each other, both hard and determined. Finally, Greyback asked,

"When does he want it done?"

"I could take you to him now."

Shaking his head, Greyback said, "I'm not giving any oaths on an empty stomach."

"Very well," Macnair sighed. "Shall I call for you at ten?"

After a moment's hesitation, the werewolf nodded. Macnair smiled triumphantly, turned around, and let himself out the way he had come in. Greyback stood looking at the door that had closed behind him for a minute. Then he returned to the other one and passed through it once more. It led to a short passageway and the third - and last - door of his underground den. This had bolts on the outside which he unfastened now. He entered the small, cold room and looked down at the huddled figure sitting in the corner, on the floor, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them, a child with a pale face that was filled with a kind of terrified awe. With another one of those smiles that only served to make him look more frightening than ever, Greyback told the boy,

"Well, young cub - looks like things are about to change for the likes of you and me. Apparently the Dark Lord requires our services. We must do our best to please him, mustn't we?"

The boy did not answer. Greyback frowned.

"Get up," he ordered sharply. "If you won't talk to me, the least you can do is give me a hand fixing breakfast. What's the matter with you?" he added, when the boy still showed no reaction.

"I - I - I'm ... not h-hungry," the child stammered.

"Yes, you are," Greyback snapped, taking him by the arm and pulling him roughly to his feet. "You're just queasy about skinning a few rabbits, aren't you? Well?"

He shook the boy until he nodded, tears starting into his eyes. Greyback gave him a shove in the direction of the door.

"Get out there, Crowe," he ordered. "You lame excuse for a cub. I'll turn you into a decent werewolf yet. Now move!"

The boy jumped with fright as the big man started towards him, and began to make his way through the main chamber.

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Bridget was in the kitchen, getting breakfast ready, listening to the muggle news on the radio. She wondered whether any of the 'ordinary' disasters they were reporting - a car accident involving no less than six vehicles in Lancashire, muggings in London, a suicide in Hampshire, a hospital burning down in Devon, a derailed train in Somerset - had anything to do with Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters. The sheer number of catastrophes being reported made her suspect that they probably had.

She put another two slices of toast in the toaster and changed the radio station to one that was playing music, and was just about to open the jam jar when, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed something odd outside the window. Looking more closely, she recognised the object coming straight towards her through the sky. It was an owl. Bridget opened the window quickly, just in time to prevent the bird from hitting the glass and to allow it to land beside the cereal bowls instead. She relieved it of the letter it was carrying and offered it a handful of cornflakes, for which it thanked her with a dull hoot before taking off. Bridget looked down at the envelope in her hands. It had her name written on it in familiar handwriting, and she opened it quickly and read.

_Dear Bridget,_

_I hope the owl didn't wake you, but I thought it best to send this letter as early as possible, hoping that you would see it before Malcolm does. I would much prefer to tell you all of this in person, but I don't quite see how we can arrange to talk in private without arousing Malcolm's suspicions. I have found the girl._

_It wasn't very easy to discover her identity, because it turns out she was one of the muggles involved in the incident who had their memories wiped, and the Ministry hadn't actually bothered to keep a detailed record of the incident. In fact, it was coincidence that finally put me on the right track._

_A colleague of mine, Amos Diggory, asked me to cover for him the other day because he had to go to a funeral. He told me the young woman - his sister-in-law - had been killed in an attack on a hospital. She was a muggle, and he said she had been very unlucky, as this was the second Death Eater attack she had been involved in. The first was the incident in Newcastle. Apparently, that is how his brother had met her. The obliviators' spell had caused some minor damage, and Amos's brother was the healer who looked after her at St. Mungo's._

_It wasn't too heard to get him to tell me more about the young woman, and I've since been able to confirm that Catherine Diggory was, in fact, the young woman we were looking for._

_Now, I know this isn't the news you wanted, my dear. But it's not as bad as it seems. Amos tells me his brother has always been secretly grateful to the 'Death Eater who tortured Cathy', because he would never have met her, had it not been for that event._

_So I suggest that we wait a little while and then write to the young man or go down to Ottery St. Catchpole and visit him. It would hardly be tactful to contact him immediately, so soon after his wife's death._

_Yours sincerely,_

_John_

_P.S: Faith sends her love, and has asked me to say that she will be cooking plenty for four this evening, in case you'd like to come._

Bridget read the letter through a couple of times. Sad as the story John had briefly related was, she could not help but feel a little cheered by it, and she returned to preparing breakfast with a lighter heart, humming a little in accompaniment of the radio. She smiled when Malcolm joined her, his hair still wet from having been under the shower. He kissed her and sat down, wondering aloud,

"Hello, what are you looking so cheerful about?"

Bridget shrugged. "It's a beautiful morning, and I've just had a note from John, asking if we'd like to join them for dinner this evening."

"From John?" Malcolm repeated, looking slightly puzzled. "That's odd."

"In what way?" Bridget asked innocently, pouring him coffee.

"Well, I'd have expected Faith to write to you, not John. That's all."

"Perhaps she was busy," Bridget remarked, sitting down. "What time are you going to see that goblin ... what was his name again?"

"Glintrock. Eleven o'clock," Malcolm answered, allowing her to change the subject.

"Should I keep my fingers crossed or not?"

He smiled. "That depends. How keen are you to have me doing night shifts once a week at Gringotts?"

"Not very," she admitted. "But if patrolling underground corridors at night is what it takes to make you happy, darling ..."

"It's not," he said, reaching across the table and taking her hand. "But I've tried everything else, and I really don't think anyone at the Ministry is going to employ anyone who's as obviously against Voldemort as I am."

"Auror Headquarters might," Bridget suggested tentatively.

Malcolm snorted. "Barty Crouch would suffocate on his pride before he admitted he could do with an extra pair of hands to help him, if that pair of hands happens to be mine. You said it yourself."

"I know, but maybe if you made the first step and swallowed _your _pride ..."

Letting go of her hand, Malcolm shook his head decisively and took a bite of his toast. "I'll take my chances with the goblins, thank you. At least there's little chance of them turning into a bunch of Death Eaters."

"There's also little chance of them lifting a finger to help you if Death Eaters should come knocking."

"I hardly think the Death Eaters are after money. Most of them have got plenty of it - enough to hand out lots of nice, juicy bribes to win more followers for their precious Dark Lord."

"Do you really think money can tempt people to become as evil as all that?"

"Easily, my dear. Money, fear, the prospect of power ... that snake's got plenty of weapons."

Bridget nodded slowly, a lot of the cheerfulness that had filled her moments before draining away again. Malcolm appeared to notice this, for he set down the coffee cup he had been holding and said gently,

"I'm sorry. I just burst your bubble, didn't I? Tell you what - I promise I won't say another word about Death Eaters, Voldemort or anything else evil all day, how's that? When I come back from seeing Glintrock, we'll go out somewhere nice. How about the seaside? We'll make out it's just an ordinary summer's day. No more thinking dark thoughts."

"Just you, me and hundreds of holiday makers?" Bridget said, her smile returning. "That sounds wonderful."

"You're wonderful," Malcolm said tenderly, and leaned across the table to kiss her again.


	35. Part 35: Lines of Attack

**Prequel, Part 35: Lines of Attack**

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**1 - After the Full Moon**

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Remus Lupin was dreaming. He was in a cage, his arms and legs felt heavy and he could barely move them. He looked down and discovered the reason - they were clapped in chains. He yelled, shook himself, tugged and fought in vain. Voices around him cried out, some excited, some frightened. Someone called out "It's awake!". It. Not "He". Faces appeared all around him, rows and rows of them, indefinable, unrecognisable faces without personality or emotion. The voices muttered. Hands held out devices, needles pricked him, and all around him were bottles and vials of blood and saliva and fur.

Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, he was no longer in the cage, but outside it, on the floor, looking up at the creature now chained there: a dog, big and black and rabid, foaming at the mouth, barking, snapping, biting the air until it was silenced by a flash of green light and died with a whimper.

Remus tried to look away, but only found himself facing another cage instead. Looking back at him was a small boy. His light-brown hair was limp and soaked with sweat, his face a sickly whitish-green, his eyes heavy-lidded, big, brown, wide, frightened. One side of his body was covered in blood. Pushing himself onto his knees, Remus crawled to the cage and pulled himself up by the bars to get a closer look at the child.

"A-are you ...?" he whispered, but his voice echoed all around him.

"I am you."

"No," he said shakily. "No, you're not. You _were_ me ..."

"I am what was. I am what will be."

"No. God, no ..."

Remus broke off in a gasp. Before his eyes, the cage vanished. At the same time, the boy got to his feet. And then there were two of him. Then three, four, five, six - more and more, until he could see nothing else, wherever he looked. Far beyond them, a tall figure in black, swirling robes was watching, his burning red eyes the only part of him that could be seen. The children changed, no longer copies of one and the same boy, the child Remus, but children of varying ages, boys and girls, fair and dark and red-haired, and all of them began transforming, howling, screaming, sprouting fur and claws, and through it all rang the sound of an evil laugh.

Remus screamed, screamed until his lungs hurt, and then he rolled over onto his side, his eyes shut tight, but still seeing the blood, the horror ...

"Remus? Remus, wake up! Wake up!"

The voice that drowned out the sounds of the werewolves all around him, of the shrill, cruel laugh, was worried, urgent, and blissfully familiar. Remus tried to open his eyes, then shut them again immediately as sunlight blinded him. He groped unseeingly until a hand, warm and reassuring, grasped his firmly.

"Dad," he breathed hoarsely.

"I'm here, my boy. I'm here."

Remus waited a while and then risked an eye. His father was kneeling on the ground beside him, and not far away Remus could see the forest, golden and brown in a friendly October sun. With a groan and his father's help, he sat up and tried to survey the damage he had done to himself last night. He didn't get far. It was hard to tell where each particular patch of blood had leaked from.

With John's support, however, he made it from the little brick-walled hut that he had been using for transformations since he had become too old and strong to roam the woods freely to the sofa in the living room, and his mother's customary anxiety and ministrations. Soon he was all bandaged up, fed and wrapped in a blanket, and despite the apprehension he felt after his earlier dream, he soon drifted off to sleep again.

It was the early afternoon by the time he woke to the gentle music of the violin that played itself in the corner, to find his father sitting in his usual armchair reading a book. John looked up when he heard Remus stir, and laid his book aside.

"Feeling any better?" he asked solicitously.

Remus nodded.

"Can I get you anything?"

Looking around, Remus saw a glass of water on the coffee table. He reached out his hand, but John quickly rose, picked it up, and handed it to him. Remus drank it slowly, then passed the empty glass back. John set it down again, but did not return to his seat. Instead he said quietly,

"You seem to have had a particularly rough night. You were screaming when I woke you, you must have been dreaming. Do you remember anything about that?"

His son nodded slowly. He cleared his throat, testing his vocal chords. They were far from strong, and his voice was raspy when he said,

"I saw ... a dog."

"The one you told me about? The one they brought in to test your blood on it?"

Remus hesitated. The dog his father was referring to had been a stray, and they had injected it with his blood without his knowledge, and much to his horror. It had been a small, brown-and-white mongrel, whereas the one in his dream had been large, shaggy, and black. It had been unique in his eyes. Only one 'dog' could look like that. But he could not explain all this to his father, so he merely nodded.

"What happened to it?"

"It died."

"In your dream? Or really?"

"Both. They killed it yesterday. The more the moon waxed, the more it was getting out of control."

"That wasn't your fault," John said quickly.

"No?"

"No. You said it yourself: if not your blood, they'd have used someone else's."

"What if they couldn't find anyone else?"

"They would, Remus. I'm sure you were right about that. Not everyone deals with this condition the way you do." There was a pause before he continued, "What else happened? It wasn't just the dog that made you scream, was it?"

Remus shook his head. "I saw ... myself. Back when ... it happened."

John's blue eyes filled instantly with pain as his son's words brought back the night that he would never forget for as long as he lived, that was in his mind almost constantly, as those closest to him knew only too well. He balled one hand into a fist.

"That night," he murmured. "If only ..."

"Don't, Dad," Remus said sharply. His voice sounded a little louder, stronger as he said it, but quickly dropped back to the level it had been before. "There were others ... children ... and ... _Him_."

John did not need to ask to whom Remus was referring. He returned to his chair and sat down. After a while he said quietly,

"Remus, I know we've been through this before, but I really think it's time you left there."

Remus gave a faint smile. "Soon, Dad. I just want to find out first what their next step will be."

"Promise me you'll leave the minute you sense danger."

"We'll discuss it this evening, at the Order meeting."

"Promise me, Remus," John repeated insistently.

"I promise," said Remus without further argument.

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**2 - At Odds**

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The matter was indeed discussed at that evening's meeting of the Order of the Phoenix at Gryffindor Hall. The general consensus was on Remus's side, and so he agreed to stay on at least until the next full moon, to keep an eye on things and let them know if - as they all feared, but hardly dared to speak aloud - the Ministry should suggest taking the experiments a step further and attempting to contaminate and control humans, reasoning that their test on the dog had not worked simply because it _was _a dog.

The subject was about to be changed when Dumbledore passed the word to Dorcas Meadowes. She was to report about the sudden strange behaviour of some of the staff at St. Mungo's, who had lately been losing muggle or muggle-born patients through lack of care and overdosing. However, Sirius cut across her just as she was about to begin, ignoring the stern frown of a woman not accustomed to being unceremoniously interrupted, as well as Bridget's gentle reproof and Albus Dumbledore's quiet appraisal.

"Aren't you going to tell us anything else, Remus?" he said across the table, looking straight at his friend. "Isn't there something you've forgotten to mention? All this talk about dreams is all very well, but what about facts? What about that little chat you had with your superior that day, when you packed up late and Peter and I were supposed to be waiting in the Atrium?"

"Sirius," Alice put in reproachfully. "What are you talking about?"

He only shot her a brief glance before turning back to Remus. "I wasn't in the Atrium," he explained. "I came down to find you. And I heard you talking to him. What is he, a Death Eater?"

"I don't know," Remus said mildly, looking back at Sirius with a puzzled expression.

His voice was a little stronger than it had been that afternoon, and he had slept a lot during the day, but he still showed unmistakeable signs of the previous night's trials. Sirius, however, did not seem in the mood to make this easy.

"Why don't you tell everyone what he was saying?"

With a shrug, Remus said, "All right. He asked me my opinion of the Ministry's experiments. He said that the people in charge don't care what becomes of me, as long as they get the samples they want. That's nothing we didn't know already. We've been discussing just that ..."

"What about the rest though, Remus?" Sirius probed on. "He made you an offer, didn't he? He suggested you should join forces with other werewolves and - what was it - use the strength in you?"

"If you heard that," Remus said, a little more heatedly, "then you also heard that I refused. I really don't see what your point is, Sirius."

"My point, Remus," Sirius said sharply, "is that he offered you power that you turned down _at first_, and then pointed out what you want and can't have, and he told you to think about it and you said ..."

"I said I would think about it," Remus finished for him. He was becoming terribly conscious now of all the eyes fixed on him, and it made him uncomfortable. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that his father was itching to say something, but he silenced him with a wave of one bandaged hand. "I _did_ think about it, Sirius. I thought about what it might mean, what exactly Macnair was hinting at. I thought about how I could use his offer to the Order's advantage, if he ever brings it up again - which he hasn't. I did not think about taking him up on his offer, except - possibly - for show."

"Oh, really?" Sirius said disbelievingly. "Then why the hell did you keep so damn quiet about it? Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"He did," Lily's voice broke in suddenly. She, like many others, had been studying Remus's face for the past few minutes, but now she turned her eyes on Sirius, and there was a look of defiance in them as she said, "He told me."

Remus tried not to look quite as startled by this statement as Sirius, who now asked,

"When?"

"That very evening, when he was helping me in the kitchen. I noticed something was bothering him, and he told me."

There was a pronounced silence. Sirius was clearly flabbergasted. Everyone was surprised. Dumbledore was watching Lily. A smile spread across his face. He turned to Remus.

"While I agree with what I believe Sirius is trying to say, namely that it would have been advisable for you to inform the Order of this approach by Mr. Macnair, in retrospect I must say that you appear to have acted in the only way you could. From what you and Sirius have told us, I gather that you left him with a certain amount of ... hope that you might be amenable to his suggestion upon further reflection?"

"Yes, sir," said Remus, taking his eyes off Sirius at last, who was taking turns at looking angry, embarrassed, and completely baffled. "I tried to make it clear to him that I don't currently intend to do anyone harm - but that I might be persuaded with further incentive."

"You're mad!" Malcolm exploded. "What were you planning to do, act the double agent, when at every full moon you totally lose control and wouldn't be able to lift a finger to stop yourself from doing exactly what they want you to? Hell, Remus, look at me! Isn't that enough for you?"

"Darling ..." Bridget said gently, placing one hand on his arm.

Remus said quietly, "The thought did cross my mind at the time. But when I thought about it, I realised what you've just said. I don't have enough control for that. So if he makes a suggestion like that again, I shall say no."

"That would he highly unwise," Dumbledore pointed out. "And potentially dangerous."

"Hardly more so than biding my time watching the experiments proceed, ready to get out when they go too far," Remus remarked with a smile.

Dumbledore returned it. "True. We must trust to your judgement then. Now, if Sirius has nothing more to tell us ...?"

Sirius, now sitting slumped back in his chair with his arms crossed and a moody look on his face, shook his head.

"In that case," Dumbledore said pleasantly, "Dorcas, if you would ..."

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"So ... Moony ... I ... err ..."

The meeting was over. As usual, some people were still in the room, talking. Some had already left, some were still on their way down. Sirius and Remus were up on the gallery, and Sirius was trying to do something that did not come easily to him. After a brief hesitation, Remus decided to help him. He smiled.

"Forget it, Sirius," he said quietly.

"It was just ... hearing you tell that git that you'd think it over ... and then you were so damned close, like you always are ... not telling anyone about it ... well, that's what I thought, anyway ..."

Remus felt himself stiffen a little at these words. "Sirius ..." he began, but Sirius was not finished.

"Ought to have more faith in my friends, shouldn't I? I suppose it just ... well ... buggers me a bit that you're always so damned right. You were right about Rory, after all. Anyway ..."

"I said forget it, Sirius," Remus said again, and reinforced it by shaking his hand.

At last, Sirius shrugged and grinned, then headed off down the stairs after Peter. Remus looked around him. He spotted Lily standing by the top of the stairs, waiting for James, who was still in the meeting room. He joined her with a tentative smile. Hers was as open and friendly as ever, tinged only with a hint of concern.

"You look so worn out," she remarked sympathetically. "You really shouldn't have come today, you look like you ought to be in bed."

"I'm all right," he assured her. "But Lily, I ..."

"If you want to thank me," he interrupted him swiftly, "there's an easy way of doing that. Next time anything happens, just tell us - don't make me lie. All right?"

He nodded. She kissed his cheek and gave him another one of her warm smiles, before zipping up her jacket. James was coming their way.

"Ready, sweetheart?" she asked him.

"I've been ready for hours, I was just waiting for you," James joked with a wink. He gave Remus a cautious pat on the shoulder. "Keep your pecker up, Remus. Oh, that reminds me ... have you told him about our plans for Saturday, Lily?"

"No, I haven't, now you mention it. Saturday - dinner - our place - oh, and Ellie's coming."

"Ellie? Not _the_ Ellie?" Remus queried.

"The very same. She rung up last week, asked how you were," James said, grinning. "Should be an interesting dinner."

Remus rubbed his chin, pretending to look thoughtful. "I'm sure there was something else in my diary for Saturday ... something important ..."

Lily laughed. "Forget it. We're not letting you off the hook that easily. Besides, it'll give you a chance to put her off you, if you really don't like her. Bye now."

She slipped her hand into James's and they walked down the stairs together, through the front door and out into the night. It wasn't too cold, considering it was October, and they hadn't very far to go, so they decided to walk rather than apparate home. When they had left the actual grounds of the Hall and were walking down a lane, James said quietly,

"So, do I get to know why you've suddenly taken to telling outright fibs in a room full of people?"

She glanced at him from the side. "Are you very angry?"

"That rather depends, doesn't it? Why, Lily?"

"Because it was so totally unfair of Sirius, bringing it up the way he did. There are nicer ways of doing it. It was so ... accusing. If he was concerned, he should have just spoken to Remus about it, not chewed on it by himself till it became a sour taste in his mouth and then blurt it out like that in public. Did you see Remus's face?"

"I did."

"Well then."

"I know, Lily, but all the same ... you lied to Dumbledore, for heaven's sake!"

"Ha! And I suppose that's something _you_'ve never done. All those times you changed yourself into a stag and sneaked off into the Forbidden Forest with a dog, a rat and a werewolf ..."

"That was different! I never told him an outright lie … I mean, I just kept it secret, I never said I _wasn't_ doing any of that stuff."

"Well, I didn't lie to him either, not really. He never believed a word I said, so it doesn't count. Besides, it was partly true. I did know that Remus was troubled that evening, and I did speak to him about it. He just wouldn't tell me what it was."

They had reached the front doorbell, and James let go of her hand to find his key in his pocket. He unlocked the door, shaking his head in disbelief.

"You know, it is possible to be over-protective sometimes. And what about Sirius? You made him look a bit of an idiot, didn't you have any qualms about that?"

"It served him right and brought him back to his senses. In fact, it did him good."

"You really are rather fond of Remus, aren't you?" James commented, helping her off with her jacket and hanging it next to his own in the closet.

"I'm rather fond of Sirius, too."

"But you don't feel sorry for him."

"Yes, I do. For all his offhand manner, I know he really was in love with Ro... with Alice. I think she's better off with Frank, and I know Frank would be miserable without her. But I'm fully aware Sirius is by no means as tough emotionally as he makes out, and I do feel very sorry for him. Just not when he happens to be making a fool of himself."

"So, we've established the fact that you feel sorry for Remus _and_ Sirius. How about Peter?"

"Ah." Lily shook her head sadly. "Yes, I feel sorry for him, too."

"For heaven's sake, Lily, why?" James said with a sound halfway between a laugh and an exasperated sigh.

"Because he'll never really fit in. He tags along, he tries to be part of the gang, and he's terribly sweet about it ... but he's not on your level. He's always been a bit below everyone else, what with being so much younger than his sisters, and having one who's so exceptionally good and one who turned exceptionally bad and being just ... average himself, and not all that skilled at anything much either. I think he could do with a lot more encouragement and affection than we ever give him."

"I see," said James. He put his arms around her waist and clasped his hands behind her back. "And now that you have analysed Moony, Padfoot and Wormtail to perfection, how about giving a little sympathy to Mr. Prongs? He could do with someone feeling sorry for him, too."

"Why on earth should I feel sorry for Mr. Prongs?" she asked playfully, sliding her arms around his neck. "Hasn't he got everything he wants? A rich and generous grandfather, a charming mother, a beautiful home, an adorable wife ..."

"Indeed, but he should still be pitied. Because that adorable wife of his is wasting precious time going on about how sorry she feels for a lot of other men when she should be doing something more useful with her lips, and he hasn't had a kiss for three hours. Mr. Prongs is in desperate need of encouragement and affection."

"Encouragement?" She laughed. "I hardly think you need any more of that. But the affection is something I can take care of."

"Lily?"

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Shut up."

They smiled at each other, and didn't say another word.

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**3 - A Chill in the Air**

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On Monday evening, when the sun had almost vanished for the night and all the day's classes were long over, when she had finished checking the scrolls of parchment handed in by students earlier that day, Philippa Pettigrew went for a walk. She crossed the entrance hall, fastening her cloak as she went, passing a couple of students on the way.

"Good evening, professor," they greeted her, and she answered in kind, friendly as ever, but oddly rushed. "Professor, are you going out? It's raining!"

"I know, thank you. Good night."

She stepped through the great front doors and stopped, breathing in deeply, turning her face towards the dark sky to let the raindrops splash down on her. It was a wonderfully liberating feeling after being indoors for so long. Without a particular destination in sight, she began to take long strides across the grounds, her cloak trailing on wet autumn leaves, her straw-coloured hair becoming wetter as she went, strands of it sticking to her face. Eventually she found herself standing on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. She stepped under the canopy of autumn leaves, and the rain fell less heavily on her. Breathless, she leaned against a tree and stared ahead of her. The forest, dark and forbidding, fathomless in its depths, stretched before her and to either side. Somewhere in the night an owl was hooting and a wolf howled. The darkness went on endlessly, shifting now and then in the wind, leaves rustling, rain pattering. A hopeless, dreary expanse of blackness, utter and complete, without escape, seeming to beckon her on, but at the same time threatening to engulf her, suffocate her.

"'Ello! Is tha' you, Professor Pettigrew?"

The sound of the familiar, booming voice calling to her, sounding so very much of this world, startled her out of her dismal fancies and recalled her to reality. She turned her head to look to where it had come from, and saw the gigantic shape of the Hogwarts gamekeeper coming towards her.

"Good evening, Hagrid," she said pleasantly when he reached her.

Hagrid wiped his huge hands on his moleskin coat, leaving ominous brownish smears on it.

"What brings you out 'ere on an evenin' like this, professor?" Hagrid asked.

"I just came out for a breath of fresh air. Couldn't stand being cooped up back at the castle any more."

Hagrid's beetle-black eyes studied her a moment, then he said,

"If you don' mind me sayin', professor, you look as though ye've got somethin' on yer mind."

"It's autumn, Hagrid," Pippa said with only half a smile. She looked back towards the forest. "It's autumn."

She gave a little shiver, and the big man said quickly,

"Ye're soaked, ye'll catch yer death o' cold out 'ere!"

"It isn't the weather," she said, more to herself. Then, realising that he was still watching her with concern, she looked up at him again. "But it is a little chilly out here," she admitted. Glancing past him towards his cabin, she said, "You wouldn't have a cup of tea for me, would you?"

"O' course, o' course I 'ave. Follow me."

She followed. Hagrid pushed open the door of his cabin, and she preceded him into the warm interior, unfastening her cloak. Producing his pink umbrella, Hagrid quickly got a cheerful blaze going and hung a kettle over it. Soon Pippa was sitting with her hands pressed against the sides of a mug that was much to large for her, her wet cloak hanging over the back of a chair by the fire. Her eyes swivelling back to the stains on Hagrid's coat, which now lay in a heap on the quilted bedspread, she asked,

"So what were you doing out in this weather?"

"I was visitin' a friend o' mine," Hagrid said eagerly, apparently pleased that she had broken the silence that was becoming a trifle awkward. "Aragog. Took a treat along for 'im."

"Aragog?" she queried.

"Yeah. He's a very old friend, Aragog 'is. Known 'im fer years. I used ter keep 'im up at the castle, back when ... well ..."

He broke off, apparently embarrassed. Pippa decided it would be more tactful to ignore his embarrassment, and asked instead,

"What kind of creature is he?"

"Spider," Hagrid said proudly. "Finest, biggest, most beautiful spider ye ever saw!"

"An Acromantula?" she exclaimed. "But ... they're dangerous, Hagrid. Category Five according to the Ministry of Magic's Classification ..."

"Ah, but don' they always exaggerate?" Hagrid said knowingly, wagging a very large finger at her. "I tell ye, Aragog's all right, 'e wouldn' 'urt nobody."

Still more than sceptical, Pippa murmured, "I'll take your word for it." A little more loudly, she said, "Do you know many creatures that live in the Forbidden Forest? You seem to spend a good deal of time in there."

"I know some," Hagrid said, not without pride. "The centaurs, fer starters. Not that it's much good tryin' ter 'ave a friendly chat with any o' them. They jus' go on about stars an' planets an' Mars bein' bright, that kind o' thing."

"Are you never afraid to go into the forest?"

"Afraid? Me? Of goin' in there?" He shook his shaggy head. "Nothin' in there fer me ter be afraid of."

Pippa blew on her still steaming tea and said, keeping her voice casual, "I've been thinking about taking a look round in there myself sometime, you'll have to tell me the best path to take."

Hagrid, who had already started drinking his tea, now spluttered and spat a good quantity of it out over the table.

"Now look 'ere, professor ..."

"Pippa. Or Philippa, if you prefer."

"Miss Pippa ...," he said, unable to quite give up the polite form of address. "The forest is safe fer me because I'm _me_, see? I'm big, and strong. There's not much could 'arm me. But ye're ..."

"I'm a pretty good witch. I wasn't asked to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts here for nothing."

"But why would someone like ye even _want_ ter go in there?"

Gazing into the depths of her mug, Pippa said quietly, "Because I'd be afraid to. Because it's dark and frightening in there ... like the future. I feel that if I could only confront it, at a time of my choosing, it might become less terrifying."

"Someone like you shouldn' be thinkin' miserable thoughts like tha'. The future's not all bad," Hagrid said, his big voice softening. "One day, things'll get better again, back ter normal."

"Do you really think so? Do you think any of us will be alive to see it?"

"O' course. We've got Albus Dumbledore, 'aven't we? As long as we've got Dumbledore, we'll be all righ'. Now come on, Miss Pippa. Drink yer tea, an' I'm sure ye'll feel better."

Pippa looked up at him. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound so morbid. I suppose with Dumbledore's help, things _should_ turn out all right in the end, shouldn't they?"

"They will. You mark my words."

She smiled. "If you say so, Rubeus," she said quietly, and began to sip her tea.

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**4 - Severing Ties**

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It was Saturday morning, and the rain that had prevailed on Monday had hardly let up all week. But after having spent a month indoors, Josie decided she didn't care about the weather. She wanted to go shopping. She suggested at breakfast that her parents might drop her off at Diagon Alley, but her father said if she wanted to look around Diagon Alley, he would be staying with her. She couldn't have that. The last thing she wanted right now was company, especially her parents' company. She had had nothing but since the day she had thrown Severus out, and fond as she was of them both, she really needed to get away from them for a bit.

So, by about twelve o'clock, she had completed her tour of the muggle shops in York, all by herself. She had bought a good few things, too, mostly clothes and makeup, which were now in the plastic shopping bags she carried. Now, somehow, she had ended up by the city wall again, in that same spot that had come to mean so much to her. People carrying umbrellas were rushing to and fro, passing her by, casting her odd looks owing to the shockingly bright red and green pattern of her hooded raincoat, but otherwise ignoring her.

_What are you doing here?_ she asked herself, looking up at the wall where she had sat in summer two years ago, from where she had spotted that unusual and, to her, fatefully fascinating young man. _It's no good looking back now. What's done is done. Over. Forgotten. Just another memory to be chalked up to experience._

But was it? The sound of slow footsteps on the wet ground behind her said otherwise. She knew he was there before he spoke.

"Josephine?"

"Go away, Severus."

"Why?"

She gave an exasperated sigh and turned around to face him. He looked the same as ever, just as he had looked on the day of their first meeting, on the day when she had told him to leave, and on every occasion since then when he had come calling at her door and she had refused to see him - and afterwards thrown the letters he had dropped through the letterbox into the bin without reading them.

"Severus, it's no good. Please understand that."

"How? How can I understand it? First, when I was reluctant, you seemed to keep wanting to see me. When we quarreled, you came back. You led me on. My mother even seemed keen for us to be together. Now you won't talk to me, you won't let me in, you don't answer my letters ... and my mother suddenly tells me she thinks it's for the best. Why?" When she did not answer, he asked, "Is it because of what happened a month ago, that night ..."

"Yes. But not in the way you're thinking. It's because of what I found out about you that night. I know I should have known it before, it was stupid of me not to realise. But then I've been thinking that perhaps I did realise, only I didn't want to. You're one of _them_. I saw _his_ mark on your arm. You're a Death Eater."

"Yes," he admitted slowly. "That's true. But you knew my views in that respect before. You knew I was in favour of the Dark Lord, and I knew that you were not. It made no difference ... to us. Why does my being a Death Eater change that?"

"Because it means more. You don't just agree with his crazy ideas about how being pure makes you better than all the rest, how everyone else is scum, it's not just talk - that mark means you've sworn to support this madness, doesn't it? You're bound to be loyal to him. Serve him."

"Yes, but I still don't see that that makes any difference," Severus argued. "You cannot reproach me for fighting for what I believe in."

"Yes, I can. I _have _to."

"You don't. My mother disagrees with my father in the same way, and yet ..."

"Oh, what a wonderful example!" Josie cried sarcastically, almost dropping her bags as she tried to throw up her hands in exasperation. "They're so happy, aren't they?"

"Well, all right," Severus admitted. "That was a bad example to bring up. But the reason it doesn't work in their case is because they don't ... they don't ..."

"What?" Josie asked very quietly. "Say it, Severus. Say the word."

"They don't love each other," he said just as quietly.

"And we do, is that your point? Are you saying you love me?"

"I ... I want us to ... I ..." Words failed him for a moment, and instead he slipped one hand into his pocket and drew out a very small, square box. "I bought this a month ago. For you."

Josie stared at the box, knowing what was in it. It cost her a lot of effort to shake her head and look back up at him.

"You don't know what you're suggesting," she told him. "All right, maybe you do care for me, to an extent. But you don't love me. Well, maybe you do - a little. But not enough. I'm sure you don't love me enough."

"Enough for what, Josie?" he asked, not knowing how hard he was making it for her to go on when, at last, he called her by the nickname she preferred, that she had wanted him to call her by for ages. "How much would it take?"

"Would you leave him for me?" she asked in return. "Would you break your vow to him, even though it might cost you everything, right down to your life?"

"What? Just because you disagree with his ideals."

"No!" she yelled at him. "Not because I _disagree _with his ideals! Because _I am the enemy_, Severus! I am one of those people you so despise, that you and your precious Dark Lord and all those other mindless slaves of his have sworn to destroy!"

"You're talking nonsense. You're a pureblood, you told me so."

"Yes, I'm a pureblood," she went on, her voice increasing in pitch so that heads of passersby wondering what on earth these two young people were going on about turned their way, before the muggles looked away again and hurried off, muttering amongst themselves. "You bet I'm a pureblood! A pureblood _squib_!"

Severus just stared. It was as though her words had immobilised him, turned him into some kind of incredibly lifelike statue. There was a long pause before he said, almost inaudibly,

"That's not true ..."

"Yes, it is," Josie said quietly. "And you know it, or you will once you start thinking about it. When have you ever seen me cast a spell, or even carry a wand? When have I ever been the first to enter a place that was concealed by magic, without following you? You know the answer is never, Severus. So ... so think about it. Think about whether you care about me enough to break the oath you gave to hate me, and everyone like me. Think about what you'd do if your 'master' ordered you to kill me, as he might easily do. Do you love me enough to defy him? Would you turn around and lift your wand against him instead?" She shook her head. "I don't think you would. And that, Severus, is why that Dark Mark on your arm makes such a difference. I could live with a man who doesn't share my opinions. I could even live with a man who brags about how he'd help 'purify' the world if he was asked to. But I can't live with a man who's sworn to kill me for what I am."

"I wouldn't kill you, Josephine. I couldn't."

"But you could kill others like me. Maybe you already have. No," she forestalled him as he opened his mouth to speak. "I don't want an answer to that. There are some things I'd rather not know. And now, if you'll excuse me ... I have a train to catch, seeing as I can't apparate. Goodbye, Sev."

And with these words she turned around and walked away. She knew that he was watching her go, standing in the rain with that little box still clutched in his outstretched hand. But she knew equally well that he would not come after her.

After walking for a while, Josie turned down a narrow side street to take a short cut to the station. She was just passing a motorbike parked beside two large rubbish containers outside a run-down building when suddenly someone appeared as if from out of nowhere, apparently having come through the left-hand bin. He seemed as startled as she was to be suddenly confronted with another person, and started to curse at himself under his breath for not having been more cautious. Then he recognised her, at the same moment as she recognised the handsome face with the black hair and confident grey eyes, despite not having seen him for such a long time.

"Jo?" he exclaimed.

"Sirius! What are you doing here?" Then, remembering, she said, "Oh, of course. This is where the apothecary is, isn't it? The one run by your friend's dad. What's his name ...?"

"Peter Pettigrew. He's helping his dad out today. I just popped in to remind him about a dinner we're going to this evening. I ... suppose you wouldn't like to come? No, wait, stupid question. You and Snape ... right?"

For a moment, Josie shivered. But then she produced a fairly convincing smile as she said,

"No, actually. Not any more."

Sirius heaved a sigh. "Well, that's a relief. So ... would you like to come this evening? I could pick you up about seven," he offered eagerly, indicating his motorbike.

Josie stared at the machine in awe. "Wow, that's fantastic. I'd almost say yes, just for the ride. But I haven't been invited to this dinner you're going to."

"Yes, you have. By me. Don't worry, James and Lily always count on me bringing ... I mean, they never mind an extra guest or two," he amended. "The more, the merrier. Oh, but we have to act muggle tonight, because Lily's got an old school friend of hers coming. Is that okay?"

"No problem," Josie assured him, hiding the pang this painful reminder caused her. "See you at seven then."

She prepared to walk on, but he said,

"Hold on, I don't know where you live. Why don't I give you a ride home now, and you can show me?"

She hesitated, then shrugged and said, "Great. Let's go."

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Lily was just putting the finishing touches to her chocolate gateau when James came in and presented himself for her approval. He was dressed, as was she, in muggle clothes, and he was trying to tidy his hair with his fingers. Lily laughed.

"Stop that," she said, ruffling his hair with one hand and waving her wand at the gateau with the other, so that it flew obligingly onto the sideboard.

James shook his head and clucked his tongue. "Tut tut. Magic? We're about to receive a muggle guest!"

"Oh, Ellie's always late," Lily said, then she added, "but Remus isn't." The doorbell had just rung.

James went to answer it, and found that Lily had been right. Remus, too, was wearing muggle clothes, as was Peter when he turned up soon after. Sirius arrived only ten minutes late, announcing his presence with an extra loud roar of engines outside the front door. No one was really surprised to see him turn up with a girl, although they all had to conceal some amount of concern as they remembered where they had seen Josie before. If they had known her better, they might have realised that Josie's appearance tonight was, by her standards, rather subdued - pale blue bell-bottom jeans, a frilly white blouse and only a small amount of mascara and red lipstick. Sirius was quick to inform them all that Josie and Severus Snape were no longer an item. It was doubtful whether anyone but Lily could tell, from Josie's expression, that she would have preferred not to have it brought up. She hooked her arm through Josie's and showed her to the living room, where they all made themselves comfortable while they waited for the last guest still missing.

James was playing host with the sherry bottle when the doorbell rang again.

"That'll be Ellie," Lily said, lighting the last of the candles on the dining table. "Be a dear and let her in, will you, Remus?"

He gave her a look. "Lily, I'm not ..."

"I'm not asking you to greet her heartily and sweep her off her feet, I just want you to open the door," Lily replied as another ring resounded.

Remus gave in and did as he was told. Drinking her sherry in almost one gulp, Josie asked Sirius,

"So this Ellie - she's the muggle friend, right?"

"Yes, a school friend of Lily's. Looks like she took a shine to Remus at their wedding. Can't think why, as far as I can remember he hardly took any notice of her."

"I take it from his reaction that he's not interested."

"No. Shame, really, because as far as I remember she's rather a corker." He chuckled. "You know, that's probably the first time I've said that about a girl to another girl."

"I don't mind," Josie said, smiling. "So, if she's so pretty, what's wrong with her? There must be some reason why he isn't interested."

"Yes. He's got this thing about girls. Likes to keep them at a safe distance. No romance, not even a bit of flirtation. He's the full works or nothing type, and he made up his mind a while back to settle for nothing because he thinks he'd be too much to handle."

"Why does he th..."

James, who had been about to intervene, was spared the job of doing so by the opening of the living room door.

"Shh," Sirius hissed. "Muggle alert."

Ellie made an entrance, there was no other way of describing it. Her blonde curls framed her face beautifully and she had chosen a dress that matched the colour of her eyes to perfection. She was charming to everyone, chatting and laughing. She and Josie got on particularly well. Remus, however, grew more and more quiet as the evening proceeded, and yet Ellie remained particularly persistent where he was concerned.

"You do know you're going the wrong way about it, don't you?" Lily said to Remus, catching him alone in the kitchen after dinner.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Well, I thought your plan was to put her off. Make it clear to her that you're not interested, stop her thinking about you ... I mean, you're _not_ interested, are you?"

"Of course not! I've been trying to make that clear as much as possible without being too impolite, but it doesn't seem to be working. I'm trying to keep a polite distance ..."

"Wrong tack."

"What?"

"You're leading her on."

"I'm ... what? How do you mean?"

With a sigh, Lily began explaining, "By being polite, but distant, you're making yourself interesting. Cool and distant equals mysterious. Mysterious equals intriguing. And intriguing means you're in trouble. Try being charming and witty."

"We _are_ talking about the right way to get rid of her?"

"Yes."

"But ... Sirius does 'charming and witty' all the time and practically has to fight off the girls."

"That's because he's Sirius. You're Remus."

"I know," he said with a hint of exasperation. "Your point being ...?"

"For Sirius, charming and witty works. For you, cool and distant does the magic."

"If you say so," he said, confused. He picked up the wineglass he had just refilled for Ellie after she had begged him to do so with a particularly extensive flutter of the eyelids, and added thoughtfully, "Lily?"

"Yes?" she responded, taking a bottle of water out of the fridge.

"Are you saying that I'm ... well ... not ..."

"Charming or witty?" she guessed with a smile. "I didn't say that. Of course you are ... or you can be. But it takes a while to discover that. Cool and distant is what gets you a girl's attention in the first place."

"And with Sirius, it's the other way round? He goes from charm and wit to mystery?"

Lily laughed. "No, it doesn't work that way round." Seeing that he was still looking immensely confused, and even slightly troubled, she added, "Look, Remus. If it's any comfort, what I'm trying to say is that Sirius is attractive and fun to be with for a time, but most girls eventually lose interest in him. You, on the other hand ... you can get a girl intrigued enough that she wants to know more about you. You take some exploring, but it's worth it. Of course, it makes you long-term."

"Me, of all people?" he said doubtfully.

"Yes. You'll find that out some day, when the right girl comes along."

"Lily, you know I don't intend ever to ..."

"Never mind what you intend," Lily cut across him. "One day you'll come across someone you really like - more than you ever liked Heather, even - and then we'll see. Especially if she happens to have a bit more spirit and determination. She'd need that with you."

Not wishing to begin an argument about the existence or non-existence of his future love life, Remus changed the subject slightly.

"So, what category does James fall into?"

Lily smiled and blushed a little. "There's no category for James. He's just plain gorgeous - the best of everything, you know? Cool, charming, distant, witty ... there's a lot of diversity with James."

"Diversity. So ... you're saying I'm dull?" he asked, but there was a twinkle in his eyes, and Lily laughed.

"What's going on here?" Sirius asked, joining them just then.

"That's none of your business," Lily said, still laughing.

"It is. If there's any fun going around, I want some. So, what were you saying?"

"We were laughing at you behind your back," said Lily teasingly, and she patted him on the arm and went back to the living room.

Sirius shook his head with a mock frown. "I've said it before, and I'll say it again. She's a devil, that one."

"You just say that because you've never been able to dazzle her," Remus commented, grinning to himself.

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Oh yes? Hm. Well. Whatever. Let's talk about you and the muggle."

"Do we have to?"

"She's a menace, isn't she? You know, if you're interested, I could give you a few hints."

"No thanks, Sirius, I ... wait," Remus interrupted himself, remembering what Lily had said about Sirius's methods not working for him. "You mean you'll tell me how to be ... erm ... charming and witty?"

"Yes."

Smiling, Remus pulled up a chair. "All right. Go ahead."

Sirius seemed a little surprised, but sat down opposite Remus and said,

"Well, for starters, you need to talk a bit more. Tell her some jokes - oh, no, hold it. This is _you_ we're talking about. You don't do jokes."

Remus ignored the comment. "Go one."

"Tell her some stories. Prank stories. Leaving out the magic, of course. Although ... you know, a little bit of magic could work wonders. Just a couple of the simplest spells on a pack of cards, for instance, will make her think you're a whizz at magic tricks. And when you've been on a few dates, if you get tired of her, you just tell her you're a real wizard and she'll think you're a nutjob and do a bunk. Well, that's what I'd do to get rid of her. You could just tell her you're a werewolf, of course, and ... oops."

It seemed to be a great evening for sudden entrances in the kitchen. They both looked up now to see Josie standing in the doorway. She spent a few seconds staring first at one, then at the other of them. Then she flashed a sudden smile and held out her empty glass,

"Is there any more of that sherry about?"

Sirius obliged quickly. Josie took a sip and said to Remus,

"You'd better head back into the front room before Ellie comes looking for you. She really seems to fancy you, you know. Oh, and I think you ought to know your friend Peter seems to fancy her - unless he's just had too much wine. It's all getting a bit involved, isn't it?" she chuckled.

"Josephine," Remus began. "Let me explain ..."

"What's to explain? So, you're a werewolf," she said bluntly. "I knew that already, actually. Well, so what? I'm a squib." She shrugged. "No one's perfect, right?"

Remus was about to answer her, but then he caught the stunned look on Sirius's face, and he just couldn't help it. He laughed. And this time, Sirius got his wish - he was able to join in the laughter.

Lily thoroughly enjoyed herself for the rest of the evening. Her talk with Remus in the kitchen, plus Sirius's conversation with him afterwards, had worked wonders. Remus and Sirius seemed to be competing for the Chief Clown of the Evening cup, overdoing each other as they regaled Ellie with carefully edited tales of their schoolday pranks, and it particularly amused Lily to see that Remus, though reluctant at first, was clearly thoroughly enjoying this playful contest with Sirius, while Ellie was visibly losing that glow in her eyes when she looked at Remus. There was a point when the attractive blonde began ogling James instead, but Lily quickly reminded her old friend that this was her husband by kissing him so extensively in front of them all that even Josie blushed.

The evening ended with a friendly game of Snap! (non-exploding), and Ellie surprisingly asking Peter to take her home, upon which he had turned the exact shade of beetroot and walked in the door on his way to the hall. Lily had escorted him to the bathroom and, securely away from muggle eyes, healed the bruise forming on his forehead with a charm, then applied a plaster to disguise the lack of a wound. When the unlikely pair had departed, Sirius flung himself down on the sofa.

"Well, that was a hoot," he remarked. "Now, how about a nice, peaceful game of gobstones?"

They played until well after midnight, then Remus said he must be going and Josie, yawning, begged Sirius to take her home before she got too tired to stay on his motorbike.

"So, what do you make of the evening's developments?" James asked Lily when everyone had left.

"Perfectly satisfactory. Ellie did keep going on so about Remus, and the last thing he needs is a muggle interested in him. And it was about time Peter learned what it's like to go out with a girl, and a muggle is just perfect for him, because he's not that clever with impressive spells."

"Did you plan this all along?"

"Not entirely," Lily confessed. "I hadn't reckoned on Josie."

"Nice girl. Not exactly Sirius's usual type though."

"Does he have a type? I thought anything that fitted the standard shape was acceptable to him."

"No, they've got to be pretty."

"She is."

"Not _his _kind of pretty. Besides, he doesn't fancy her. He said so."

"When was that?"

"Err ... I don't know. When did we last see her?"

Lily shook her head amusedly. "That was a long time ago. Well, he certainly likes her, you've got to admit that, at least. And I'll admit that he's different with her. Not so show-offish."

James shrugged and yawned widely. "See? I told you he's not interested. That proves it," he pronounced decidedly.

Just at that moment Sirius, just as decidedly, was reminding himself of the same thing. He remembered, very clearly, that day when he had met Josephine and warned her about Snape. He remembered feeling that he had no feelings for her. That had been oddly relaxing to discover. He wished he could feel as relaxed now, as she climbed off his bike and thanked him for the lift. He bit his lip, determined not to say anything more other than goodbye. But he found himself calling after her,

"Hey, Jo!"

"What's up?" she asked, turning back at the front door.

Not having meant to speak at all, he found it hard to find anything to say now, and ended up stammering, much to his own annoyance, "Ah ... I ... wondered if ... well, if you're interested in motorbikes ... we could take a ride ... sometime when the weather's a bit better?"

"What, like next summer?" she teased, then laughed when he looked disappointed. There was a pause while she seemed to think it over. Then she came back and said with unusual seriousness. "Look, Sirius ... I only really broke up with Severus today. Well, I suppose it's yesterday now. I mean, I decided to much longer ago, but ... we've only just had it out. So, if you don't mind, I'm not really interested in ... you know ..."

Sirius said quickly, "I get it. Just a ride, I promise. Anywhere you want, as long as you want. When you get fed up, I'll take you home at once."

She suddenly grinned at him. "I bet you say that to all girls, right?"

"No, actually," he said earnestly. Then he added more jovially, "Only the ugly ones."

Any other girl might have been offended, he realised. Josie laughed and pretended to hit him over the head.

"Buzz off, thickhead!" she said, and let herself in just as he revved up the engine.

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**5 - Flight of the Aurors**

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When Bridget woke, looking at the clock and discovering that it was only four o'clock, she sighed heavily. All these disturbed nights weren't doing either of them any good. She said a short prayer that, once they had been able to speak to young Mr. Diggory, things would improve. She yawned and sat up. It was only then that she realised what was wrong. That is, not wrong exactly. But not as expected. Waking up in the middle of the night, she automatically assumed Malcolm was having a bad night. But he wasn't. He was lying by her side, breathing evenly. Bridget was just trying to puzzle out why, in that case, she had woken up, when she heard the knocking on the front door. She waited, but it did not stop. She glanced at Malcolm. He hadn't stirred. The knocking continued. Bridget got up and reached for her wand. She went to the front door and looked through the spyhole. Then she opened the door.

"Mundungus!" she exclaimed. "What on earth ...?"

"No time to chat," Mundungus Fletcher said breathlessly, breathing a lot of tobacco on her. "I come 'ere first 'cause it was nearest, got to go to Dumbledore next. Where's Malcolm?"

"He's in be..."

"No. I'm here," said a voice behind her. "What's going on?"

"Bad news," Mundungus announced. "I was out 'aving a drink with a chum of mine."

"At four in the morning?"

"Well ... well, we was 'aving it at 'is place. Anyway, we was just 'aving a chat, like, and suddenly 'e mentions that 'e's over'eard something that I might find interesting, 'e says. Course, 'e won't tell me unless ..."

"Mundungus," Malcolm said, "get to the point."

"Point? Oh, yes, right ... well, it cost me ..."

"We don't want to hear how much it cost you, Dung!" Malcolm said, raising his voice. "What did he say?"

"They're going for the Ministry today. You-Know-'oo's lot."

Bridget gasped. "The - the Ministry? Are you sure? But ... I thought they had as much influence there as they can get anyway, why ..."

"They're not bothered with small fry, my ... ah ... friend says. It's the aurors they're after."

"The aurors?"

"It was to be expected, I suppose," Malcolm said heavily. "He wasn't going to suffer a whole department at the Ministry opposing him without doing something about it sooner or later. What's his plan?"

"Some of the Death Eaters are going to the Ministry early, in about 'alf an hour, to get rid of the night watch. They'll be waiting for the other aurors when they come in. And anyone 'oo tries to 'elp them."

Bridget turned to look at Malcolm. "Is there any way the aurors could win this fight?"

He shook his head. "No. He'll make sure of that. The only thing they can do to save themselves is not turn up for work today."

"Can we contact them all in time?"

"All except the night watch, perhaps. If ..."

"If what?"

"If I can convince Barty Crouch," Malcolm said, turning back into the bedroom.

Bridget turned to Mundungus. "You're sure it's just the aurors they're after? Anyone else, as long as they keep out of any fighting ... they'll be all right?"

"That's what my chum said."

"Right."

Bridget followed Malcolm into the bedroom, and followed his example by dressing hurriedly.

"We've got to warn John," Malcolm said. "And ..."

"I know. I'll see to it. I'll let John know, he can warn Peter and the others ... You just go and see Crouch, and make sure he warns the rest of the aurors. I'll meet you at the Ministry."

"You're not going ahead there without me!"

"Malcolm, I'm not planning on doing any fighting. I'll just warn them and get out."

He shook his head. "I've got a better idea. _I'll _ see to that, before I go to Crouch."

"Darling ..."

"You stay with John, Bridget. Please," he insisted. Bridget opened her mouth to protest, but he kissed her before she could say any more. "Let's go!"

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Malcolm had been relieved to find Laura Lovegood at home. For several horrible minutes, he thought that _she _might be on night duty at the Ministry. He did not have time to go to the Ministry himself and convince whoever _was_ there now to ignore Barty Crouch's orders and get out while they still could. Laura knew immediately that something was wrong. Malcolm explained quickly.

"So you see, there's no way the aurors can win this fight. Voldemort will have made sure he sends enough Death Eaters, and ..."

"I'll warn them. You're right, you've got to go to Crouch ... I hope you can convince him."

Malcolm nodded. "Good luck, Laura. And be careful."

She smiled. "Don't worry about me."

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Bartemius Crouch was a proud and stubborn man. Consequently, he and Malcolm had a long and loud argument. Malcolm was beginning to give up hope of ever persuading Crouch to accept the fact that this was a fight his aurors could never win, and the only way to save them was to contact them all and tell them not to go to work. Then Crouch's wife joined them. She looked pale and frightened. But, much to her husband's fury, she believed Malcolm. It was thanks to her insistence that Crouch finally produced a file full of the names of every auror that worked for him. Crouch contacted all the ones he could via the floo network. To the rest, they wrote notes. This, Malcolm realised, was going to take a lot of owls. So he apparated to Hogsmeade and hammered on the postmaster's door.

At five o'clock, he apparated outside his sister and brother-in-law's house. Bridget was outside the front door, waiting for him anxiously.

"Well?" she asked.

He nodded. "They've all been warned. And here?"

Bridget nodded too. "John, Remus, Peter and Lily will be going to work as usual. But if anything happens, they'll keep well out of it. Hopefully, though, with no aurors there, the Death Eaters won't see the need to start a fight. That is ... what about the night shift?"

"I sent Laura to warn them."

"Malcolm!" John called just then, coming out of the house. "A call for you. It's Laura Lovegood."

Malcolm hurried into the house and into the living room, where Faith and Remus were standing around in their nightwear. He was relieved to see Laura's scarred face in the fireplace. "Did you get out all right?" he asked her.

"Yes. Just. They were arriving just as we were leaving, but we got out via the emergency escape."

"Good. Where are you now?"

"Moody's." She paused, then added softly, "Thank you, Malcolm."

He smiled. "Good night, Laura. I'm glad you're safe."

She nodded. "I'm all right. Well ... good night."

"Good night," he replied.

Laura's face vanished, and Malcolm dropped onto the sofa, exhausted. Bridget sat down next to him and snuggled against him. There was a long pause. Finally Faith said in a weak voice,

"Tea, anyone?"

Everyone nodded. Faith left the room. Bridget looked up at Malcolm. He said with a faint smile,

"Bet you're glad I'm not an auror any more."

"Not at all," she lied, not very convincingly, and kissed him.


	36. Part 36: New Year's Loss

**Prequel, Part 36: New Year's Loss**

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**1 - The Boy Who Vanished**

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Lily Potter was half laughing, half crying as she called to her husband to hold still, while she struggled to do the same with the camera in her hand. Christmas was not far away, and today they had been out to buy their first Christmas tree together. James had wanted a tall, proud-looking one. Lily had wanted a smaller, bushier tree. They had joked, they had argued, and they had kissed. And then James had thanked the gloomy looking salesman who had looked so reproachfully on their gaiety and hoisted the small, bushy tree now securely wrapped in a net up off the ground, and carried it as far as the fireplace in the back room of the Leaky Cauldron. Tom the barman had decorated his locale with only a very small amount of tinsel, as there were hardly any patrons there to notice it anyway.

The same could not be said for the Potters' living room, or indeed the whole house. James, Sirius, Remus and Peter had spent the last week of November attaching coloured electric lights to the drain pipe and window frames under Lily's careful instruction. In the first week of December, Lily had begun decorating the fireplace in the living room and the banisters with garlands and hanging pictures of red-nosed reindeer up everywhere. And now she and James were decorating their tree. That is, they had been decorating the tree. It was while Lily was carefully attaching a number of bright red baubles her mother had given her that James had grown bored and decided to make her jump. He had achieved this without effort, by merely changing into a stag while her back was turned. When Lily had then asked him, without turning to look at him, to pass her a bell, he had hooked it on his antlers and shaken his head. Lily had shrieked when she first saw the stag standing where her husband had been, and then quickly decided on a way to get revenge: a picture of Prongs with a bell dangling from his antlers. But he would not stand still, kept turning his back on her when she pressed the button until at last she grabbed him by the antlers to turn him around. He chose that moment to transform back.

"Ouch!" he exclaimed. "You're pulling my hair out!"

"And earrings don't suit you," Lily retorted, removing the bell that was now looped over his left ear. "And don't do that again, or I won't kiss you under the mistletoe."

He shrugged. "No problem, my dear. As there isn't a twig of mistletoe in the whole house, that still means you're free to kiss me anywhere you like, doesn't it?"

"That's it!" she exclaimed, thumping him on the chest and knocking the wind out of him just as he had been about to put his theory to the test, and then darting towards the hall and the closet.

"W... Lily, what on earth ... where are you going now?" he asked, bewildered, as she pulled on her coat, hat and gloves.

"We didn't buy any mistletoe!" she exclaimed, beginning to hunt for her keys.

"Now wait just a minute!" he called, catching her by the arm as she opened the front door, letting in a wave of cold air that made him shiver. "Point one: You're not going anywhere on your own. Point two: We've only just got back from buying that tree. Point three: What's got into you, anyway?"

She stared at him for a moment, then suddenly looked as though she might be about to cry.

"I - I just ... I want our first Christmas together here to be perfect," she said dully. "Don't you?"

Completely flummoxed by her sudden change of mood, he said quickly,

"Well, of course, darling. But it will still be perfect if we buy the mistletoe tomorrow, won't it?"

Lily's lip trembled. Not knowing what else today, James drew her back indoors and put his arms around her. He pulled off her hat and stroked her hair for a while, then he said,

"All right, look, if it's so important to you, I'll get my coat on and we'll go out again. How about that?" he asked, tilting her chin back and seeing that her eyes really were red.

But she shook her head. Drawing away from him, she took off her coat and gloves and put them and the hat back where they belonged.

"No, you're right. It's silly. We'll go out again tomorrow. Let's ... let's just finish decorating that tree."

"Lily," he began, but she was already back in the living room. With a sigh, he followed her. "Lily, sweetheart, what is it? Is it because ... because of last year? Your dad ...?"

She stopped halfway through draping tinsel over a branch and said, a puzzled look on her face,

"You know - I don't really know. I - I don't think so. I mean, I miss him, but ... but it's not like it's the first Christmas without him. I don't think it's that."

"What then?" he asked, putting his arms around her again. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," she said, and smiled. Oddly enough, there wasn't a trace of a tear left in her eyes now. "I don't know. I just felt miserable all of a sudden, for no reason at all. Forget it, James. I'm all right." She snuggled up to him. "I love you. And Christmas with you is perfect, even without mistletoe."

"I promise I'll buy you a basket full tomorrow, if it makes you happy," he said, and Lily laughed merrily.

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_KEEP OUR WORLD CLEAN!_

_Do you suspect your next-door neighbour of sympathising with muggles? Have you reason to believe your local grocer opposes the Dark Lord? Is your new tenant a mudblood? Report now to the Ministry of Magic, Department for the Preservation of Purity and Security ..._

Remus stood reading the poster that had been pasted on the outside wall of Zonko's with disbelief. Not long ago, it had seemed as though Lord Voldemort's minions were still operating covertly. True, everyone had known that they were all over the Ministry, in practically every department, but there had been a semblance of normality. Ever since the night when the aurors had fled, however, that had changed. It was no longer the followers of the Dark Lord who were there on suffrance, but the people who opposed him were the ones now walking the tight rope. They went to work, they did their duty - but no more, and no less. Because to put a toe out of line would mean a summons to the new department named on this poster, the department housed in what had been Auror Headquarters.

And where were the aurors? Some of them - including Laura Lovegood, James, Sirius, and the Longbottoms, naturally - trusted his uncle and Moody more than Barty Crouch. Moody's own flat had become a sort of makeshift HQ for them nowadays, and they still did what they could with their now limited resources to fight the Death Eaters. Others were still, as far as Remus had heard, somehow working for Crouch, though where and how they operated no one in the Order knew. A third group had been scared when they had discovered how very real the Death Eaters' threat to them was, and how great their assurance, if they dared to plan an attack on the aurors under their own roof. These had vanished, no one knew where.

And now, posters like these were becoming the norm, though Remus still felt his stomach churn every time he looked at one. He entered the joke shop, which was eerily quiet. Never, in all the times he had been here during his school days, had he known it do be so deserted. The range of goods seemed to have deteriorated accordingly. He had come in here with the intention of finding a Christmas present for Sirius, but he came out empty-handed. Stepping out onto the snowy main street of Hogsmeade, he looked around. None of the other shops looked any more promising. They all had their doors firmly shut, and most of them had posters pasted on their walls similar to the one he had just read. One poster, across the street, on the side of a building that was near the path which led up to the Shrieking Shack, caught his eye. There was a simple design at the top of it, a broad black line with a white orb in the middle of it. He went over to have a closer look.

_TIRED OF A WORLD THAT HUNTS YOU? YOU COULD BE THE HUNTER._

Remus read it through, start to finish. Then he raised a gloved hand and tore it down. He turned to walk away, but found himself unexpectedly, startlingly face to face with a man he had never seen before, and whom he knew already he never wanted to see again, if he could help it.

"Excuse me," he said, trying to pass the man while not breathing in his putrid breath.

"You just tore down that poster," the man said in an unpleasant, rasping voice, spreading more pungent fumes. "Why?"

"That's really none of your business, I think," Remus replied, hoping he sounded braver than he felt. "Excuse me," he repeated and pushed by, wondering why this man - unpleasant though he undoubtedly was - seemed to him at once more than that. In fact, if he was honest with himself: terrifying. He had part of his answer in an instant. He had not gone more than two paces when the man's voice called after him.

"Stop, Remus!"

Remus spun round. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask the obvious, but he didn't. The stranger was grinning at him now, if his snarling grimace could be called that. Reluctantly, Remus studied him more closely - the filthy clothes, the matted hair, the hard eyes that bored into his. He decided to walk away might still be the best option, so he turned again. The man who was now behind him whistled, and from out of nowhere another person appeared who rooted him to the spot. He was small and skinny, surely no more than nine or ten. His reddish hair was unwashed and looked like it hadn't been cut by anyone who knew what they were doing for ages. His cheeks were scarred and his clothes patched and dirty. It was his eyes, however, that really froze Remus to the core. They were large, blue, and almost dead. Almost. There was something in those eyes that he recognised only too well.

"Who are you?" he gasped, although a horrible suspicion came to him in a flash as a face he had not seen for a long time rose up in his memory, a fellow Gryffindor, a brave girl who had been brutally murdered along with her parents, her younger brother missing, vanished, nowhere to be found, no matter where and how hard the aurors searched for him.

"This," the man behind him answered, "is Crowe."

"Jeremy Crowe," Remus whispered. "Gemma's brother."

There was a flicker in the boy's deadened eyes, and the man said quickly,

"Come here, cub."

The boy obeyed. Remus watched him go to stand by the big man's side, turning as he did so to face the stranger.

"What have you done to him?" he asked.

The man laughed. "As if you didn't know, Remus. You, of all people. You and this kid have a lot in common."

"And you? Who are you?"

"Fenrir Greyback's the name," said the other, speaking so low in his throat that it came out sounding like a growl. "You may have heard of me."

"No," said Remus. "I haven't."

"No!" It was more a roar than a shout. "Are you lying to me, cub? Or are you telling me ..." He chuckled suddenly. "Are you telling me you don't _know_?"

"Know what?"

"Why," said Greyback, his hand clutching Jeremy Crowe's shoulder so tightly that Remus winced, though the boy showed no reaction, "you must know just how much you and this fellow here do have in common. You have _me _in common, my young werewolf. I made you both."

"What are you talking about?" Remus asked, struggling to keep his voice steady.

He plunged his hands into his pockets to keep them from shaking, and so that he could hold his wand at the ready.

"I'm talking about the fact that I'm the werewolf who bit you, and young Crowe here. Didn't your dear daddy ever tell you that?"

Remus could feel the colour draining from his face, and he knew his voice would shake when he spoke, even though he willed it not to.

"You're lying," he said. "My father doesn't know who bit me. No one does. We were out hiking and ... it just happened. Those moors weren't known to have any werewolves living in them ..."

Greyback was nodding vigorously. "That's right, that's right. The Ministry didn't know of any werewolves in the area, because there were no werewolves in the area. Not for miles around. Except one. One werewolf, who travelled out there before the moon was full, just to be near you when he transformed, to get a chance to bite you. And that's what he did. He killed a pony first, and then he broke into the tent and he bit you, and he revelled in the fear he sensed from your dear daddy and your uncle - nearly bit him too. That would have been even better. But then your father had to butt in again and set fire to my fur ..."

"Why would you do that?" Remus breathed disbelievingly. "Why would anyone _want _to bite another human being?" He glanced at Jeremy Crowe and felt his throat constrict even further. "Why should you have wanted to bite a child?"

With a sneer Greyback said, "Ask your father. He can tell you. He's the one you have to thank for the life you've been leading. He insulted me, spread lies about me while he hid safely behind the aurors, the coward, and I swore I'd get back at him ... make him see for himself what my life was like. And that's why I bit you. Because he had it in for me, all because of what I was ..."

"That's a lie!" Remus exclaimed. His voice was a little firmer, but he involuntarily recoiled from the gloating in the man's horrid eyes.

"Is it? Are you so sure about that?" When Remus did not answer, Greyback shook his head. "It was his fault. All of it."

"No," said Remus, shaking his head. "I don't believe a word of it."

"Don't you? In spite of all the details I've given you? In spite of the fact that you can feel it in your gut? How's your left side these days? Does the old bite wound ever give you trouble?" Greyback took a step forward, and Remus stepped back further. "All right," said the filthy werewolf. "If you don't believe me, look it up. I sent a letter to the Ministry and said it was me that bit you. Added a special note asking them to let your dad know, and give him my compliments." He grinned crookedly. "You'll believe it soon enough, when you see it on parchment."

And with these words, he turned and began walking away, up the hill towards the Shrieking Shack. The boy remained standing for a moment, staring at Remus with that same, half deadened look in his eyes. He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but just then Greyback called him and he flinched, shot Remus a last look and ran off after the older werewolf. Remus leaned back against the wall from which he had torn the poster, all thoughts of buying Christmas presents gone from his mind. He could only think of how Greyback had known all those details of the night he had been bitten, and his claim that it had been an act of revenge. What should he do?

His first instinct was to run home to his father and talk to him about it - after all, that claim was so ridiculous. But something, he didn't know what, held him back. He took deep, steadying breaths and tried to analyse what that something was. Perhaps ... that gloating look in Greyback's eyes. The feeling that he _wanted_ Remus to go to his father with this, that he wanted to pour salt in old wounds and make them quarrel. Remus shuddered at the thought. He could not bear to even think of quarrelling with his father over this - least of all if it meant giving Greyback what he wanted. Never, in all his life, had he met anyone who revolted him more. And yet, somehow, he was sure that some part of the man's story was true. But how much? And how was he to find out? What was he to do?

He remembered Lily's words to him after that meeting of the Order of the Phoenix, and he knew that he must take her advice this time and discuss this with his friends. But first, he must check up on the one part that was simple, verifyable fact. He would look up in the archives at the Ministry of Magic whether Fenrir Greyback had indeed been registered as the werewolf who had bitten him.

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**2 - Curing a Nightmare**

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Bridget and Malcolm were doing their Christmas shopping in muggle London. It had the disadvantage, of course, of limiting their choice of gifts to items muggles might buy each other, On the other hand, it meant they, at least, had a little bit of Christmas atmosphere untainted by the influence of Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Although several disasters had shaken muggle England lately too, none of these people suspected anything sinister behind them, and so they went about Christmas as they did every year, with laughter and music, and a good deal of enthusiasm.

"How about those earrings for Lily?" Malcolm suggested as they stood looking in a jeweller's window, listening to the Salvation Army singing 'O Come, All Ye Faithful'.

"Those hoops? I don't think they're really her style …"

"No, not those. The ones next to them."

"Oh, you mean the marcasite?"

"The what?"

"The ones with the little glittery stones on?"

"Yes."

"They are pretty," Bridget agreed. "Well spotted."

"My mother used to have a pair like that," Malcolm said. "Dad bought them for her once - for her birthday, I think. She loved them. She lost one of them once. Took us days to find it."

"Where was it?"

"Faith had it." He chuckled. "For once, I was completely innocent and she was the mischief-maker. Mum had dropped it somewhere and Faith just picked it up and tied a bit of string to it so she could used it as a doll's necklace. I found it in her doll's house. Goodness knows what I was doing looking in there in the first place - probably needed a doll to tie to the tracks of my train set or something, knowing me." He added in a faraway tone, "I'll never forget the day I gave it back to Mum."

"She must have been very grateful. Did Faith get into much trouble over it?"

"Oh no, not her. She was too cute. Besides," he added with a smile, "John went to Mum and begged her not to get cross, because Faith was already scared of getting into trouble and she hadn't known it was naughty to keep it like that. Mum was fond of John."

"What about you?"

Laughing, he said, "I got squashed and smothered with kisses, and Dad bought me a car."

"A … car?"

"From the toy shop. A Bentley, black, with doors that actually opened."

"How old were you when all this happened?" Bridget asked with a smile.

"I don't know. About seven or eight, I suppose."

"What a memory you have!" she exclaimed.

"Actually, I'm probably showing my age. They say the older you get, the more you remember things that happened years ago, and start forgetting what happened a couple of months ago."

His words reminded Bridget of her conversation with John that time, when he had suggested that it might be possible to erase Malcolm's memory of certain events in order to cure him of his nightmares. Bridget said,

"Darling, I think we should go in and buy those earrings for Lily. And then … we should talk about something."

He raised an eyebrow. "Nothing serious, I hope?"

"Well, yes. But let's buy those earrings first."

They did so, then went to a café and ordered a pot of tea for two. Malcolm watched Bridget pour it out and top up the kettle with an extra teabag and hot water.

"Well?" he prompted her. "What do we have to talk about?"

She said slowly, "A while ago, John and I had a talk. Actually, I dropped in on him at the Ministry one lunchtime and we discussed … you," she explained a little guiltily, remembering only too well how she had lied to Malcolm about not being able to leave work for lunch on the day in question.

"What was there to discuss about me?" he asked, frowning.

"Your problems. The nightmares you're still having. We worked out an idea, but we didn't want you to know about it until we'd figured it out properly."

"Really? When did all this happen?"

"It … was a couple of weeks before James and Lily's wedding."

Malcolm stared at her. "As long ago as that! And how many times did you two get together to talk about me, exactly?"

"Just that once. After that, we stuck to letters."

"Letters," Malcolm repeated, thinking. "Like that one that he sent 'inviting us to dinner' that time?"

"Yes," she confessed. "You're not angry, are you? I mean, we only did it to help you."

Truth be told, Malcolm was feeling slightly put out at that moment to think that all this had gone on without his knowledge. But Bridget looked so anxious that he shook his head and said,

"I'm not angry. I am a bit puzzled though. What exactly did you two figure out?"

Bridget began explaining quickly,

"John has arranged for us two to go and see someone, to try and deal with your nightmares and ..."

"Hold on," he interrupted her. "You're not suggesting I should see a loony doctor, I hope?"

"Oh, of course not. Although come to think of it, that might not be such a bad idea. Except any normal psychiatrist would probably have you put in a straight jacket the minute you start explaining you're a wizard," she added quietly, winking at him.

Malcolm tried to frown, but found himself smiling instead.

"Well, who are we going to see then?" he asked.

"A man who lives in a little place called Ottery St. Catchpole."

"Sounds quaint," he remarked, taking a sip of his tea. Then he paused, the cup still in his hand. "Wait a minute. I've heard that somewhere before." He thought for a minute, then said, "Of course - that's where the Prewetts come from, isn't it? Or they've got some connection there, anyway. Fabian mentioned the place at the end of the last mee..."

"Malcolm ..."

"Sorry," he said quickly. "Go on. We're going to see someone in Ottery St. What-do-you-call-it, and _not_ the Prewetts, I take it. Who then?"

"A man called Aaron Diggory. And don't tell me that name rings a bell too. Although actually, I suppose, you might have heard of his brother, Amos."

"Yes, I think I have. Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."

"Right," said Bridget, marvelling once again at her husband's memory. "Anyway, his brother Aaron is a healer from St. Mungo's who ..."

"A healer? You mean yOu're taking me to a _wizard_ loony doctor?"

"No! Malcolm, do pay attention, please. It took John quite a while to find this man for us."

"All right," he said, softening. "Who is Aaron Diggory?"

Bridget smiled, and began explaining.

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Sirius could not imagine any sensation better than that of sitting on his motorbike as he was now, soaring through the sky with the roar of the engine in his ears and the wind in his face. It made him want to shout for joy every time, it filled him with an enthusiasm that nothing else could give him, never lessening, however many times he experienced it. This was the life. This was freedom.

Repeated taps on the shoulder from the girl seated behind him recalled him from his elation. He had forgotten for a moment that he wasn't alone.

"What's up?" he yelled over his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Sirius, but can we go back down? I'm not feeling too hot."

Going back down was the last thing Sirius wanted to do, and he turned his head to tell her so. One look at her face silenced him.

"Oh hell, Jo, you look sick!"

"I think I'm about to be, so let's go back down!"

They landed as quickly as possible, and Josie ran off into the bushes. Sirius paced up and down beside his motorbike, not sure whether he should go and see if there was anything he could do to help, or whether to stay at a safe distance. He decided on the latter, at least for now. Leaning against his motorbike, he kicked at the snow at his feet and puzzled over this sudden sickness of his companions. Since that day when they had bumped into each other in York, he had taken her for more than just that one ride he had promised her, and she had never yet been sick once. In fact, she seemed to enjoy it almost as much as he did. It was fun taking her for rides - even though, or maybe because, there was nothing between them.

Whenever he took girls for a ride on his bike who were interested in him, he tended to find that, much as he might be interested in the girl in question, it annoyed him that she would demonstrate a polite enthusiasm for the machine to begin with, then after about five minutes of flying expect him to turn round, park somewhere and spend the rest of the time devoting his whole attention to her. That was not how he pictured a morning out on his motorbike.

On the other hand, mornings out on his motorbike with Josephine had always been highly satisfactory - until today. He stood frowning, waiting for her to reappear. It was a while before she did, and she looked embarrassed.

"Sorry about that," she said. "It came on all of a sudden, I was fine before."

"Don't worry about it," he answered, taking her by the arm and guiding her to the bike, leaning her against it. "How are you feeling now? A bit better?"

"A bit. Not sure how long it'll last though. I was like this yesterday, but it got better later in the day, I thought I was over it."

"You must have caught some kind of stomach bug," he remarked.

Josie shot him a glance he couldn't quite make out. "Yes," she said slowly. "Maybe."

"Tell you what, we could go to Hogsmeade and have a drink in the Three Broomsticks. I remember Madam Rosmerta gave James something once when he wasn't feeling too good ... unless you'd rather we stopped off at Peter's dad's apothecary. You really dont look well."

"I'm fine," she assured him. "But I think it might be a good idea if we stayed on the ground for a bit. Do you mind?"

"Of course not," he said, taking her arm again and helping her onto the seat. "Where do you want to go? Straight home?"

"Yes, please," she said gratefully, and he revved up the engine and they were off.

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"Ah," said the young man as he opened the door. "Mr. and Mrs. Marley?"

"Yes."

Bridget smiled, studying him with interest. He was neither very tall nor particularly good-looking, she noticed. A plain man in his mid-twenties, perhaps, whose only really outstanding feature were his eyes, which were grey and friendly.

"Do come in," said Aaron Diggory, standing aside to let them pass into the narrow hallway.

Malcolm hesitated briefly, but Bridget took him by the hand and led him indoors. Their host took their cloaks and hung them in a closet by the door, then he led the way through a door on the left to the living room, where a little boy was playing with a wooden train in front of the fireplace, his cheeks glowing with the light from the fire. He looked up when they entered and got to his feet, taking a step back and appearing slightly alarmed. Aaron Diggory went straight over and crouched in front of him.

"It's all right," he said softly. "No need to be shy, these people are friends."

It occurred to Bridget that even if she had not known his profession, she might have guessed from the way he spoke now, it reminded her so typically of what was termed a 'bedside manner'. The little boy - he might have been about three or four, she guessed - gazed up at them out of the same grey eyes as the man crouching in front of him. Aaron Diggory looked up at his guests with an apologetic smile.

"This is my nephew, Cedric," he explained. "My sister-in-law asked me to babysit him today. He's a bit shy."

"That's quite all right," said Bridget, smiling down at the child. "Hello, Cedric," she said, and offered him her hand.

The little boy's grey eyes watched her uncertainly for a minute. Then his little hand reached up to shake hers briefly, before he devoted his attention to his train once more. Mr. Diggory offered them seats on the sofa, and they accepted. He offered drinks, but they declined, thanking him. Finally, he sat down as well and said edgily,

"So ... Mr. Lupin told me you wanted to ... err ... talk about Cathy."

Bridget nodded. "I realise how painful this must be for you, Mr. Diggory. But you see, this is very important to us as well."

"I understand."

For the first time, the young man looked closely at Malcolm. He said awkwardly,

"You're the man who ... who ..."

"I'm the one who ... hurt your wife in Newcastle that day, yes," Malcolm said heavily. "And I can't tell you how sorry I am."

The young man smiled. "I heard detailed accounts of that event at the time. Including Cathy's."

"I thought her memory had been erased!" Bridget exclaimed.

"It was, but something went wrong. The obliviators' memory charm erased more than it should have, and the only way we could fix it was by restoring all of her memory. It was a shock to her, of course. But I ... I ..."

"You were there to help her," Bridget said gently. "My brother-in-law told me you met at St. Mungo's."

"Yes. Cathy was overwhelmed by everything, of course. But she accepted it all surprisingly quickly. And she accepted me. She told me everything." He added, looking at Malcolm again, "You don't look how she described you."

"I was using polyjuice potion so I could pretend to be one of them."

"I see. Well ... Cathy told me that she saw people dying all around her, and when you and the others came towards her, she thought she was dead. She told me she ... she prayed for a miracle at that moment, anything to save her life. And then you pointed your wand at her ..."

"And I did worse than kill her. I caused her unbearable pain."

"No," said the young man. "You didn't. At least - not quite as bad as you're thinking. That was the problem with the memory charm they used on her. It was intended to wipe out the memory of the average _Cruciatus _curse. Yours was weaker than that, so their charm was too powerful."

Malcolm shook his head. "I heard her screams - I've kept hearing them over and over again ever since. She was in pain."

"Yes," Aaron Diggory admitted. "But it could have been worse. Let me explain," he went on, leaning forward a little. "Cathy told me that while you had that curse on her, she could still see what was going on around her. She told me she could see your eyes. She always had an uncanny feeling that you were in pain too."

Running his tongue over his lips, Malcolm said, puzzled, "I - was. But ... if she was able to notice that under the curse ..."

"Then the curse really wasn't as strong as it normally would be," Bridget finished for him.

Aaron Diggory nodded. "She was in a lot of pain, Mr. Marley. But it wasn't as terrible as you think. And if you hadn't done what you did ... Cathy and I would never have met."

His voice trailed away, and he looked at the little boy still playing with the train for a minute, then up at a photograph on the mantlepiece. It showed himself and his bride, smiling and waving cheerfully. Bridget saw Malcolm's eyes travel the same way, saw the closed expression on his face, and reached for his hand. His fingers closed tightly around hers.

"We're very sorry for Cathy's death," Bridget said.

The young man nodded a thank you. "She was at the hospital," he told them. "She'd just had our baby."

"Your baby!" Malcolm exclaimed. "You don't mean you lost ... both of them?"

"No, no. A couple of the nurses managed to get some of the babies out of there. Ours was one of them. I ... I've decided to call her Catherine." He gulped, then said, "Would you like to see her?"

They said that they would. Aaron Diggory checked that the shield charm surrounding the blazing fire was still correctly in place, then they left little Cedric to his train and went upstairs. In a room off the landing stood a cradle, faint murmurs issuing from it. The yound man walked over and took the baby out, holding her so they could see.

"I know I shouldn't take her out of her cot while she's sleeping, but I feel like I have to keep holding her," he said softly, stroking the baby's cheek.

"She's beautiful," Bridget said with feeling.

Diggory said, "When Cathy and I married, some people said it was too soon. After all, we'd only just met. I did wonder now and then if we were rushing into things. Now ... I'm glad we did. I don't know what I'd do without this little one here."

Bridget looked sideways at Malcolm. He was staring at the baby, a choked look on his face. She went to his side and took his hand again.

"Are you all right?" she whispered.

Malcolm glanced at her, then allowed his eyes to travel around the room. It was small, but full of light and filled with everything a little girl could possibly dream of. On a small cabinet stood another photograph of her parents, which looked like it had been taken just after her birth.

"No," Malcolm breathed in answer to her question, looking back at the baby. "I don't know, I ... really don't know."

Aaron Diggory looked a question at Bridget, and she smiled.

"Mr. Diggory ... Aaron ... you've been very kind. We'd like to thank you properly, but for now, I think some fresh air is indicated. Do you mind if we go for a walk and come back later?"

"By all means," the young man said. "There's a path that starts just at the end of the road, it leads up towards Stoatshead Hill, it's a very nice walk - Cathy loved it."

Fifteen minutes later, Bridget and Malcolm were nearing the foot of the hill. They climbed it slowly, not speaking a word. When they reached the top, Malcolm let go of her hand and looked around him at the snow-covered landscape, breathing in deeply. Bridget gave him a little more time, then she asked gently,

"Well? Do you know yet whether you're all right?"

He turned his face towards her slowly. "I think so, but I'm still not sure. It was all so much. That baby ..."

"That baby would never have been born, but for you. If it hadn't been for you, that girl would have been killed that day, and she and Aaron would never have met. Baby Catherine would never be more than a dream."

Malcolm moistened his lips with his tongue and said in a choked-up voice, "You were right. She is beautiful." Then he added heavily, "I was never able to forgive myself for what I had done to that girl ... until now. But to think that after all that, she had to die anyway ..."

"You saw those photographs, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Then you saw how happy she was. Yes, she was killed in the end, but not as soon as she might have been. And even though her time was limited, I've a feeling that extra year was her happiest - and she might never have had that year, but for you. You do see that now, don't you? You do see that what you did made a difference, in a good way? That it wasn't all for nothing?"

He nodded. There was a silence, then he said tenderly, "Thank you, Bridget."

"I didn't do much," she laughed. "John was the one who figured it all out. I think we should thank him for that - I've been thinking maybe we could treat him and Faith to a show in London."

"Anything," said Malcolm. "But I didn't mean that. I meant thank you for everything. For being there for me. For being mine."

She came closer and rested her hand against his cheek. "Thank you," she said in a whisper, her eyes locking onto his. "For being you."

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**3 - Dining at the Potters' Again**

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Christmas was a week away. For once, Remus was not the last person to leave work, but one of the first. He had been invited to dinner at James and Lily's again, though Sirius and Peter were going to be out and about elsewhere, Peter with Ellie Simpson and Sirius - as far as Remus knew - with some muggle girl he had picked up by chance after dropping Josephine off home one evening. The small group of people around him, all heading towards the lift as well, were keeping close together in twos, at most, and speaking in subdued voices if they spoke at all. No one chatted any more since the Death Eaters had driven the aurors from the Ministry. But Remus's mind was dwelling too much on what he was planning to tell his friends this evening to wish for conversation anyway. It was quite some time before he realised that the person next to him actually was talking to him.

"Lupin?" the tall young man enquired as they stepped into the lift. "Are you all right?"

"Sorry?" Remus responded, trying to gather himself. "You were saying ...?"

"Well ..." - his companion continued in an undertone - "... I wouldn't like to say this in front of Macnair, but I do admire the way you refused to go along with this latest 'brainwave' of his. I agree there should be limits to the length we're willing to go to in the interests of creating beings that can protect us, but on the other hand, don't you think that these experiments could also be turned to some good? I mean, if we really could find a way to control the beast inside the man, maybe we could develop a serum to help people like yourself, maybe even prevent the transformation, or at least allow you to control your own actions."

"It's a nice idea," Remus said tiredly. "But I hardly think the Ministry would be interested. What they want is to have control over werewolves, not allow werewolves to have control over themselves. And that, as I told Mr. Macnair, I cannot condone."

"Of course, I can see that, but ..."

"We're about to enter the Atrium, I don't think we should continue this conversation here."

"Lupin ..." the young man tried to go on, but Remus cut him short again.

"Have a nice weekend, Belby. See you Monday."

He crossed the Atrium and joined the queue in front of one of the big fireplaces through which people were travelling home. Ten minutes later, he was looking through the fire into the Potters' kitchen. Apparently James and Lily had not expected him just yet, for they were standing in the middle of the room wrapped tightly in each other's arms, neither face visible behind the curtain that was Lily's thick, red hair. Remus cleared his throat, and they broke apart quickly.

"Oh. Hello, Moony," said James with a chuckle. "You're early. We ... err ... weren't expecting you just yet. Come in."

"So I gathered," Remus said, the corners of his mouth twitching as he stepped out of the fire, James's invitation having unlocked the safety charm.

Lily grinned and gave him a quick hug. "Hello, Remus. How was your day?"

"Could we come to that after dinner?"

"As bad as that?" James questioned, fetching dinner plates from a cupboard while Remus began unfastening his cloak.

"Considering I gave Macnair an answer he didn't want ..." Remus said, taking his cloak out into the hall and returning. "It didn't go too badly."

"What did he want?" asked Lily.

"He wanted to ... observe me."

"Observe? In what way?"

"From what I could gather: by placing me in a safe place on a full moon night and recording every detail of my transformation. It sounds harmless enough ..."

"Harmless?" Lily echoed. "Hardly that!"

"Well, quite," said Remus. He went on hesitantly, not being terribly used to voicing his most private thoughts and feelings, "I ... had a dream once, a while ago ... Macnair's suggestion reminded me of it to an uncomfortable degree."

"What kind of dream?" James asked, beginning to lay the cutlery out on the table.

"I suppose you could call it a nightmare. It ended with a lot of children turning into werewolves."

Lily looked up sharply from the potato she was peeling, and James neglected the cutlery. Remus shifted awkwardly.

"This wasn't how I meant to broach the subject ... I had thought to bring it up after dinner."

"Bring what up?"

"Something I feel I should talk to someone about. Lily, you remember you told me not to make you lie for me again? Well ..."

Lily immediately put the potato and knife down and came to stand beside James.

"What is it?" she asked anxiously. "What's happened? Has Macnair spoken to you again?"

"Not Macnair, no. Someone else. A man called Greyback."

There was a pause of about half a minute, then James cleared the table with a wave of his wand and said quietly,

"Sit down, Remus. Dinner can wait."

"Yes," Lily agreed, sitting down herself. "Let's talk first."

Their reaction to his troubles was so heart-warming that Remus did not hesitate long before following her example, and felt far less uneasy already as he began to explain,

"It happened when I was in Hogsmeade, looking for Christmas presents. I suppose I shouldn't have gone alone in the first place, but ... anyway, I spotted this poster ..."

He recounted every detail of his meeting with the man called Fenrir Greyback, and the boy he had had with him. Neither James nor Lily interrupted, they just sat opposite him, their hands clasped on the table, listening attentively until he had finished. Then James said quietly,

"So that's what happened to Gemma's little brother. They hid him somewhere, and at the next full moon, this man Greyback did to poor Jeremy what he'd done to you all those years ago."

Remus nodded tightly.

"We'll have to tell the Order about that," Lily said. "Something will have to be done, we've got to try and rescue that poor child. Well, won't we?" she prompted vehemently, when neither of them answered her.

"It's difficult to know what to do. Greyback has had Jeremy under his control for a long time now. We don't know what effect that might have had on the boy. Even if we can find out where he's been hidden all this time, we can't be sure the boy won't actually turn on us as we try to rescue him. What do you think, Remus?"

Remus rubbed a crease between his eyebrows thoughtfully. Eventually he said,

"I think it's worth a try. Jeremy did obey Greyback, but ... I think he was frightened of him. When Greyback started leaving, Jeremy lingered for a moment and I thought ... I thought he looked like he was asking me for help."

"Well then, there you have it!" said Lily.

"That could be a trap," James answered her warningly. "Of course, if it isn't ... It's definitely something we should discuss with the others. The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures must have ways of tracking werewolves, surely."

He turned his questioning eyes on Remus, who gave a faint shrug.

"Your dad would know," Lily remarked.

She said it gently, and when she did, Remus's eyes shifted to her. She returned his gaze steadily, trying to fathom what was behind his tacit stare. At last she said softly,

"I'm sure Greyback had no reason - no _genuine_ reason, at least - to want such a terrible revenge on your father, Remus. Knowing your dad, I'm sure whatever his dealings with Greyback, they were just and totally unprejudiced."

"Of course," James agreed with conviction. "Come on, Moony, we all know your dad would never say an unkind word about anyone out of prejudice."

"I know," Remus said, lowering his gaze to his hands on the table in front of him. "But ..."

"You're thinking there's no smoke without fire?" Lily guessed, and he looked up at her again gratefully.

"Well - yes," he confessed. "I don't believe for a minute that Dad would treat someone unfairly because of what he was, and yet ... Greyback sounded so convincing. I can't help but feel that there's a core of truth in his words somewhere. And he really did register his name after he bit me, the Ministry has a record of it. I - I can't explain it properly," he went on awkwardly. "How I feel, it's ... I always thought that - that it was an accident."

Lily nodded sympathetically. "You grew up believing that whoever bit you wasn't responsible for what he did to you, didn't you? You put up with it all because you believed it was just fate that had done this to you, and that there was no reason, and it was no one's fault."

"Yes," Remus admitted hoarsely. "Sometimes, when I was beginning to transform, when I started to feel the hair sprouting on my body, and when the pain started, I used to think about the werewolf who had bitten me. That somewhere in the world, he was going through the same sensations, just as helpless as I was. I pictured him alone, hidden somewhere in the dark with no one to care for him, and I ... I actually felt sorry for him."

He fell silent, only the tensening of his jaw and the clenching of his fist on the table betraying any further hint of what was going on inside him. Lily let go of James's hand and reached across the table for Remus's, causing him to look up at her again. She smiled encouragingly.

"I know it's difficult, but if anyone can cope with this, you can."

"She's right," James agreed readily. "And after all, maybe you'll find it's better to know that there _is_ a reason for what happened to you, that it's not just some cruel game life decided to play on you. The best thing to do, if you want my opinion, is find out exactly what that reason is. You can't deal with it properly knowing only half the truth, right?"

He turned to Lily for support, and she nodded quickly.

"Absolutely. You've heard one side of the story," she said to Remus, "So find out the other. Find out the _truth_."

"How?" Remus asked of them both. "What should I do, ask my dad?" He began shaking his head almost before he had finished voicing the thought. "Dad dwells on the past more than enough, without being reminded and having to relive it all."

"Then ask Malcolm", Lily suggested practically. "Didn't you mention once that he was there when it happened?"

"Yes."

"Well then, that's the solution. If you don't want to ask your dad outright, talk to your uncle. He was there, and he was your dad's best friend, I'm sure he'd know all the details, and you could talk to him much more openly, without having to worry about upsetting him too much."

Remus thought it over for a minute, then he seemed to brighten up a little. "You know, I - I do believe that might be a good idea. Yes. I think I'll do that. But after Christmas."

"Excellent," said James, rubbing his hands. "Now that that's sorted, I vote we take our minds off serious thoughts for a bit and get on with dinner. I'll open a bottle of wine, too, that'll lift our spirits, right Lily?"

Letting go of Remus's hand, Lily got up off her seat.

"I don't know," she said. "I feel a bit funny, I don't think I'll have any wine."

"You still want dinner though, don't you?"

She shrugged. Walking over to the larder and opening it, she let her eyes drift over the contents and finally selected the treacle off the middle shelf.

"I think I'll have some of this," she announced. "I don't fancy potatoes any more."

James and Remus exchanged glances, simultaneously shrugged their shoulders, and settled for the fact that their dinner would consist of sandwiches tonight.

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**4 - Happy New Year**

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Peter Pettigrew apparated in a clump of bushes on the outskirts of Godric's Hollow and made his way towards the lane that he knew so well, leading to the Potters' front door. He walked slowly, unsurely, although he had been down this way many times before, of course. But tonight, on the 31st of December, he was feeling very reluctant about it. Nevertheless, a shorter timespan than he had intended brought him to the front door, and he looked up at the windows of the cottage, all brightly illuminated and radiating a welcoming warmth despite the chill night air. Music was penetrating the wooden door, speedy and cheerful music intended to lift the spirit. He applied his hand to the knocker and was rewarded almost immediately by the sound of footsteps on the other side.

_Oh no_, he thought, recognising the tread even before a merry voice called to him through the door.

"Who goes there?"

"It's me, Sirius."

"Ah, we've had a lot of those tonight," came the reply. "State your purpose."

With a sigh, Peter recited, "My purpose is to be a perfect pest to all persons of pompousness and a pain in the backside of Severu..."

"Never mind that part," came the quick reply, and the door was opened by Sirius, managing - as only he could - to look as attractive as ever despite being ridiculously adorned with a bright pink paper hat, a plastic moustache and a fair quantity of confetti.

"In you come," he said, grasping Peter by the lapels and pulling him into the hall. Then the inevitable happened. Sirius poked his head out of the door, looked searchingly around the front garden, closed the door, and looked searchingly at Peter instead.

"Where's your lady love?" he demanded, taking a sip out of the butterbeer bottle in his hand.

"Err ..." began Peter, but he got no further.

"Sirius, what are you doing? Let him get his cloak off first, for heaven's sake!"

Sirius responded to Lily's reprimand with a mock bow and a grin. "As you please, your ladyship. I'd better leave him in your capable hands, anyway, he's got an air of gloom about him that I don't much like, and that I'm sure you're far better equipped to deal with than I am. Have you seen Kitty?"

"No," said Lily, rolling her eyes, and Sirius departed in the direction of the living room - the apparent source of the music and laughter that could be heard more clearly in the hall than it had outside.

Lily turned to Peter and helped him off with his cloak.

"Don't mind Sirius," she said kindly. "He might only be drinking butterbeer now, but I know that bottle of firewhisky in the kitchen was full before he turned up, whatever James may say." She put her head a little to one side and studied the new arrival. "So, what's the matter? Sirius was right about one thing, you do look gloomy."

"I ... er ... it's just ... Ellie ..."

"She didn't want to come?"

"Well, not exactly. She said she'd come, as long as I didn't."

"Oh dear." Lily bit her lip briefly, then said gently, "She can be a bit temperamental sometimes. What did you do, didn't you like her new hat?"

"Worse. I didn't like her new cat. Or rather, it didn't like me. See?"

He rolled up the sleeve of his jumper to reveal a line of scratches up his right arm. "I'm afraid when I defended myself, it took a fall off the arm of the chair."

"Surely that wouldn't hurt a cat!"

"No, but I think it hurt Ellie's feelings."

"Oh dear," Lily said again, then, "Well, never mind Ellie for tonight then. I'm sure she'll calm down eventually. Meanwhile, come in and have a brandy or something, that'll cheer you up. You'll find James and Remus in the living room, oh and Sirius, of course, and probably 'Kitty'."

"Who's Kitty?"

"That's what we'd all like to know. Some girl he picked up - again. Go on in, tell James to get you a drink, I must answer that," she finished as there was another knock on the door, and she went to let in the Longbottoms.

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The New Year was welcomed with a display of fireworks at Hogwarts. It wasn't that anyone was in a particularly good mood and feeling much like celebrating - in fact, it was actually the opposite that had led Professor Dumbledore to put forward the idea of fireworks for all those students and teachers who would be spending the Christmas holidays at the castle. A half-hour display of the hugest, most magnificent coloured lights flashing in the sky that anyone had ever seen certainly seemed a suitable means of distracting everyone's attention from their private troubles for a little while. It worked for Pippa Pettigrew, anyway.

She stood on the front steps of the castle, wrapped in a deep red winter cloak with a white fur collar and cuffs, surrounded by students who whooped and gasped at the display above, smiling to herself. Albus Dumbledore's fireworks were a sight to be seen, exploding into the shapes of multicoloured pirate ships, glittering castles, dancers in medieval garb ...

"Aren't they just the best fireworks ye've ever seen?" boomed a voice behind her.

Pippa turned her head to see Rubeus Hagrid standing nearby, towering over her and all the students and gazing up at the sky with the rest of them. Looking back at the sky herself, she agreed whole-heartedly,

"They're fantastic. I've never seen anything like this before, and I'm sure I never will. Oh, did you see that one?"

She looked round again in time to see Hagrid blush, while several of the students laughed and pointed, and some even cheered and clapped at the figure of an enormous, beared man in a heavy cloak walking across the sky before dissolving into a shower of small sparks. Another bang followed, along with more cheers. Pippa looked up, and to her surprise and embarrassment saw a new figure twirling through the sky, yellow hair sparkling, red cloak swishing.

"Oh, Professor Pettigrew, that one _was_ beautiful!" exclaimed a student close by, and Pippa smiled at her and pointed up again.

"And look, there's Professor Dumbledore himself."

Sure enough, the headmaster's kind face and long silver beard were shining on them now. Pippa and Hagrid both automatically turned their heads and craned their necks to try and see Dumbledore's office window, but it was too high up.

The fireworks ended with a splendid depiction of Hogwarts going up in a shower of colourful sparks and a particularly loud bang. All around, people wished each other a happy new year in noisy voices.

"Well, 'appy New Year to ye, Miss Pippa," said Hagrid.

"Happy New Year to you too, Rubeus," she replied with a smile.

"Professor, Professor!"

Pippa turned her attention to the eager fourth-year Hufflepuff who was tugging at her sleeve.

"Yes?"

"Happy New Year, Professor."

"And Happy New Year to you too, Patrick. What can I do for you?"

"Err ... some of us were wondering ... is it all right if we have a New Year's snowball fight before we go up to bed? Please."

Pippa hesitated. She glanced up at the sky and remembered how the benevolent face of Dumbledore had glistened there, and she grinned.

"All right," she said. "But only if I can join in! Excuse me."

The students were surprised to see their Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher joining in with the rest of them, and Pippa found herself having the time of her life. At one point she checked her watch, and discovered that it was just past one o'clock already. Brisk footsteps crunched towards her across the snow, and presently Professor McGonagall's voice called to her sharply. Expecting a reprimand for her un-teacherly behaviour, Pippa excused herself to the children and joined the older woman with a guilty look on her face. She was surprised to find McGonagall looking regretful.

"I am truly sorry to interrupt your game," said the deputy headmistress. "But Professor Dumbledore has just received some bad news from Alastor Moody."

"Oh!" Pippa exclaimed. "What is it?"

"It appears our enemies have chosen to celebrate the coming of the New Year with their own set of 'fireworks'," McGonagall said in hushed tones. "They've set fire to some muggle houses in different parts of the country, and they're causing additional destruction in one Lancashire town by using ..." she lowered her voice still further "... giants."

Pippa glanced towards Hagrid's cabin, to which he had withdrawn after the fireworks had ended.

"Does Rubeus know about this yet?" she asked.

"No. But his help will be needed to deal with this emergency. The headmaster would like you to go with him."

"Of course," Pippa said at once.

Her fellow teacher looked less than pleased at her eager acquiescence, and her next words made the reason quite clear.

"This will be a very dangerous assignment, Philippa. It will be just you and Hagrid, and a handful of Alastor's people - the rest are dealing with attacks in other parts of the country, as will Dumbledore himself, Inferi have been sighted in ..."

"I understand," the young witch said seriously. "I'll go and get Hagrid now."

She turned to go, but Professor McGonagall called her back for a moment.

"Yes?" Pippa queried, expecting more advice.

McGonagall did indeed seem to want to say something more, but in the end, she settled for the faintest smile and said,

"Take care of yourself, Philippa."

Returning the smile, Pippa replied,

"Don't worry. I will."

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The church bells chimed three times. It was an eerie sound, ordinary though it was in itself. But heard over the crackling of flames, with the dial at the top of the church tower the only electrically illuminated feature of the small town left intact, every other bulb having been smashed, the smoking wreckage of houses all around lit up by orange and red flames that licked the black sky, it was like the tolling of funeral bells.

Alice Longbottom rolled onto her side and ran her hands up and down her arms and legs, feeling broken skin here and there, but thankfully no broken bones. She stroked the tangled hair from her soot-blackened face and sat up, dislodging a number of stones as she did so, sending them splashing into the puddles formed by the water spurting out of a broken pipe in the ruined wall nearby. Tears streaked down her face as she surveyed the battlefield that surrounded her. To think that only a few hours ago, they had all been at Lily and James's together, talking and laughing, raising their glasses to the new year, even as Moody's message of disaster had been on its way to them. She remembered clutching Frank's arm as James read it out to them all, while the muggle radio had continued to play Auld Lang Sine as though nothing had happened. That reminded her ...

"F-Frank?" she called timidly into the night.

There was no reply, and she fought a rising panic as she used the rubble around her for support, pushing herself to her feet. She cast aside the remains of the shattered wand still clasped in her right hand and staggered out onto the street, looking up and down it. What looked like Moody's silhouette limped across the landscape in the distance, at the church end of the street, where the few surviving muggles were cowering in the shadow of the graveyard wall. She could see the form of Hagrid - no longer seeming so extraordinarily large in her eyes, after what she had seen today - dropping wearily onto what looked like a heap of scrap metal. Other shapes began to move amongst the debris, but none of them was the one she was looking for. She stumbled further along, towards the spot where she and her husband had become separated in the fighting. Her heart stopped as she spotted a figure sprawled by the side of the road in a position that did not bode well. Though still unsteady on her feet, she broke into a run, reached the figure and turned it over. She shrieked as the lifeless eyes of the one-time auror Forbes stared back at her.

"Frank?" she called once again, looking round more desperately now. "Frank! Fraaaank!"

Her last, long drawn-out shout elicited a response of sorts. A girder of one of the burning buildings succumbed to the flames with a crash, and she turned automatically towards the sound. And there he was. Illuminated brightly by the flames that formed a wall all around him, edging ever closer, he was lying on the ground, apparently coughing and oblivious to the immediate danger he was in. Alice ran as close as she dared to the fire and called to him again.

"Frank! Frank, get hold of your wand! The fire, it's ... Frank!"

He pushed himself up a little and turned his head towards her slowly, but did not appear to see her. Then he slumped back to the ground, coughing harder than before. Alice continued to call to him frantically, but he showed no reaction, merely went on coughing in that dreadful way, and in her mind's eye she began to see another fire, and the stairway leading up the the loft, and her parents' bodies ... and now she was to lose Frank the same way.

"No!" she screamed out loud, and plunged through the flames before giving herself time for another thought. It was lucky her clothes were still damp from the pipe leakage she had lain near earlier. Nevertheless, she had to pull off her cloak and fling it from her quickly. It went up in flames within seconds, and she screamed again. Next to her, Frank stirred, and finally recognised her.

"A-Alice," he coughed as she reached across him, taking up his wand. "A-Alice, the fire, you ... you need to get out."

"Not without you, sweetheart," she said, kissing him hurriedly.

She pointed his wand at the flames through which she had come.

"_Aguamenti!_" she chanted.

"_Aguamenti!_" a voice joined in on the other side of the flames.

The fire spat and sizzled and smoked, but a gap slowly began to form in the wall of fire, and soon Pippa Pettigrew's arms were reaching towards them, helping Alice hoist Frank to his feet, helping them both to safety.

Alice slumped down on the ground beside Frank, a safe distance away from the fire, and put her head on his shoulder. He was still coughing badly, but he slipped his arm around her, making her feel comforted at once.

"Thank you, Philippa," Frank said.

Pippa gave them both a faint smile. "You're welcome. Will you be all right now?" They both nodded. "In that case, please excuse me."

Some minutes passed in silence. Then Frank, breathing a little more easily now, said,

"That was very foolish of you, Alice. And very brave," he added with a loving smile.

She touched his cheek. "I was so scared. So scared I'd lose you ... like I lost my parents."

Frank took her hand and kissed it. Alice began to tremble and he tightened his arms around her.

"It's all right, dearest. You're not going to lose me."

"You can't know that," she said reasonably through a muffled sob.

"I know, but … Somehow I'm sure ... Anyway, we're together now."

"Yes," she said, sitting back a little. "And that's good, because I've got something to tell you and for a minute I thought I'd missed my chance."

"What is it?" he asked.

Alice began to smile. "I've found a use for that money your grandmother gave us for Christmas."

He raised an eyebrow at her, and she chuckled. "I think we should invest it in a cradle."

Frank's eyes widened, his mouth dropped open.

"Y-you mean …" he stammered. "You're …"

She nodded eagerly. "I'm pregnant," she whispered. "You're going to be a daddy."

Frank pulled her back into his arms and kissed her soot-covered cheek. Alice held on to him and closed her eyes, thankful that whatever bad had happened here tonight, at least she still had Frank. It made her feel guilty to be so egoistic, but right now, she couldn't help it. And somehow she felt that he was right - she always would have him, come what may.

At the other end of the street, Pippa Pettigrew approached the figure of Hagrid, sitting dejectedly on an overturned car and sobbing into his dinner plate-sized hands. She rested her own, small, gloved hand on his knee and said gently,

"It's over. They're all gone."

He shifted his hands to look at her, revealing the puffy skin around his beetle-black eyes.

"Look what they done though, Miss Pippa. All o' this …" He waved his hands in an expressive gesture. "They wrecked a whole town. They killed all them poor muggles. An' they're me own people, least 'alfways."

"You're not like them, Rubeus," Pippa said kindly, but firmly. "You'd never harm anyone. And you've no reason to feel any worse about what happened here tonight than anyone else. You're only half giant, anyway, and even if you weren't - what you are doesn't matter, who you're related to … That's not something we can help. Look at my sister. Would you say her actions are in any way my fault?"

"No, o' course not."

"Well then, what happened here tonight isn't yours, either. Come, Rubeus. Get up. Go home. Get some rest, you've done enough for tonight."

With one more great sob, Hagrid got to his feet, the car crunching beneath him as his weight was lifted off it.

"All right, Miss Pippa. Are ye comin' too?"

"Not just yet, I'm going to give Moody and the others a hand clearing this mess up. That will probably take us all day. I wonder what the Ministry will tell the muggles …"

She shook her head and sighed. "Good night, Rubeus. See you some time tomorrow - or rather, later today. Tell you what," she said, brightening a little, "How about going to the _Three Broomsticks_ for a butterbeer this evening, would that cheer you up?"

"That's very kind of ye, Miss Pippa."

She smiled. "I'll see you this evening then, Rubeus. Goodbye."

And with that, she turned away from him and picked her way through the rubble towards Alastor Moody.

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On the evening of January 1st, Hogsmeade was bathed in snow and moonlight. Pippa had been right about the clearing up of the mess taking up the whole day. She apparated beside the _Hog's Head_, tired and hungry, and very much upset by all that she had seen that day, the bodies that had been removed, the wounded muggles taken to St. Mungo's.

Pulling her cloak closer about her, Pippa made to step down the street to the _Three Broomsticks_. Her hand was on the wand inside her pocket, just in case. One could never be too careful these days, one never knew who might be waiting just around the corner. Speaking of which … She had an uncanny feeling that she was being watched. Her fingers closed more tightly around her wand, and she quickened her pace. She spotted a movement in the shadows just across the street. And another further ahead. She heard a faint rustle behind her, and turned round. It did not matter that she had drawn her wand before completing the turn, for the witch standing behind her had acted more quickly.

"Good evening, Philippa," said the familiar, sneering voice of her twin sister. "Happy New Year."

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Rubeus Hagrid stepped out of the Three Broomsticks and looked up and down the street. All was quiet. Not even the hoot of an owl was to be heard, and no one was about. This was odd. It was the sixth time he had stepped outside to look out for Pippa Pettigrew, but still there was no sign of her. He went back inside, waited some more, then came out again. It was past midnight now. Surely this was later than she had meant when she had said "this evening". He wondered whether she had simply changed her mind. But wouldn't she have let him know, if that were the case? With a shiver, and feeling rather anxious, he trudged back up to the school to speak to Dumbledore.


	37. Part 37: The End of Innocence

**Prequel, Part 37: The End of Innocence**

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**1 - Recalling the Past**

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Iris Snape sat at the breakfast table as usual, her head bent over a plate of scrambled egg on toast, her eyes carefully averted from the face of the man who sat at the opposite end of the table, eating his beans with a bad-tempered frown and turning the pages of the _Daily Prophet_ with impatience. Severus - also as usual - had breakfasted early and retreated to his laboratory. Silence reigned for a long time while Iris went on picking at her food, and Augustus went on scowling at the newspaper. Then, suddenly, he broke it.

"What was the name of that girl Severus used to bring home?"

Iris was so startled to hear him speak that she jumped visibly and dropped her fork.

"What's the matter with you?" her husband snapped, glaring at her. "Can't I ask a simple question without you acting like a rabbit about to have its neck wrung?"

"I'm sorry," she replied quietly. "I just ... what was it you wanted to know?"

"That girl's name," he repeated angrily.

"Y-you mean ... Josephine?"

"Her surname, woman! What would I want with her first name?"

"Coronis," said his wife, growing anxious now. "Why?"

She had not really expected an answer. Her husband's habit, having procured the information from her that he wanted, was normally to snap at her that it was none of her business. However, this time he referred once more to the newspaper, then flung it across the table at her.

"There. See for yourself."

Iris picked up the _Prophet_ obediently and found herself looking at a moving black-and-white photograph of a tall, thin wizard with an unusually pointed chin apparently arguing with a man she was sure she had seen before. She read the text, then tried to steal a surreptitious glance at her husband, but he was studying her too closely.

"Well?" he demanded. "What do you say to that?"

"It could be Josephine's father, I suppose."

"Of course it is! How common do you think that surname is in this country?"

She looked back down at the newspaper. The article that had caught her husband's attention described how the man in the picture, apparently Josephine's father, had fallen out with wizards from the Department for the Preservation of Purity and Security at the Ministry of Magic on the previous day after they had called for the resignation of several higher ranking officials throughout the departments on the grounds that they were of muggle descent. Apparently, so the article continued, Mr. Coronis had had a close friend to whom this resignation 'request' had applied - a friend who had since suffered an 'unfortunate accident'.

"Did his friend really meet with an accident?" Iris asked, not really doubting the answer.

"No," said Augustus coldly. "He met with Rosier and Dolohov. Came in useful at our little New Year's celebration. Until some auror thought to start a fire, that is. That's the thing about Inferi - can't abide fire."

"No ..." Iris gasped. "He ... they ... turned this man into an Inferius?"

"Yes," her husband acknowledged matter-of-factly. "And young Josephine's father decided to go to the Ministry yesterday and make a fuss about it."

Feeling suddenly decidedly sick, Iris pushed her plate and the newspaper from her and left her chair hurriedly.

"Iris!" her husband's voice arrested her.

She stopped in the doorway, turning back to look at him reluctantly.

"The paper says something else," he said sharply. "That this man, Coronis, has a child - just the one child, mind you. And that his child is a filthy squib."

Iris flinched visibly. Augustus's cold fury sparkled in his eyes.

"How long have you known?"

"I - I ... not long. That is ... I guessed ... but ... I ..."

"I don't want our son seeing this man's daughter any more, is that clear?"

"H-he's not seeing her," she stammered, turning back towards the door. "He hasn't seen her for ages."

She opened the door and was halfway through it when he called after her,

"And I won't have you seeing her, or communicating with her any more either, is that understood?"

Iris took a deep breath and walked on as though she hadn't heard him.

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Malcolm was sitting over a late breakfast of coffee and dry toast, reading the same newspaper. Like most of the Order, he had had a long night followed by a sorrowful, gruelling New Year's Day. He, John, Gordon and Bridget had been called away from their quiet evening at Gryffindor Hall by a message from Dumbledore, informing them of Death Eater activities and calling for their help. Malcolm and Bridget had stayed longest afterwards to clear up the site of the catastrophe and keep the muggle witnesses in a contained area where they could not run off and blurt the real facts of the disaster out to others, while John and Gordon had returned to the Hall to reassure Faith that all was now well, and get some rest. Their own rest had had to wait.

Malcolm turned another page and rubbed his eyes. Bridget was still fast asleep in bed, but even though he still felt immensely tired, Malcolm had not been able to get more than a few hours' sleep.

The doorbell rang, and he went to answer it.

"Who is it?" he asked, his wand ready in his hand, just in case.

"Remus," came the reply, surprising him.

Malcolm looked through the spy hole. Sure enough, there was his nephew - at least, it looked like his nephew. But one could never be too careful these days, so he said,

"Can I tempt you with a chocolate frog?"

"No, thank you," Remus replied, as they had agreed a while ago. "I've never really liked them."

Returning his wand to the pocket of his dressing gown, Malcolm opened the door.

"Good morning, Remus," he said, allowing Remus to pass by him into the hall, then closing and locking the door again.

"Good morning," Remus replied, looking as tired as Malcolm was feeling, and sounding far from cheerful.

His uncle looked him up and down, then said,

"You'd best come through to the kitchen, there's still some coffee. You look like you could do with it."

Remus followed him without a word, sat down and took a sip out of the mug that Malcolm passed him, appearing lost in thought. Malcolm folded the newspaper and put it aside, sat down, had some of his own coffee, and remarked in an artificially light tone and a forced smile,

"What's the matter, Remus? You look like Sirius made you eat a chocolate frog."

Suddenly deciding that to come straight to the point was probably the best way if he really wanted this to become a serious conversation any time soon, rather than beating about the bush endlessly, Remus said quickly,

"Uncle Malcolm, do you know a man called Greyback?"

Malcolm gave such a violent start that his mug of coffee shook in his hand and he had to set it down in a hurry.

"What!" he ejaculated sharply.

"Greyback," Remus repeated steadily, looking him in the eye. "Fenrir Greyback."

"Where did you hear that name?"

"I had hoped you'd let me ask the questions, once we'd established you know who he is. I gather you've heard the name before?"

"Oh, I've heard it before, all right," Malcolm said grimly. "I don't think many people who worked for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures or the Department of Magical Law Enforcement twenty years ago will have forgotten that name. He caused a lot of bother at that time."

"Then will you tell me about him?" his nephew requested.

Malcolm shot him a curious look before saying cautiously,

"You've picked a funny time to start raking up the past."

"I didn't exactly pick it. It was more forced on me, actually. I know today isn't ... ideal. But I've been putting this off, and I can't do that any longer. I've got to hear what you have to say about him."

"Before I tell you, I would like to know how much you already know, or think you know."

Remus shook his head. "I'd prefer to hear the true story from you before I tell you what he sa... what I've heard," he corrected himself, but too late.

"_What he_ ... Remus, you're not telling me you've spoken to him?"

"I'm not telling you anything yet. Please, Uncle Malcolm. I promise I will tell you afterwards."

"But you want my story first? Oh, come on, Remus - don't you trust me? Do you really think if Greyback told you the truth, I'd try and sell you a pack of lies to counter it?"

"No, I don't believe you'd lie to me," said Remus. "But I'd like your account to be as objective as possible."

"Objective?" Malcolm laughed wryly. "You can hardly expect that of me. I'll tell you frankly, you'd be hard put to find anyone in this world I hate more than Fenrir Greyback."

"Because of ... what he is?"

"Of course not," Malcolm snapped. "Hell, Remus, you should know me better than that. Look," he said more calmly, "I'll tell you what you want to know. You'll soon understand that Greyback deserves no sympathy from anyone."

Malcolm thought for a moment, then he leaned back in his chair and began speaking,

"It all started some time before you were born. Farmers out in the moorland regions reported an unusual amount of animals being slaughtered - ponies, sheep, even cattle. It seemed just a case of some wild animal, hardly a matter for the Ministry of Magic to become involved in. But then the attacks came closer to people's homes. Chickens were found dead, whole pig sties were killed in one night. Next it was dogs, cats ... They were just left there, dead, -what was left of them - apparently killed for sport. One night a muggle farmer on Exmoor saw the creature that did it. He fired a load of buckshot at it, actually. The Ministry got wind of his claim that a strange monster somewhat like an enormous wolf was responsible for the attacks. They sent someone from the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee to question him further and offer an explanation he could believe. It was clear from the way he described the creature that it was a werewolf.

The difficulty, of course, lay in finding out where he had come from, who he was. When they finally managed to identify him, they decided to send someone from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures to call on him and advise him to find a way to restrain himself when the full moon came around. Your dad, being one of the few people who weren't entirely against Greyback yet, volunteered to go and see him. He advised Greyback to lock himself up at full moons - he even offered to go round and help him. Greyback just spat in his face.

When the next full moon was drawing near, the Department sent a whole team round to Greyback's place, only to find his house empty. As it turns out, he wasn't as far away as they thought. One member of that team came home the night before the full moon to find his dog had vanished out of his house - along with the puppies she'd just had. The dogs were found a couple of days later. I don't think it's necessary for me to describe their condition to you."

Remus swallowed hard. "No, I ... can imagine ... but was he really to blame? I mean, he couldn't really help it, could he?"

"Perhaps he couldn't help attacking the animals on the moors. I don't know. But his attitude when your dad offered to help him ... the killing of those puppies, that he must have abducted from the man's house on purpose ahead of time ... Those he _was_ responsible for. And at that point, they called on the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to help. The Ministry, of course, was always pretty prejudiced, not to mention scared. They insisted on auror support, nothing less would do. And so I was with your dad when Greyback was apprehended. At the hearing, someone suggested locking him up for the rest of his life. Your dad knew the judge. He talked to him privately, reasoned with him that, after all, Greyback had never threatened a human being, that he might still be shown a measure of leniency. I don't whether Greyback ever knew about that. But the fact is, he owed it to your dad that he only got three months in Azkaban. But when he came out ... Well, that's when we made our first mistake. We should have kept a closer watch on him. We made the mistake of thinking he'd have learned his lesson by now. He hadn't. And at the next full moon, he managed to abduct the judge's daughter. She died in hospital a couple of days later."

"How old was she?" Remus asked shakily.

"Six or seven, I think. The Ministry was in an uproar, of course. The judge, having been responsible for giving Greyback a sentence that allowed him to come back so soon, killed himself ... and your dad blamed himself. After all, he had helped make sure Greyback wouldn't spend too long in prison. He worked himself raw trying to find the man, but Greyback was good at hiding. And at every full moon, he attacked another of the people involved in his conviction, or preferably their children. We caught him in the end though. Set a trap for him - it was your dad's idea. He was sentenced to life imprisonment in Azkaban this time. I was at the trial, along with another couple of aurors, for security reasons. Greyback made a lot of threats. A lot of people became afraid, withdrew their statements ... But not John. Your dad's testimony contributed greatly to that life sentence. Greyback went mad. He actually broke his chains and tried to attack your dad physically in front of the whole Wizengamot. It took four of us to hold him back. And then he made another threat. He promised that he would get revenge on your dad, and make him live to regret having been instrumental in his capture and conviction. We didn't take his threats very seriously. After all, he was going to spend the rest of his life in an escape-proof prison.

That was our second mistake - or mine, at least. What I blame myself for most, is that I never bothered to keep an eye on him after that. For three years, everything was peaceful. And then came that night ..."

Malcolm closed his eyes, remembering. "Greyback got his revenge, all right, when he bit you. He almost bit me, too, but your dad had the sense to set fire to his fur ..."

There was a silence, then Remus said,

"So it wasn't just an accident that I was bitten. It was revenge."

"Yes. Greyback wanted revenge on your dad, but I think you'll agree with me, Remus, that there is nothing your dad could have done differently. It's not his fault ..."

"Is it true that he insulted Greyback?" Remus asked.

"Is that what Greyback says?"

Remus nodded.

Malcolm said slowly, "Well, yes, you could say that's true. Your dad did call him ... a few names I'd never heard him use before, and I've never heard him use since. But Greyback deserved it. And whatever your dad may have meant, Remus, he meant in reference to Greyback as a person, not in reference to what he is. You understand that, don't you?"

"Yes," Remus said slowly. "But ..."

He broke off, but Malcolm said,

"Go on. What else?"

"Greyback said ... he claimed ... that Dad had spread lies about him, to blacken his name. That's not true, is it?"

"Of course not! "

Malcolm studied his nephew for a while, then he asked,

"So, does that settle it? Or are there any more questions you'd like me to answer for you?"

"Just … one."

"What's that?"

"Why did Dad never tell me? If he'd explained all of this to me before, my meeting with Greyback wouldn't have been … the way it was. If I'd known beforehand …"

"You should blame _me_ for that, not your dad," said Malcolm. He sat forward and said deliberately, "Remus, do you know how much your dad loves you?"

Taken aback a little by this question, Remus just blinked and shrugged. Malcolm went on,

"That night was the worst of his life, Remus. He's never forgotten it. It changed him. Oh, he was always inclined to take life a bit too seriously, but after that - after that, he became more serious than ever. He forgot to laugh, for a very long time. And he never stopped blaming himself for it, for having taken you out in the first place when there was a full moon out - even though no werewolf had been sighted in those parts for years - for not having been able to prevent what happened to you. If he had known that it was Greyback who bit you, and that he did it for revenge, out of a personal grudge …"

"What do you mean, '_if_ he had known'? Are you saying …"

"I'm saying I never told him. When I found out that Greyback had come forward and admitted to having bitten you, I made damn sure your dad never found out. The whole thing was bad enough for him as it was."

"So you just … lied to him."

"No. I just didn't tell him the truth," Malcolm amended with a faint smile, which faded again quickly as he said, "So if you want to blame someone for not having told you before, you'll have to blame me."

Their eyes locked for a time. Remus tried to feel some kind of anger or resentment towards the man sitting opposite him, but found it was impossible. What had his uncle done, after all, besides trying to protect his best friend? He said slowly,

"I'm sure you did what you thought was right."

Malcolm gave a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Remus."

"But I'm afraid Dad may find out anyway."

"You mean you want to tell him? I couldn't stop you, of course," his uncle said quickly. "You're the one whom this affects most. But consider what it would do to him." He shook his head. "I don't think it would be a good idea. Your mother and I agreed a long time ago that it's better for him not to know."

"Mum knows?" Remus exclaimed, startled.

Malcolm nodded guiltily. "I had to tell someone, I couldn't keep it entirely to myself all these years. But we both agreed it would be better if your dad never found out. However, if you feel we were wrong … if you want him to know … I'll help you tell him."

Remus sat in thoughtful silence for a moment, then repeated,

"He might find out anyway. Greyback is becoming active again." He told his uncle about Jeremy Crowe, and Malcolm's expression grew sombre.

"Poor little devil," he murmured. "You're right, we've got to help him if we can. Still, we may be able to do that without … ah, good morning, darling."

Remus turned his head. Bridget had just appeared in the doorway, wrapped in a blue dressing gown and looking surprised to see him in her kitchen. She came across and kissed Malcolm, then smiled tiredly at Remus.

"Good morning, Remus. This is a surpr…"

But before she got any further, a second interruption occurred. With a tap-tap-tap on the window, a large tawny owl announced its arrival. Bridget was nearest to the window and opened it to let the bird in and relieve it of the note it carried. She turned pale as she read it.

"What is it?" Remus asked.

Bridget looked up. "It's from Dumbledore. It's … Pippa …"

Malcolm took the note from her hand and read it himself. "Disappeared?" he said hollowly. "Oh my god …"

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**2 - The Woes of Josephine**

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Remus apparated in the Pettigrews' back garden with a crack. It was not the polite thing to do, but the quickest way of reaching Peter without materialising in plain view on the front doorstep. He was not the only one to choose this method of approach. Before he had so much as thought about heading for the back door, two more cracks close by announced the arrival of Lily and James.

"Hello, Remus," James said soberly. "I see you've heard."

"Yes. I was at Uncle Malcolm's when the owl arrived from Hogwarts."

"Oh," Lily exclaimed. "Did you talk about ..."

"Not now, Lily, please," Remus cut her short. "We've got to tell Peter before he finds out by owl as well."

"He won't," James assured him. "Dumbledore specifically asked us to tell him. He called by floo."

"Good. Well, shall we ..."

But before they could proceed, a fourth crack interrupted and Sirius appeared, a grim look on his face. He seemed no more surprised to see them there than they were to see him appear in their midst.

"Just got Dumbledore's letter," he said brusquely. "Rotten business ..."

"Let's get it over with," said James.

He led the way to the back door of the Pettigrews' house, Remus and Lily right behind him, Sirius hanging back a little. James knocked. The voices that had been talking inside fell silent, and after a pause they heard footsteps and then a woman's muffled voice.

"Yes? Who's there?"

James announced them all. The curtain behind the small, square window set in the back door was pushed aside a fraction and Anthea Pettigrew's face appeared briefly. Then she let the curtain fall back into place and they heard bolts being drawn back. The door opened.

"Good morning," said Peter's mother, looking at them all in some surprise.

"Good ... err ... morning, Mrs. Pettigrew," James replied, and the others added their murmured greetings. "May we come in?"

Breakfast was laid out neatly on the Pettigrews' kitchen table. Peter's father looked about to set off for work. He was just placing his dirty plate on the draining board beside the sink, holding the _Daily Prophet_ in one hand, apparently reading something as he crossed the room, though he looked up curiously when they entered. Peter himself was sitting in front of a half empty plate of eggs and bacon. One look at their faces told him something was very, very wrong.

"James?" he said quietly, focusing on James as the group's usual spokesman. "What's up?"

James exchanged glances with the others. Lily swept around the table and sat down beside Peter, placing one hand on his arm before she, too, looked up at James expectantly. He swallowed, then explained as gently as he could about Pippa, how she had helped in the fight involving giants, how she had assisted in clearing up after, how Hagrid had waited for her in vain at their arranged meeting place ... and that she had still not turned up.

There was a silence after he had said all this. Mrs. Pettigrew groped for the back rest of the chair nearest her. Remus sprang forward and pulled it out for her, and she sat. Her husband, meanwhile, seemed to have forgotten that he was still holding the newspaper in his hand. He shook his head vehemently.

"This doesn't make sense," he said, bewildered. "Why wouldn't Pippa go back to Hogwarts once she had helped sort the muggles out? If she promised to meet someone in Hogsmeade ... she's never broken a promise in her life. It's not like her."

While they were all still trying to find the best way to explain, Peter looked up at James again. He said quietly,

"She's ... gone, hasn't she?"

"No," Lily said quickly. "No, no, she hasn't. She's just ... missing."

"That's right," Sirius agreed with her hurriedly. "It's not been all that long. Everyone'll be looking for her, and ..."

"But where can she be?" Mrs. Pettigrew asked. "Where will they start looking? She didn't disappear of her own free will, she can't have done - she wouldn't, not without telling someone."

"What are you talking about?" her husband demanded, incredulous. "Not of her own free will? Anthea, you don't think ... but who'd want to ... kidnap her?"

"The Death Eaters," Peter said shakily. "I-it's them, isn't it? They got her. Lily? Sirius? James?" He looked at them all in turn, but they said nothing. "Remus?" he finished.

Remus shifted awkwardly before meeting Peter's eye. He hesitated, then said, "Sirius is right, Peter. We'll all be looking for her."

A week came and went. The Order did indeed search tirelessly for any sign of Philippa Pettigrew, but without success. There was no doubt that she had been taken by the Death Eaters, but where? Malcolm was convinced that they must have taken her to Slytherin's Rock, and suggested another rescue mission to the fortress, for which he himself volunteered. But to his surprise and dismay, Dumbledore proved to him that this plan was impossible to carry out. Not one of the people who had been to Slytherin's Rock before could remember how to get there, and the place had even vanished from Gordon's old map.

Dumbledore had guessed that this was due to new protective spells and enchantments Lord Voldemort had placed on his favourite hiding place. Nevertheless, they had continued to try and find it, exploring the coasts, questioning people - but to no avail. As day followed day without progress, the Order's hopes waned.

Peter spent a lot of time at the Potters'. Lily was particularly kind to him, and most days Remus, Sirius, his current girlfriend, Josie and the Longbottoms would be there too, all trying to express a hope they no longer felt themselves, trying to cheer him up.

At the moment, though, he was on his own, sitting at his desk in the antechamber to Mr. Mulciber's office at the Ministry of Magic, staring unseeingly out of the 'window' behind his desk, oblivious to the scene of sunlight sparkling on pure white snow that Magical Maintenance was providing this week. All he could see was his sister's face, and all he could think of was that he might never see her again. And then what? What was to become of him if he lost Pippa, the sister who had always been on his side, no matter what? The only one who had always had faith in him, who had always loved him unconditionally - perhaps more than their mother had.

He gulped heavily. Without Pippa, who would protect him? His friends had themselves to think about, their own families. What about him? He gulped again. A world without Pippa seemed a horrible, terrifying prospect to face.

Just when he had reached that conclusion, the inner door opened and Mulciber's head looked out at him. Peter jumped. There was no way he could pretend to have been working when his back was turned to his desk.

"M-Mr. Mulciber," he stammered. "Sir, I - I …"

But to his surprise, Mulciber smiled. It was not a particularly friendly or encouraging smile, but it was, undeniably, a smile. The man stepped out of his office and faced Peter across his desk.

"Pettigrew, I can readily appreciate your distraction at what must, no doubt, be a difficult time for you …"

"I - err …"

The man swept on, "I do not, I'm afraid, have the pleasure of knowing your sister personally. But I think, perhaps, I can offer you something to take your mind off these worries for a while. If you will please fetch your cloak - we have a little excursion to make."

With that, he returned to his own office to fetch his cloak.

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"Jo, what's the matter?" Sirius asked.

They had been for a ride on his motorbike again, travelling along the coast, automatically keeping their eyes open as they went for any sign of unusual activity that might point to a hideout of Death Eaters. Now the bike rested by a frozen lake on which Sirius was skating, having magically added blades to his shoes to turn them into skates, waiting for Josie to join him on the ice. But she, lost in thought, was standing by the side of the lake with her own, muggle ice skates in her hand. His words startled her out of a day dream.

"What? Oh ... I'm sorry, Sirius. I suppose I'm just not feeling the ticket."

Sirius skated to the edge of the lake and stopped close by her.

"You're not feeling ill again?" he asked, concerned.

"No, I'm not ill. I … don't know how to start explaining."

"You don't usually have trouble finding words."

"No, but … this situation … isn't exactly usual."

Sirius studied her face intently, the multi-coloured eyes under the heavily made-up eyelids … without meaning to, he found himself reaching for her hand and squeezing it. She grinned suddenly.

"It's a good job I know you're in love with Kitty at the moment, or I might think you were making advances."

"Kitty?" He frowned. "Which one was Kitty?"

"The one you dragged along to James and Lily's at New Year's Eve."

"Oh, that one. Skinny girl, absolutely no brains."

"People have said that about me."

"That's not very nice of them. It's not true, either. You're not daft, and you're not that skinny, either. In fact, now I come to think of it, you've put on weight."

"Yes," Josie said darkly.

"Anyway, I dumped Kitty, so never mind her. Actually, I'm pretty much a free agent today, no one waiting for me. Pity you insisted we should be just friends," he teased.

Josie withdrew her hand from his at this point and walked a few paces. Suddenly she came back quickly and threw her arms around his neck so vehemently that he almost lost his balance. Once he had found it again, he began to realise what a bizarre situation he was in, standing on a frozen lake, supporting a girl whose ice skates were thumping against his back while she clung tightly to him, sobbing into his shoulder.

"Err - Jo …" he croaked confusedly, half strangled by her arms. He tried patting her back. "Jo, what on earth …?"

"I need 'just a friend' right now, Sirius," she said between sobs. "I need someone I can tell everything to, someone who can be there for me, letters just aren't enough any more."

Ignoring the part about the letters, which made no sense to him at all, Sirius said, "Well, I'm not going anywhere. So if I'll do …"

She let go of him and stood back, unsteady on the slippery ice. He took hold of her elbow to steady her.

"Can I tell you - anything?" she asked.

"Of course."

"You won't judge me or - or think badly of me?"

"No!" he protested.

"All right then," she said. "Let's go back to your place and … I'll tell you what's the matter with me."

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When Josie had told him what was on her mind, Sirius was nothing short of stunned. It must have shown in his face, for she pulled away from him and said she had known this was a mistake, that she should never have confided in him. But he found that what he had promised by the frozen lake was true, and he told her so. He did not think badly of her. For some reason, he found he simply couldn't. He couldn't tell why. He also had no idea why he was now sitting with his arm around the girl on his sofa, stroking her strawberry-blonde hair and promising he'd think of something, that he'd help her and everything would be all right. Or why it pained him so to think that it would almost certainly not be all right.

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**3 - Weakness**

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As soon as they rounded a corner and came out in a small, isolated cove, Peter's misgivings that had been growing on him since he had first set out from the Ministry of Magic with Mr. Mulciber were justified. A tall figure in a black hooded cloak, wearing a mask that covered all but his eyes and mouth, was waiting for them there.

"Mulciber," a man's voice greeted the official from the Ministry. "You are five minutes late."

"I had to wait for the right moment, the Dark Lord wished me to be discreet and bring him along without a fuss."

In his heart, Peter would later come to realise that this was just the moment when he ought to have started 'making a fuss'. Had he been James, Sirius or Remus, he would have drawn his wand on the spot and attempted to make good his escape, even knowing that fighting these two men could hardly yield a positive outcome, that it might even mean death. But he was not his friends. He was Peter Pettigrew, alone on a beach with two men he now had no doubt were Death Eaters, deeply shaken by the disappearance of his sister and afraid of what lay in store for him, rooted to the spot by panic.

The two men exchanged a few more words, then the masked man stepped closer to Peter. His cold eyes looked down on Peter for a moment, then he raised one hand and removed his mask, revealing a face that was at once totally strange to him and eerily familiar.

"You are Peter Pettigrew?" he questioned.

Peter nodded, finding his voice had deserted him.

"I am Vindictus Lothian," said James's father. Then, to Peter's fright, he leaned in closer and whispered, "The Dark Lord's fortress lies on Slytherin's Rock."

The man straightened up again and Peter stared at him in bewilderment.

"Focus on what you have been told," said Mulciber beside him.

It was hard to focus on anything when your knees kept knocking against each other and two men you realised would as soon murder you as look at you were keeping a close watch. But they did nothing for a full minute and a half, while Peter forced himself to repeat what Lothian had said to him over and over in his head.

And then he saw it. Out of the mists beyond the cold, dark waters an island seemed to materialise, and on it loomed the silhouette of a vast, forbidding fortress. Peter gulped and blinked, but the vision did not disappear. Mulciber and Lothian exchanged glances, then the latter drew his wand, and Peter shrank back. But the man merely pointed his wand behind him and a boat that had apparently been invisible before appeared at the water's edge.

"Come with me, Pettigrew," the tall man said.

Peter looked anxiously across at the island, then at the boat, then at Lothian.

"I … I … no …" he stammered.

The two men laughed harshly, and Lothian pointed his wand at Peter.

"Get in the boat, Pettigrew," he said less mildly than before.

Peter obeyed. He felt despair seeping through his veins as he sat in the boat with the man who was James's father, the black fortress slipping ever nearer. Once he thought of asking a question, demanding to know why he was being taken there, but by now Lothian's expression had become so forbidding that the words died on the way to his lips, and Peter merely shivered and began to wish he had transformed into a rat on the beach and tried to scuttle away.

The boat pulled ashore and Peter got out, his legs now feeling so much like jelly that he marvelled at the fact that they still supported him. Lothian led him up to the great doors and knocked. They were let in by none other than Paula Lestrange. With an amused smile and a falsely honeyed voice she said,

"Why, Peter, my little brother. Welcome to Slytherin's Rock. Do come in ..."

He reluctantly made to step inside, past her, but she held out her hand to him. For a wild moment, he thought she actually wished to shake hands with him. But then she said,

"Your wand, Peter. You won't be needing it in here. At least - not for a while."

The thought of attempting to escape now flashed across his mind for a second. She had asked him to draw his wand, what if he did so quickly and hexed her? But the poke of a hard, narrow point at his back told him that Lothian was prepared for that eventuality. He took his wand out of the inside pocket of his winter cloak and handed it to his sister. She took it, then stood aside to let him pass.

The sound of the door closing behind him seemed to Peter like the clanging of the gates of hell. Not that he had held much hope of escape before, but now he had next to none. He looked around him, and as he did so, he recalled Pippa's description of this place, from the time when she and other members of the Order had come here to rescue Malcolm. But even the thought of that rescue did not yield hope, for he already knew the Order could no longer find the island.

For a minute or two, Paula and Lothian watched him as he took in his surroundings. Then she said,

"When you have finished admiring the décor, Vindictus here will show you to your ... accommodation."

Peter's frightened, watery blue eyes snapped to the hard, heavy-lidded eyes of his sister.

"W-why am I here?" he asked with a stammer. "What - what do you want?"

His sister pursed up her lips. "We want what I hardly think you will feel willing to give as yet. But I will tell you, just so you can start considering your options. We want your cooperation, Peter. We want your help. We want you to supply us with information."

"I-information?" he struggled in vain to make his voice sound puzzled and innocent. "About what?"

"About the Order of the Phoenix, of course."

Peter gasped, and she laughed.

"Yes, we know all about Dumbledore's band of 'heroes'. Or rather: We do not know _all_ about them. But we intend to. With your help."

Staring at her, both shocked and confused, Peter shook his head.

"No? I thought you'd say that. In fact, you could even say I hoped you would," Paula said, again using that honeyed voice. "Vindictus," she added, "I think my brother is ready to be taken to his accommodation now."

When Peter hesitated, Lothian's hand closed around his arm, and he was briskly guided down a flight of steps that led off the entrance hall. He remembered Pippa mentioning these steps too, and recalled where they led with a renewed shock.

"No. No, wait!" he cried.

Lothian paused. "You've changed your mind already?" he asked mildly.

Peter gazed up at him, swallowed, and shook his head. "N-no."

"Then, please ... proceed," said Lothian, pointing ahead, down the stairs.

They reached the bottom all too quickly, a gloomy passageway with only very little light, which entered through a small window protected by bars that looked much shinier and newer than the cell doors nearby, as though they had been added more recently. Lothian guided Peter a little way down the passage to their right, to a small stone chamber with a barred door, most of which was shrouded in darkness. As the Death Eater unlocked the door with a wave of his wand and Peter flinched, he thought he could hear a faint gasp coming from within the cell.

"In you go," said Lothian, applying a little pressure to Peter's back with the tip of his wand again.

If the closing of the front door had filled Peter with a sense of hopelessness, it was nothing to what he felt when the cell door closed behind him. He watched Lothian re-lock it and stride away, heard him go back upstairs. He knew it was pointless before he'd tried, but he closed his hands around two of the bars in the cell door and shook them. And then he most definitely heard something, a kind of muffled cry coming from a corner of the cell. Peter turned and stared into the darkness. His eyes took a moment to adjust, then he was able to make out something in the shadows, something that seemed shapeless and ... trembling? He moved across the short distance that separated him from the shape timidly, and crouched down, reaching out a hand to touch what he could now tell was the shoulder of a figure lying with its back to him.

Immediately, the figure on the ground emitted a shriek of terror, pushed his hand away, rolled over and scurried backwards. Peter's eyes widened, as did those of the person who stared back at him, eyes very much like his own.

"P-Peter?" she stammered, though her voice was so quiet and weak that he could hardly hear it, and wondered if it was really her speaking, it sounded so unlike her. "I-is it really you?"

Peter tried to answer, to tell her that indeed, it really was him, but he found his voice uncooperative. He continued to stare at Pippa, and with every second that he did so his fear grew. From what he could tell in the little light they had, her hair was grubby and tangled. Her face looked an eerie greenish grey, there were cuts on her cheeks and a large bruise just under her right eye. Her robes were cut and torn in several places, and there were bandages on the shaking hands that she now stretched out towards him. Peter took her hands gingerly and gave in to the faint pressure that pulled him towards her. Holding her against him, it felt like she was made of nothing but flesh and bone. And to his horror, she began to cry bitterly, half screaming as she did so, clinging to him with all the strength she had left, which did not seem to be much.

"Thank god," she whispered when, at last, she seemed able to form words again. "Thank god you're here. I couldn't ... I couldn't have taken ... any more ..."

"Pippa," he answered in a choked voice. "Pippa, I didn't exactly _come _here. I - I was brought here. By Mr. Mulciber and Ja... Lothian," he finished, reminding himself just in time not to mention James's association with the man.

For a moment, Pippa went very still. Even her trembling seemed to stop, as did her breathing. Alarmed, Peter gave her a tiny shake.

"Y-you ... they got you, too?" Pippa said weakly.

"Yes."

Pippa gave a cry. She released Peter and turned away from him before bursting into a renewed fit of sobs, very different from the first. As he sat on the cold and dirty floor, watching her, hearing her howl and weep with unmistakable, utter hopelessness and misery, Peter felt a mix of emotions, some of which he tried vainly to suppress. He told himself that this was his sister, the sister he loved, and who had loved him since childhood, who had been his closest friend and his protector ... and that was where he stumbled. He looked at her now, and he felt every last shred of courage drain from him. If these people could weaken Pippa like this, Pippa who had always been so brave and strong ... what could they do to him? The sight of her filled him with despair, and with an urge to scream at her to pull herself together, to tell her that he needed her to help him, to tell him what to do ... an urge that remained unspoken, because he felt guilty and ungrateful for even thinking it. But she couldn't let him down now, not when he needed her most ... could she?

"Pippa ... w-what did they ... do to you?" he asked haltingly, secretly wishing that he would never know the answer.

Unknowingly, his sister granted that wish.

"Too much," she said, her sobs dying down slowly. "More than I thought they could ... would ... More than I could take."

Peter frowned, thinking. Then he said,

"You ... told them about the Order, didn't you? The Order of the Phoenix. Polly knew about it."

Pippa's head jerked round, her wide eyes stared at him. "I told them the name," she cried in an unnaturally high, almost hysterical tone. "Just the name. That's all. I wouldn't tell them more." Her eyes closed suddenly, and she began to shake her head feverishly, muttering under her breath. "No more, no more. I won't say any more. No. No. Noooo!"

"Pippa!"

He grabbed her by the arms and shook her. Pippa's eyes opened wide once more and stared at him wildly for a moment. Then she relaxed under his grip and he let her go. Pippa lowered her head and shivered.

"It's cold," she said tonelessly.

Peter remembered his cloak and removed it quickly, wrapping it around her shoulders instead. At one time, he realised with a pang, she would have refused to have it to herself, she would sooner have shivered to death than let him give up his cloak for her, but now she just pulled it around her tightly and rested her head on his shoulder, trembling and muttering incoherently from time to time. They sat like that for quite a while. Then Peter asked timidly,

"Pippa ... what do you think they'll do to me?"

He felt her raise her head, felt her eyes on his face, but stared at the opposite wall, not wishing to see her face when she told him.

"I don't know," she said sorrowfully. "But probably ... the same as they did to me." He stiffened, but showed no other reaction. Suddenly Pippa took his face between her hands and made him look at her. "You'll have to be strong, Peter. You can't give them what they want. If you do, you'll be condemning the others to death. You've got to remember that, Peter. Always remember that every word you tell them could mean the death of a friend. Remember your love for them, Peter. Remember their love for you. Then you won't give in. Whatever they do to you, they can't touch you if you remember that."

"Did you remember that?" he asked her.

She nodded. Unkindly, scolding himself inwardly even as he said it, Peter remarked,

"It doesn't look like it helped much."

Pippa shrank back from him a little way, the cloak slipping off her shoulders. She clutched it to her and stared at him.

"It helped, Peter," she said sadly. "It helped knowing that the pain I suffered was not in vain. That with every measure of it that I was being dealt without breaking, I was protecting the people I cared about - protecting you. They tortured me, Peter. They tortured me, but I thought of you, I reminded myself that I could not give in, for your sake, and I didn't. I suffered gladly for you. I thought ... I thought you'd appreciate that."

"I do!" he cried, seeing the disappointment now creeping into her eyes, increasing her anguish. "I do, Pippa, honest I do, it's just ... you've looked after me. You've always looked after me, but now ... now you can't, can you? You can't, but I'm scared, more scared than I've ever been before in my life, and you might talk about suffering gladly, it might be all very well for you, but I'm not as strong as you are," he confessed desperately. "I'll never be able to stand it."

Pippa looked into his eyes, her own filling with tears, and sighed.

"Perhaps," she said, "I looked after you too much."

"Pippa ..."

He reached for her, but she pulled away. Using the stone wall for support, she pushed herself gingerly up onto her feet. Peter watched her. It was clear that she could barely stand, but she placed one foot cautiously in front of the other and made it to the door, to which she clung with both hands, breathing heavily. She rested her head against the bars and took long, deep breaths. Finally she said,

"If you feel you can't be strong, that you can't bear the torture - there's only one other way out."

"Another way? What way?" he asked hopefully.

She turned round, still holding onto the bars to keep on her feet. "You'll have to become a Death Eater."

Peter stared up at her blankly.

"What?"

Pippa said tiredly and without emotion, "Put up with as much of their torture as you can. Make a show of resisting them. Then ... appear to fall in with their wishes. They'll probably ask some test of you, to prove your loyalty. Whatever it is, you mustn't refuse. Go through with it until they let you leave this godforsaken island. Then go straight to D... Dumbledore," she finished haltingly and dejectedly, as though speaking the name reminded her of her lost hope.

He looked down again, trying to think it through, so far as his terrified mind would let him. It might work. Yes, if he could convince them that they had frightened him into joining them, before it actually got to that point ... it might work. But there was a stumbling block.

"What do you think they'd ask me to do?"

"Something bad," said Pippa. "Something you definitely won't want to do. And probably something that can be done here, because they won't want to give you a chance to get away before you do it." She added more softly, "You can't refuse it. Whatever it is, Peter. If you want to make them believe you've turned, when really you haven't, the only way will be by doing whatever they ask you to."

"And if I don't?"

Apparently unable to stand any longer, Pippa slid back to the ground. "If you don't, they'll do to you what they did to me. And then ... they'll kill you."

She hugged the cloak closer around her again, and ignoring the fact that Peter was looking straight at her once more, closed her eyes and went back to shivering and murmuring quietly under her breath.

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**4 - Beyond the Limit**

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Alice Longbottom sat in the Potters' living room, watching Lily over the top of a mug of tea. She said quietly,

"Are you feeling any better yet?"

Lily looked up from the magazine she had been flicking through with a start, as though she had forgotten she was not alone.

"Sorry?" she responded distractedly.

"I came here to look after you because you weren't feeling well, according to James," Alice reminded her. "And because Frank was only too glad to go off without me."

"He just wants to keep you safe," Lily said. "He doesn't want you in the line of fire, especially not now."

"I know," Alice said, smiling faintly. She set her mug down and sat forward a little in her seat. "But how are you feeling now?"

Lily shrugged her shoulders. "I feel fine. A bit peckish, but I get that a lot lately."

"Yes, I had noticed. You've been a bit prone to mood swings, too."

"Yes, I suppose I have." She looked back down at the magazine, but her old school friend was not about to give up pressing the point.

"Lily, darling," she said gently, "Isn't it time you told James?"

Lily looked up, the innocence displayed in her face not quite convincing.

"Told him what?"

"You know very well what, you minx," said Alice, grinning now.

Suddenly putting the magazine aside, Lily smiled back. "I will tell him," she said. "Soon. But at the moment ... with Pippa vanishing ... it just wasn't the right time."

"I know," Alice agreed, turning serious. "But you don't want to wait too long, Lily. I didn't want to tell Frank too soon, and then I almost didn't get the chance. We can't afford to waste time these days, dear. We don't know how much of it we have."

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Meanwhile, on Slytherin's Rock, Peter felt that his time was running out. He had spent a long time in the cell with Pippa, watching her as she sat huddled after that brief bout of calm and sense she had displayed, reverted to the state of pitiful despair he had found her in to begin with. And then they had come for him. Pippa had retreated panic-stricken into her corner when Paula, Lothian, and another Death Eater they referred to as Rabastan had entered the cell, turning her face to the wall as though she hoped they wouldn't notice she was there. Indeed, she might not have been for the amount of attention they gave her.

Peter had been led from the cell and back upstairs, though the entrance hall and up another flight of stairs to a small chamber devoid of furniture. There Lothian had left him with the other two, and the part he had dreaded had begun. At first, Peter had tried to remember Pippa's first piece of advice, telling himself that all this had a reason, that every blow and curse they struck him with was one that, by striking him, failed to strike the people he cared about. But it was not long before he could barely remember these thoughts he was trying to cling to, much less convince himself to believe they would help in any way.

He quickly decided that Pippa's second suggestion was by far the more feasible. When he had endured enough, he would feign submission, he would claim to have changed his allegiance, pass whatever test they set him, and then be allowed to go home. He knew, even as he did it, that he was giving up too soon, that he could have, and should have put up with more before beginning his pleading, before promising that he would do anything they wanted ...

"Anything?" Paula queried, sounding doubtful. "Really? Then, if I told you to go home, but come back tomorrow and bring me one of your friends - what were their names again? Sirius? Remus? James? - you would do so? If I said I needed to set a trap for them ... you would help me?"

Peter stared at her in horror. "N-no, you ... you w-wouldn't!"

"Oh, you can bet your pathetic life on it that _I _would. The question is: would _you_? Would you give them to me to save your hide?"

"No!" cried Peter, appalled at the idea of such a cowardly suggestion, and all the more vehement because he was uncertain of his own truthfulness in making that answer, ashamed of his fear.

Paula nodded, a satisfied smile on her lips. "In that case," she said, "I rather think our business here is as yet unfinished, Rabastan. My brother has taken what he is prepared to take. Now let's see how he fares when the way of escape he seems to have thought he'd found is barred."

A long time after Peter had started screaming for mercy in earnest, the pain stopped. He lay on the ground, whimpering, reminding himself of Pippa in her cell downstairs, although he knew that she must have gone through far more than he had, or ever could. He swore that he would give them anything they wanted, if only they would stop hurting him. Paula studied him sceptically for a moment, then she said,

"Rabastan - I think it is time you went and told the Dark Lord that we are ready."

In the presence of Lord Voldemort himself, Peter felt too afraid to even draw a breath. The Dark Lord towered over him and studied him with his glowing eyes, which seemed to penetrate his very soul. After a couple of minutes, Voldemort declared himself content that Peter had indeed been turned.

"Give him back his wand," he said to Paula. "Rabastan will return any moment, he must be ready for his test."

Peter took his wand back gingerly. His hands shook so badly that he could barely manage to hold it. The thought of attempting to use it against the two people who were in the room with him never even entered his head, all thoughts of attempting escape were gone, now that he knew precisely what would happen to him if such an attempt should fail.

The door opened and Rabastan returned. He was leading Pippa. She was shaking like a leaf, and in the brighter light of this chamber, which was illuminated by torches now that the sun was beginning to darken outside, she looked even worse than Peter had thought in the gloom of the cell below. The light seemed to hurt her after the darkness she had grown accustomed to, and at first she blinked so wildly that it was apparent she could hardly make out what she was seeing. Then she caught sight of Voldemort, and shrank back with a small cry, but Rabastan dragged her all the way into the room and closed the door, then stood there barring it. Pippa turned on the spot like a trapped animal.

"Why, Miss Pettigrew," said Voldemort in a coldly mocking voice. "You do not seem to value our hospitality very highly. It is as well then, I suppose, that you will not be required to honour us with your presence much longer."

At this point, Pippa stopped turning. She looked up at Voldemort, and at first Peter could see that her eyes were full of terror. But then, strangely enough, the fear seemed to fade, and her whole expression and demeanour became much calmer. She looked - there was no other way Peter could describe it to himself - utterly defeated, but no longer frightened of the man she was facing. He could not understand it at all. He did not realise yet, as Pippa had, what was about to happen.

"You don't need me any more?" she asked calmly.

"No."

"Then ... there will be no more torture."

"No."

Pippa closed her eyes for a few seconds, her features relaxing. Then she opened her eyes again and turned her head quickly to Peter. He could see that she was looking for confirmation from him that her plan had worked, that he was in control, fooling these people ... he dropped his gaze, but still noticed how she stiffened.

"Peter, it is time for your test," said Voldemort, and Peter looked up, startled.

"W-what test?" he asked.

Voldemort did not answer, but looked at Pippa. Pippa looked from Voldemort to Peter again, returning the uncomprehending look he gave her. She spoke again, with a tremor in her weak voice, but tenderly,

"They want you to kill me, Peter."

He gaped at her. How could she say this to him, so calmly? How could she stand facing him like that, full of acceptance for what was about to happen? He glanced at Voldemort, hoping against hope that he would not confirm her surmise, but Voldemort nodded.

"She is right," he said. "We expect you to kill her."

Peter looked at Pippa again. She looked frail, as though a breath of air would knock her down. And yet he knew that still, whatever had happened to her, however much more she had endured than he had found himself capable of, still she was stronger than he was in spirit, if not in body. She removed his cloak slowly and came a step nearer, holding it out to him.

"You'd better take this back," she said. "I won't be needing it any more."

His arms felt too numb to reach for the cloak. Her expression made him feel colder than he had ever felt before. Her eyes were faded, but still betrayed her emotions - love, pity, hopelessness and sorrow, all rolled into that unblinking stare. She dropped the cloak. Peter raised his wand arm slowly. He knew he must do it, and not appear to hesitate, or he would not escape the fate that frightened him so. But a knot formed in his throat and he was unable to utter a single word, much less a curse that would kill his sister.

Pippa recognised the appeal for help in his eyes. He was trapped, he couldn't go back - or rather, he daren't - and he couldn't go forward, couldn't do what was asked of him, what he had to do in order to save himself. And then, suddenly, it was all out of his hands, quite literally. With an effort that cost her the last of her bodily strength, Pippa sprang at him and wrestled his wand out of his hand. Peter was so startled that he automatically tried to throw her off, but she managed to hold him close enough just long enough to whisper in his ear,

"Remember to love, Peter. It's never too late."

Then she pulled away from him and brought his wand to bear on their sister.

"_Reducto!_"

Paula blocked the curse just in time. In the same instant, Voldemort drew his wand.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

A bright green light flashed out from the tip of his wand, and in an instant Peter's fell to the floor with a clatter. Pippa crumpled on the spot, falling beside Peter's cloak. Peter suppressed the scream that threatened to burst out of him. They all looked down at the body for a moment, then Voldemort grabbed Peter's wrist roughly, tore open his shirt sleeve and pointed his wand at the bare skin beneath it.

"You have escaped your test for now, Peter Pettigrew, but you won't escape your vow. Swear to me that you will serve me, that you will obey my every word and strive to bring ruin on my enemies. Swear it now, or share your sister's fate!"

Peter dropped to his knees miserably. He glanced at Pippa and struggled to find his voice.

"I - I swear it," he said tremulously.

"_Morsmordre_."

With a scream of pain, Peter tried to pull his hand away from Voldemort, but the Dark Lord's grip was strong. From the tip of his wand, black lines spread across Peter's skin, forming a design that he had learned to recognise with dread. When the Dark Mark was complete, Voldemort removed his wand and released Peter's hand, which he cradled with his other arm quickly, waiting for the searing pain to subside. Voldemort swept out of the room without another word, followed by Rabastan. There was a pause, then Paula came a step closer. She nudged Pippa's body with the tip of her shoe.

"Get away from her!" Peter cried, jumping to his feet.

"Or what?" his sister sneered. "Going to try and hex me, like she did? You'd have as much success." She added thoughtfully, "You could never have killed her, could you?"

Peter shook his head slowly.

"I could," said his sister. "Willingly. I came close once. I had hoped that, in the end ... But there. It's done. She's gone. You can't hide behind her any more."

He took a step towards the body, one hand outstretched, but Paula held him back. "Not now. Within these walls, she is nothing more than an enemy to the master we serve - or rather, the corpse of an enemy. If you must mourn her, you can do so when her death becomes official, and all your 'friends' gather round to offer their condolences and sympathise over what a shock her death must be to you. Save your tears for then. It's getting late, and you must be home at the usual hour, or people will become suspicious. Lothian will take you back ashore, where Mulciber will be waiting for you. I will see you again tomorrow, when you will tell us all about the Order of the Phoenix. Now ..." She held out a hand and indicated the door, which had been left open. "After you, Peter. Who would have thought that you, of all people, would end up a Death Eater? Don't forget your cloak."

She chuckled all the way down the stairs behind him.

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**5 - The Dark Mark**

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Three days later, Heather Woodcock was slowly making her way back to the Ravenclaw dormitory for the night, reading a letter as she went along, when someone called her name from behind. She stopped and waited for Barty Crouch to catch up with her.

"What's that you've got there? Is it from Fabian?" he teased.

She made an assenting sound and folded the letter, sticking it in her pocket. Then she continued briskly on her way. Barty glanced out of a window before hurrying to keep up with her.

"It's a rotten cold night," he remarked. "And it looks like it's going to snow some more."

"Do you think so?" Heather replied without interest.

"Haven't you looked at the sky today?"

Heather shook her head, and as he had planned, cast a disinterested glance past him. Her lack of interest was quickly replaced by shock as she gasped and pointed past him out the window.

"Oh my god, Barty - look!"

He turned his head and feigned shock and surprise himself. "Is that within the grounds or outside, do you think?"

"I don't know," Heather whispered. "But I'm going to find a teacher."

She ran off, back along the way she had come, and moments later was banging for all she was worth on the door of the deputy headmistress's office.

"Professor McGonagall!" she called through the door. "Professor ..."

The door opened with a jerk and McGonagall peered at the girl through her square spectacles in surprise.

"Miss Woodcock, what in Merlin's name ..."

"The Dark Mark," Heather panted. "It's the Dark Mark."

"What? Where?" the professor asked, startled.

"Out there!"

Heather waved her hand in the general direction of the main gates of the school. McGonagall drew her wand and guided Heather into her office.

"Stay here until I come back," she commanded, then she hurried off.

She encountered the caretaker on her way along the corridor, and said sharply,

"Mr. Filch, I have just been told that the Dark Mark has been sighted outside. Inform the headmaster, will you?"

"Yes, professor," Filch said, blinking.

McGonagall swept on, passing clusters of students on the way who seemed to have seen what Heather had seen through various windows. She told them all to stay safely within the castle walls before she stepped out through the main gates, then froze. It was one thing to hear about the Dark Mark having been spotted so close to home, but quite another to see it glowing high up in the sky, just over the statues of the winged boars, close to where Dumbledore's fireworks had sparkled a few nights earlier.

"It's true then?" a squeaky voice beside her said. "When I heard, I hoped it was some kind of a hoax, though in very bad taste."

"Come with me, Filius," she replied to the little wizard, and the two teachers set out across the grounds.

Hagrid was striding towards the same point as they were, carrying a very large crossbow, and they reached the gates at almost exactly the same time.

"Evenin', professors," Hagrid said gravely.

"Good evening, Ha..."

The rest of McGonagall's words died in her mouth and her hands flew up to cover it as she caught sight of what the Dark Mark was shining down on.

"Oh no," said Flitwick weakly.

Hagrid, frowning, looked round the corner so he could see what they were seeing, and almost dropped his crossbow.

"But ..." he began haltingly. "That ... is that ..."

"It's Philippa," McGonagall breathed by way of confirmation.

Then Dumbledore joined them. He looked grieved, but did not seem surprised when he opened the gates and passed out through them, crouching beside the body and touching a pale cheek. He withdrew his hand rather quickly.

"She has been dead for some time," he said, his voice betraying the tiniest hint of a tremor.

He straightened up again and came back to stand with the others.

"Filius," he said after a moment's silence, "When I came out, a number of students were displaying a certain amount of curiosity. Will you please go and make sure they stay inside the castle, as they were told to do?"

"Shall I send them to their dormitories, headmaster?"

"Yes ... no. I doubt they will get much sleep after having seen the Dark Mark, not while they don't know the reason, they will be up discussing rumours all night. Have them assemble in the Great Hall, if you will. I will be there shortly."

"Yes, headmaster," squeaked Flitwick, and departed.

Dumbledore looked up at Hagrid, whose expression was painfully stunned.

"Hagrid," he said gently, "Will you be good enough to remove the body to your cabin for the time being? We cannot leave her here, and I think it unwise to carry her up to her own chambers while the students are still up and about."

"Yes, sir," Hagrid said with a heavy sniff.

He slung his crossbow over his back and stepped outside to lift the body off the ground, a tiny parcel in his huge arms. Dumbledore watched him go, then turned towards McGonagall. She lowered her hands at last.

"Albus, I ... I ..."

He patted her shoulder.

"When I last saw her, she ... she had been joining in a snowball fight with some of the students. She was so young, Albus ..."

He nodded. "Yes," he said quietly and sadly. "I also was fond of Philippa. We all were."

They looked back up at the sky, and the Dark Mark leered back at them.

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"Lily!" James called cheerfully from the living room. "Come on, love, we're waiting for you!"

"I'm coming!" she called back.

She placed five glasses on a tray and pointed her wand at it. With a swish and a flick, she levitated it off the counter and let it float towards the door, just as James was about to enter. He caught the tray out of the air with both hands.

"Lily, what's keeping you?"

"I was just getting drinks," she said, putting her wand down and indicating the tray.

James looked at the five filled glasses that stood on it. He raised an eyebrow quizzically.

"Lily ... these glasses ... is that champagne?"

"Very good. Almost full marks. But not quite. Only four of those glasses contain champagne. The fifth contains orange juice."

"Yes, yes, I can see that, but isn't that a bit extravagant?"

"Are you saying we can't afford orange juice?"

"Lily ..." he said reproachfully.

She retorted, "Work it out, sweetheart. I have poured out champagne. For what reason does one usually pour out champagne?"

"To celebrate, I suppose."

"Quite. But one glass contains orange juice. What does that tell you?"

He shrugged. "That you think Sirius has had enough to drink already?"

Lily sighed, and coming closer she said, "Come on, James. You're not usually this slow on the uptake. Who else can you think of who's been refusing champagne, wine and other such delicious beverages lately?"

He frowned, then suddenly it dawned on him and his eyes widened.

"Alice? Because she's ... Lily, are you telling me ... you don't mean ... you're not ..."

"You bet I am!"

Lily put out a hand quickly to stop him dropping the entire tray, and leaned across it to kiss him. Just then Sirius appeared behind James.

"Hello, what's all this? Oh, drinks, great. But I really think you should bring the bottle, then you can get me nicely befuddled, and you might actually stand a chance at Exploding Snap."

James laughed and carried the tray into the living room with a new spring in his step. Peter and Remus made room for it on the coffee table. Setting the drinks down, James at once took the opportunity to kiss Lily properly, and so extensively that Sirius said,

"Do you think you could save that for after we've gone? Or you might try telling us what sparked this sudden turtle dove demonstration?"

He looked to Peter and Remus for support. Peter just shrugged, but Remus looked from James and Lily to the tray of glasses, and a smile began to tug at the corners of his mouth.

"I suspect, Sirius, that congratulations are in order," he said, getting to his feet.

Lily nodded, and he kissed her on the cheek and patted James on the back. Sirius looked at the tray again too, and finally fell in. He beamed.

"That's brilliant! Come here, you!"

And he pulled Lily into a bear-like hug, so that she gasped before she got her breath back and began laughing, and then he embraced James too.

"Err ..." said Peter.

They all looked round at him, knowing he was too distracted at the moment by worry over his missing sister to take hints. Lily smiled.

"I'm pregnant, Peter."

"Oh!" he exclaimed. "Oh, well, I ... congratulations!"

Lily sat down beside him on the sofa and hugged him. Then Sirius handed round the glasses.

"Champagne, champagne, champagne, champagne, and orange juice for you, madam." He cleared his throat and raised his glass a little higher, "To Mr. and Mrs. Prongs, and to Miss or Master Prongs. May the baby inherit its mother's looks, and its father's good sense, mild temper and uprightfulness, if that's even a word. Bottoms!"

Laughing, they all took a sip. Then James, Remus and Sirius sat down, and an enjoyable game of Exploding Snap ensued that lasted for about half an hour. Then they were interrupted by an owl rapping on the window.

"I'll get it," said James, and the mood after he had done so could not have been more different.

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Peter Pettigrew knew that, for as long as he lived, he would never forget the moment James Potter had announced his sister's death, reading it from the note brought by that owl. News of life, and news of death, had followed so quickly on top of each other that he had been shocked, despite the fact that he had already known his sister had been killed. And then a second shock had assailed him, one that he had failed to prepare for though he should have known the situation would come.

His friends had flocked round him in sympathy, each showing their sorrow on his behalf in their own ways. Lily had hugged him again, more tightly than before, and not letting go this time, her own voice choked as she told him how sorry she was, and that she knew how awful this must be for him. James had dropped the owl's note on the table and sat down on Peter's other side, placing a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. Remus had said quietly that he was very sorry, and sent Sirius, to whom displays of sympathy did not come easily, but were a source of a certain awkwardness, to do something practical - in this case, to fetch a stiff drink that would do their friend better in his grief than champagne.

It had been horrible. They had all known that the hope they were holding out for Pippa's safe return had been a weak one, but they had held it nonetheless, and they had all believed that Peter had held it most desperately. He could not admit to them that the news of her death was no news at all. But he was able to give them the reaction they expected all the same, to release the tears that he had been holding back for the past couple of days.

And now, back in his own home, Peter had locked himself in the bathroom and was staring in the mirror at his puffy face and his red eyes, finding it hard to believe that any of this was real. It couldn't be real, it couldn't have happened. Polly a fanatical supporter of the Dark Lord, and a murderess too, most likely; Pippa killed in front of him; his friends being as kind as they could be, feeling for him, while Peter himself felt only revulsion.

_It's not too late_, a nervously hopeful voice whispered in his brain. _You can still turn back. Honour her wish. Tell the others what you've done. Say they forced you, admit that you were scared, they'd forgive you._

But would they? Peter staggered away from the mirror and dropped shakily onto the edge of the bath. Would they forgive him? Could they? Could he forgive himself?

_I had to do it. They would have killed me._

That was true enough. But it had hardly been the good, the noble, the _Gryffindor _thing to do, giving in to them. And in any case, even if he could make the others understand that he had been forced into promising to serve the Dark Lord, that it had been the only way to ensure his safe return ... how was he to explain the fact that he had gone back? That he had let his fear keep a hold on him after he was safely back at home, away from the Dark Lord's reach, to the extent that he had returned reluctantly, but without further threats or pressure, to Slytherin's Rock, that he had given the Death Eaters a list of names, the names of his friends and allies within the Order? That he had expressed fear of being discovered by the people who called him their friend, and that he had been relieved when they had told him not to worry, that they could easily cast suspicion in another quarter to cover him. He couldn't tell them that, could he?

Peter felt fresh tears welling up. With a trembling hand, he rolled up his sleeve, inwardly praying that all this was as unreal as it felt, just a bad dream that would be over by morning, a horrible memory that would make him shy away if anything similar ever occurred in real life, acting as a warning and a safeguard against losing his way ... but the hideous skull with the serpent protruding from its mouth was still there, an ugly reminder that he would never get rid of, a reminder of Pippa's courage and of her death, a reminder of his own cowardice and betrayal.

_There is no going back now,_ he told himself. _They're the only people I care about. I can't admit to them what I've done, they'll hate me for it, they'll never trust me again._

He told himself that he was too ashamed of what he had done to confess it to them. And he suppressed that voice in his head that told him this was just another display of his cowardice.


	38. Part 38: Punishment

**Prequel, Part 38: Punishment**

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**1 - The Last Letter**

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The day of Philippa Pettigrew's funeral was wet and windy, as if the weather itself mourned her passing. At Dumbledore's request, not the entire Order of the Phoenix had attented, only those members who had known her best, but the gathering was still a large one, including friends and colleagues from every stage of her life since the day she had come to Hogwarts as a shy eleven-year-old, along with the twin sister who, of course, was not here today.

Professor Dumbledore made a speech that was moving not just because of the kind words he had to say about the young woman, but also because there were times when his own grief was evident in the way his voice wavered, almost preventing him from speaking.

Norman and Anthea thanked him afterwards, though it was only Anthea who spoke, her husband merely standing beside her with a dazed, absent expression on his face, as though his beloved daughter's death was more than his mind could grasp.

Peter looked on silently, lost in thoughts of his own until Lily came up to him and slid her arm through his.

"Come along, Peter. Let's go up to the castle and get you something to eat. I don't suppose you've had much breakfast."

Peter shook his head mutely, and allowed her to guide him back to the others. Thestral-drawn carriages waited outside the cemetery gates to carry them back to the school, where it had been arranged that sandwiches and hot beverages should be served to a chosen few of the mourners - a precautionary limitation, owing to the danger of allowing strangers to enter the school grounds at this time - and any students that wished to join them.

The Great Hall was hung with black drapes, and considering the vast number of students who had decided to attend, rather quiet, with people speaking only in hushed voices, if at all. Gideon and Fabian Prewett, accompanied by Heather, came over to express their condolences to Peter.

"I liked Profe... I mean, your sister, very much," Heather told Peter quietly. "She was always so nice to people, and ever so patient. She was almost the best Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher I've ever had," she finished with a shy smile at Remus.

He smiled back at her, feeling just a little awkward owing to the feeling that Lily's eyes were watching him closely, and said,

"I'm sure she was. Unfortunately, I didn't know her terribly well, but I know everything Dumbledore said about her was true."

"It was," Peter agreed glumly.

Lily squeezed his arm sympathetically and said to Heather,

"Has there been any talk yet about who will be teaching you next?"

"Plenty of rumours, but nothing definite," the girl replied. "People have been suggesting everyone from Dumbledore himself to Hagrid, but we don't really know. I don't think they've really found anyone to accept the position yet."

"Remus could do it," Peter said unexpectedly. "He used to give you extra tuition, and he helped me with my apparition."

"Yes," James said. "How about it, Remus? You've been saying for ages that you want to be a teacher. Peter's right, you ought to talk to Dumbledore about it."

"I think that's a brilliant idea!" Heather agreed, perhaps with a little too much enthusiasm, for Fabian frowned a little and shifted closer to her.

With all their eyes fixed expectantly on him, Remus smiled again to cover his embarrassment, and said mildly,

"I think Dumbledore will be looking for someone a little more experienced."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "That's rubbish, Remus, and you know it. You can't fool us into believing you're going to give up a chance that's right under your nose without trying for any other reason than the same old ..."

"Ow!" Lily ejaculated suddenly, jerking her left hand so that the contents of her glass emptied themselves over Heather's school robes, and covering her stomach with her right. "Oh dear, I'm so sorry," she apologised to Heather.

"It's all right," Heather said, looking down at her stained robes, then up again at Lily. "No harm done, but are you okay?"

Lily nodded tightly. "I'm fine. It's just the little one." She stroked her stomach. "Takes me by surprise sometimes." She gave a rueful smile. "I'm so sorry, really."

"Don't worry about it," said Heather. "But I'd better go and change. Excuse me."

She headed for the door, and while Gideon made his way back to the buffet and Fabian hovered, apparently wondering if he should follow the girl, Lily shot Sirius a cross look.

"What?" he asked defensively. "She's all over and done with, isn't she, what does it matter now if she finds out? Anyway, are you sure you're ..."

"I'm fine," Lily snapped. "I only did that to shut you up, thickh... ouch!"

"Lily?" James queried anxiously, as this time she actually grabbed hold of his arm and bit her lip.

"I suppose that's my punishment for making out the poor little lamb had hurt me. I've done it now, this kicking's not going to stop for a while. I'm going to find a quiet corner somewhere to sit down. I said a _quiet_ corner, Sirius," she said as he approached her.

He grinned. "Don't worry, I'll leave you all alone once you get there, but I can come along and get you settled, can't I?"

She started to protest that she could manage quite well on her own, but then smiled instead. "Thanks," she said, and allowed him to come along and find her a reasonably comfortable seat.

Up at the teachers' table, meanwhile, a similar discussion to the one Lily's feigned pain had just interrupted was proceeding between Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore, and Rubeus Hagrid, whose beetle-black eyes were framed by puffy red lids today, and who still sniffed into a large polka-dot handkerchief every now and then.

"Have you put the question to him yet?" McGonagall asked quietly. "Will he do it?"

Professor Dumbledore shook his head. "I asked him, but he refused. He is still, to some extent, recovering from his ordeal at the hands of the Death Eaters, and his main priority at the moment is being with his wife as much as possible. It is understandable. He has done and risked much for the Order already ..."

"But this'd be different," Hagrid said between sniffs. "I mean, it'd be safer for 'im 'ere than anywhere else."

"For him, yes. But not for Bridget," Dumbledore said. "If she were that close to Hogwarts and to me ... people would start asking questions, wondering where she came from and who she really is. No, it would not be safe here for Bridget. If Malcolm did accept the Defence Against the Dark Arts job, it would mean separation from her for the greater part of the year. I can therefore do no more than offer him the post if he wants it, I cannot make him take it. The decision is his, he has made it, and I do not blame him for it. However, it still leaves us with a problem."

There was a pause, then McGonagall said hesitantly,

"I suppose ... you haven't considered ... his nephew?"

"Yeah," said Hagrid enthusiastically. "Now there's a thought. 'ow about it, professer?"

The headmaster was silent for a moment, then he said slowly,

"I have considered Remus."

"Narbus was fond of him," McGonagall reminded him. "He often said that he believed Remus Lupin ought to be a teacher. He is intelligent, and I have always found him patient with his fellow students."

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes. All that is true, and I do not doubt Narbus's judgement in this matter - I agree with it. However, Remus is still very young."

"Miss Pippa was only a girl, when ye think about it," said Hagrid.

"She was only nineteen when she first went to Beauxbatons to teach," McGonagall added. "Do you consider that she was too young?"

Dumbledore said, "Sometimes I thought that she was too young, yes. Oh, I am not denying that she was clever, kind, and an excellent teacher all round. But she was too young to dedicate herself to the education of other people's children, and give up the prospect of ever having a family of her own, to lock herself away from life."

"Has it occurred to you," said McGonagall a little sharply, "that perhaps teaching _was_ her life?"

He smiled faintly at her. "I know that you were fond of her, Minerva," he said gently. "But forgive me - she was not _you_. I believe Philippa Pettigrew should have had a chance to go out into the world and meet someone before she settled down to a life behind solid castle walls, with a distinct lack of eligible young men around." When McGonagall frowned, he added, "I am merely saying that a young woman like she was deserved a chance of finding love, as every human being does."

"And that's why you won't employ Remus Lupin? Because you think bringing him here to teach would make it impossible for him to find love?" the deputy headmistress queried doubtfully.

Dumbledore shook his head slowly. "Not precisely, Minerva. But I do not think it is wise to ask him to teach students who still remember him as their equal, especially given his circumstances. Perhaps he shall teach here - one day. But not yet," he said, and he looked out across the hall again just as Heather Woodcock returned and hurried back to where the subject of their conversation was talking to Fabian Prewett.

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It was two days later, just before breakfast, that Josie received another letter from Iris. Not having heard from Severus's mother for days, she had begun to wonder whether she ever would. Now, having just called down the stairs to her mother that she didn't want breakfast, she wrapped a flannel dressing gown, red with green stripes, around her and flopped back down on the bed to read. It was a short missive, the writing hurried.

_My dear Josie,_

_I must ask you to forgive me for not having written for so long. The truth is my husband read an article in the _Daily Prophet_ about your father's disagreement with the Ministry. The article also mentioned the fact that you are a squib, and my husband ordered me at once to break off all contact with you. This, however, is something I cannot do. I have had few friends since I married Augustus, and none whom I cared for as much as you. It pains me to think that, had things been different, I might have been able to welcome you into my family as a daughter._

_I cannot write much more, for I fear that Augustus would catch me, and that is the last thing I want, although I find that I am growing less afraid of him of late, or perhaps it is just that I care less what happens to me._

_What I do care about is my son, and you, my dear. I wish there were some way in which I could be of assistance to you, but all I can do is suggest you seek help closer at hand. If you have not already done so, I strongly advise again that you speak to your parents. Only they can see you through this._

_Take care of yourself, dear Josie._

_Ever yours,_

_Iris_

Josie read the letter through a couple of times. Whatever Iris might say in it, the girl was sure she could not be as unafraid as she said. It was one thing to imagine herself brave and indifferent to the consequences while her husband was out, but Josie felt certain that Iris would be as terrified of him as ever if he came home unexpectedly.

And what of herself? How afraid was she? She thought about it, absent-mindedly chewing her lower lip, and came to the conclusion that she was less so than she had been before talking to Sirius. It wasn't that she was fooled by his words of comfort, his assurances that all would be well - but somehow just knowing that he wanted it to be so, and that the burden was not hers alone to bear, that a friend was willing to help her through it, made the burden itself lighter, the prospects less frightening to face. Sirius had promised to stick by her, even when she had revealed that she carried the seed of all that he hated. She began to wonder if it was just friendship that made him so loyal, or how much Sirius must like her to be able to stand her presence in spite of it. And then she began to ask herself how much she liked him. His face rose up before her quite clearly, a handsome face fully aware of its own attraction and therefore, she supposed, ever so slightly arrogant, but always an honest face, a face that kept no secret.

Unbidden, another face forced itself upon her, much less handsome, sallow-skinned and hook-nosed, bad-tempered and closed, a mask for many secrets ... and yet there had been moments when that face had not been so cold, when she, Josie, had made it soften and smile, or the stern facade crack with emotion.

Were they so very different? Sirius and Severus, each dark and proud and sure of his course, and yet so strongly opposed. Which did she care about more, really? The answer was as obvious as it was foolish, but also immaterial. Severus had turned from her, given her up when he learned that she was a squib instead of, as she had secretly hoped, finding his way to the right path through his feelings for her. And Sirius was still there, still her friend, lightening her burden simply by knowing. Perhaps Iris was right. Perhaps she should seek help, more help, close at hand. Tell her parents. She decided she would. But first ...

Josie left Iris's letter lying on the pillow and got up. She went to the wardrobe and selected a pair of orange trousers that she had bought a year ago. They had been much too wide at the time, but she had liked the colour so much that she'd bought them anyway, meaning to have them altered. But she had forgotten, and now her forgetfulness paid off. She then pulled on a baggy dark blue jumper and proceeded to apply her customary liberal amount of makeup. She looked in the mirror at the result, ruffled her strawberry blonde hair and smiled.

Then she sat down at her desk and took out a sheet of lavender writing paper, dipped her best peacock quill into the inkwell and wrote a reply for Iris, folding and sealing it and writing the name _Iris Snape_ on the front with the intention of posting it after breakfast. She rose and went to the door, and was just stepping out onto the landing when the doorbell rang.

"Shall I get it?" she called.

"No, I will," said her mother, coming out of the kitchen with her wand in her hand.

But she never got as far as the door. With a noise like three crashes of thunder rolled into one and the force of a small bomb, it was blasted out from its hinges before their eyes, showering Josie's mother with splinters. She ducked away and held out her wand, warding off the splinters with a quick shield charm.

Josie's father came running, appearing through the same door his wife had just as three figures in black, masks pulled down over their faces, entered through the hole in the wall.

"Josie!" her mother cried.

Her husband acted at once. Leaving her with the Death Eaters in the downstairs hall, he came bounding up the stairs. Josie was rooted to the spot, paralysed with fright as she watched her mother fight to hold back all three attackers quite alone. She had had no idea until that moment of just how good a witch her mother was.

"Josephine," her father hissed in her ear. "Go back into your room."

When she did not react, he took her by the arms and pushed her back. It was when she could no longer see her mother, when his figure and the banisters beyond blocked her view, that Josie came back to life again. She screamed, pushed him, tried to fight her way past him, but her father would not let her go.

"Stay here, Josephine," he told her urgently. "You must stay here. And I must go to help your mother."

She stared up at him, terrified, and suddenly he gave her a sad, but heartbreakingly tender smile.

"I love you, my little one," he said, and kissed her warmly on the cheeks.

Then he left her. After he had closed the door, it glowed for a moment with a bluish hue, and from then on, Josie could only stand staring at the blank wood, listening to what was going on outside. Crashing, shouting, screaming. Footsteps pounding up the stairs, more shouts, the sound of something falling heavily against her door, scraping across the wood, hitting the floor with a thud. And then silence.

Josie backed away from the door as it began to glow again in different colours. Then it stopped glowing and the doorknob began to turn. Josie looked around her in a panic, but there was nowhere to run. Something knocked against her legs from behind. The desk chair. She dropped onto it and drew her knees up under her chin, wrapped her arms around them and sat curled into a small, shivering, terrified ball as the door opened at last. She didn't even scream when her father's body, robbed of its support, fell backwards onto her soft bedroom carpet.

Only two of the masked people she had seen below stepped into the room. Josie stared at them both with wide open eyes. It occurred to her how silly everything seemed all of a sudden. Severus. Sirius. Who to tell and who to trust. Being pretty or being plain. Banana split or nuts ... And then, in a flash of green light, it was all over.

"And that makes three," said Vindictus Lothian slowly, sliding his wand back into the pocket of his robes. "We're done here."

"You kept this one a bit tame," Evan Rosier complained, pulling off his mask.

"She was a squib," Lothian said with a shrug. "She wouldn't have stood a chance. Where's the sport in dragging it out if there's no challenge?"

"No sport, perhaps," Rosier admitted. "But pleasure, Vindictus."

His only reply was a derisive snort. Lothian stepped past the girl's body and glanced at what lay on her desk.

"What's that?" Rosier asked.

Lothian picked up the letter and opened it. He read it quietly, paused for a moment, and then screwed it up in his fist and threw it in the wastepaper basket.

"Just a letter to a school friend."

Rosier chuckled. "Well, it looks like we did the girl a favour. No need for her to trot all the way to the post office."

Lothian waited for Rosier to leave, then he bent down and retrieved the letter. Smoothing it out, he then folded it up carefully and placed it in his pocket.

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**2 - Resignation**

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John's desk was in a state it had rarely known before, in all the years of his employment. Thirty-one years this August. He remembered the first day he had come here, his first day in the _Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures_. So long ago now. Back then, he had felt strong, full of life. Now he felt weak and weary. His gaze fell to the photograph on his desk and the people that smiled up at him from it. Faith looking fresh and happy with their then two-year-old son in her arms. He himself laughing and waving, his hair still jet black and not a line on his face. Thirty-two years old. It felt like a lifetime ago. His desk had never been untidy then.

And now? Now he was starting to look like a man whose grey hair was interspersed by black, rather than the other way around. Rapidly approaching fifty. And with his desk in a total and utter mess, papers strewn all over the place because he had not been able to deal with anything, to focus his mind on any matter that he should be concerning himself with. Too worried. And jumpy, he realised, as a knock at the door nearly made him spill his tea all over his lunch sandwich.

"Come in," he muttered distractedly, but his distraction soon changed to relief when Remus walked in. "There you are," he sighed. "Shut the door. Sit down. Remus, I've been thinking. What if you just stopped turning up ..."

"I've done it," his son interrupted him.

John gaped at him. "You ... what?"

"I handed in my resignation to Macnair just now. I'm not working for him any more."

John leaned back in his chair, still staring at the young man sitting opposite him, looking between him and the photo on his desk. It occurred to him vaguely that, perhaps, it was time to get a new photo framed. He passed his hand over his eyes and Remus asked quietly,

"Dad ... is everything all right?"

His father shook his head almost imperceptibly. His face was haggard, his voice shaky.

"I thought ... I was almost certain ... if you gave Macnair an outright 'no' for an answer ..."

"I know," said Remus, allowing a hint of relief to creep into his own face and voice. "I did think myself that he wouldn't like it. I thought he was bound to start some kind of argument. But he didn't."

"He must have said something, though."

"No, not really. He asked me if I was sure, and when I said yes, he told me I could go."

"You don't think he just wanted you to think that ... that he'd let you go without a fuss ... so that afterwards ..."

"He could kill me? There wouldn't be much point in that, would there? Besides," he added, frowning, "I think he's already found a more cooperative test subject."

"What? What do you mean? Not ... another werewolf?"

Remus nodded grimly. "Jeremy Crowe," he said thoughtfully. "Gemma Crowe's brother."

"Gemma Crowe? She was murdered, wasn't she?"

"Yes. Her brother disappeared at the time. He's reappeared now."

"As a werewolf?"

"The Death Eaters kidnapped him, it seems. And then they had him bitten."

"But he was a child, wasn't he?" John queried. "Who would do such a ..." He glanced back at the photograph on his desk, and suddenly he paled visibly, and to such an extent Remus was glad he was sitting down. Any thoughts he might have had of disregarding his uncle's advice and coming out with the whole truth at this point flew right out of the imaginary window. "No," John said quietly, as if to himself. "It couldn't be ..."

"I managed to get a word with Jeremy before I came up," Remus said, taking care to keep his tone casual, innocent. "He says it was a man called Greyback who bit him."

John looked up, his expression haunted. "That's impossible. Greyback's in prison. On a life sentence."

Remus shrugged his shoulders. "We've known for some time that Azkaban's not as safe as it used to be. I should imagine the promise of a favour to the Death Eaters has allowed more than one dangerous inidividual to walk free in the past year or so."

Slowly, John nodded his agreement. "Yes. Yes, I dare say you're right. But all the same ... Greyback ..."

They were interrupted by a knock at the door, a welcome interruption, as it happened, for it opened to reveal Lily's smiling face.

"Hello, John," she said brightly. "Oh, hello Remus. I didn't expect to see you here. Does this mean you've spoken to Macnair?"

Remus nodded. "I have. And now I'm out of the committee - and out of a job, of course."

"You're out? Just like that?" Lily's tone was surprised.

"Yes," Remus confirmed. "Just like that." He added with a faint smile, "No death threats, no hexes aimed at my back ..."

"That's not funny," Lily reprimanded him with a glance at John. "Anyway," she went on, "I've resigned, too."

"You have?"

"Yes. James has been on edge about me still working here ever since the auror business - after all, the Death Eaters know well enough, or wouldn't have any trouble finding out, that I'm married to one. And then there's Prongs Junior, of course." She stroked a hand across her stomach. "I know I've still got half a year ahead of me, but the healers say it's time to stop apparating, and floo powder makes me feel sick nowadays."

"How will you get home then?" asked John.

Lily smiled. "That's where you come in. James dropped me off under that cloak of his on the way here, but he insisted I shouldn't travel home on my own on the _Knight Bus_, so I had to promise I'd ask you. Of course, I didn't know then that Remus was going to be so quick about handing in his notice. Now it's up to you two. I don't mind who takes me, as long as it's soon. I did tell James not to worry, but I'm not too comfortable being in this building for too long myself."

"I'll take you home," Remus said. "After all, I'm finished for the day."

"Lovely," said Lily.

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Remus stepped off the _Knight Bus_ first and held out his hand to help Lily. She said,

"That was a remarkably smooth ride. How much extra did they charge you for that?"

"A mere trifle", he said with a smile.

Lily grinned back. "Well, the bribery was very thoughtful of you, and much appreciated."

"Then it was worth it."

They proceeded down the garden path, and Lily began lifting the anti-intruder jinxes and charms to let herself in.

"Have you got time for tea?" she asked.

"I don't know. I forgot my appointment book," he quipped.

She shot him a glance as she closed the front door behind them and he helped her off with her cloak.

"Resigning seems to have put you in a very witty mood," she remarked as Remus put her cloak on a hook and hung up his own.

"Not resigning, exactly," Remus said. "But I think having survived resigning is worth a celebration."

"Did you really think it was as dangerous as all that? That they might have ... killed you?"

"Didn't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"When you walked into Dad's office, you looked surprised to see me in one piece."

"I wasn't surprised. Just ... relieved."

He raised an eyebrow at her and she laughed. "All right, you win. So ... tea?"

"I'll make it," he offered, leading the way into the kitchen.

Shortly after, they were sitting in the kitchen in silence, sipping tea and listening to the fire crackling in the grate. Eventually Lily asked,

"So, what will you do now?"

He smiled and asked, "Is that a polite way of saying you've had enough of my company, and would rather I left?"

"No! I wasn't talking about the next five minutes, I meant ..."

"Look for a new job, I suppose. Perhaps, if Dad has a word with Mr. Westmore ..."

"You want to go back to the Ministry? Why?"

Shrugging, he replied,

"What else is there?"

She snorted. "What else? Your dreams, Remus. What about what Peter said? About your becoming a teacher?"

"I've said all there is to say about that," he replied tightly. "I'm too young."

"Pippa was no older than you when she started teaching."

"That was different, Lily. In my case ... it's too dangerous."

"Nonsense!"

"No, Lily, it's not," he said firmly. "And you know it. You know what werewolves are capable of."

"Not you."

He shook his head. "I'm no different to any other of my kind. No," he went on rather sharply, when he saw that she was about to protest again, "I'm sorry, Lily, but you don't know what I'm talking about. You've never seen me in that condition."

There was an awkward silence, in which he avoided her eyes with determination. Nevertheless, he knew that they were damp by the small, choked voice in which she said,"

"Moony ..."

"Please don't call me that."

"Why not? James does. Sirius and Peter do ..."

"That's different. They know what I am. They've seen me at my worst, they have no illusions about me. I ... I don't want you to see me that way."

He looked at her, preparing to say more, but at that moment her expression changed, her lips twisted as though in pain, and his previous concerns flew from his mind.

"Lily?" he said anxiously. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Nothing." She smiled reassuringly. "Little Prongs is a bit of a fidget, that's all."

"Oh. Does he ... it ... the baby do that often?"

Her smile broadening, Lily said,

"Fairly often. James insists he's practicing Quidditch."

With a chuckle, Remus asked,

"You're assuming it's a boy?"

"Well, I've often said it could just as easily be ballet practice, for all I know ... but yes, I do think it's a boy. Here ..."

She got up, came around the table, and taking his hand without warning, placed it on her bulging stomach.

"What do you think?" she asked.

At first, Remus was too startled to think anything. But she was smiling expectantly at him, so he said,

"I'm ... afraid ... it probably is Quidditch. But you know, girls can play Quidditch, too."

Lily laughed, but just as quickly stopped laughing and said seriously,

"You've been studying hard, Remus. You've taken tests. Whatever you may say, I don't believe you've given up on your dream of being a teacher."

"Then maybe it's time I did," he said quietly, staring distantly at his hand where it still rested, feeling the kicks of his friends' baby.

Lily shook her head. "No, you mustn't. Dreams are there to be followed, Remus. You must become a teacher. I want you to teach this Little Prongs, and any little brothers and sisters he may have."

"You make it sound tempting," Remus said distantly.

Just then, they heard a noise from across the room, and Remus removed his hand as they both turned to look into the fire, where Sirius's head was bobbing.

"Hello," Lily said, crossing the room. "Come in."

Sirius spun for a moment in the fireplace, more of him appearing as he turned, then stepped out, frowning a little.

"Hope I'm not bothering you," he said.

"Of course not," Lily said. "Sit down and join us."

Sirius shook his head. "No thanks. I can't stay, just popped in to see how you were."

"That's very thoughtful of you."

"Not really. It was James's idea. He knew he'd be out all day, so he asked me to look in and make sure you were all right. I didn't realise you already had company."

He looked across at Remus, who explained.

"I handed in my resignation this morning."

"Did you? How did Macnair take it?"

"Without question," Remus replied, a furrow appearing on his brow. "I was surprised."

"Most odd," Sirius agreed slowly.

"It was very lucky," Lily put in. "Sirius, won't you at least have a sandwich before you go?"

"No, really. I must be off. See you this evening. Lily ... Remus ..."

As suddenly as he had appeared, Sirius threw a pinch of floo powder onto the fire, stepped back into it and departed. Remus stood.

"I had better be going, too."

"What, you're deserting me as well? What am I supposed to do with myself all day?"

"Enjoy the peace and quiet. Call your mother, call Alice ... I'm sure you'll think of something." He stepped towards the fireplace. "See you this evening, Lily."

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**3 - The End of a Family**

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Peter was just coming down the stairs at Slytherin's Rock when the front doors opened and the three Death Eaters returned from their morning's work.

"You, boy," Rosier said, waving him over. "Hang this up for me."

He threw his cloak at Peter, who just managed to catch it. Lothian swept past him without a word. The last man, Dolohov, looked down his own cloak, examining the stains that covered it, and said with an unpleasant grin,

"I think I vill keep mine on for a while."

Peter tried not to ask himself whose blood - for he was sure that was what had caused the stains - was on Dolohov's cloak, but went to the closet to hang up Rosier's. Lothian, meanwhile, proceeded along a corridor and knocked on a door, entering when a woman's voice called out.

The Lestranges and Augustus Snape were seated around a table, talking. It was to the latter that the tall, dark man addressed himself.

"I believe this will interest you," he said, handing the other the letter he had found on Josie's desk.

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"Where are we going?" Sirius asked Frank.

After his return from the Potters' house, he had found his fellow auror waiting at Moody's. Frank had insisted that Sirius come with him at once.

"It's not far," was all Frank would say now. "Just around the corner."

"Round the ..." Sirius examined his surroundings and stopped in his tracks. Frank stopped, too, a little further on.

"What are we doing _here_?" Sirius asked heavily. Frank walked slowly back to him.

"There's been an attack. It happened this morning. The Death Eaters blasted down the door of a house ..."

"Whose house?" Sirius asked, but began to walk on, more hurriedly now, before Frank had a chance to answer him.

By the time Frank caught up with him again, Sirius no longer needed an answer. He could see for himself what house had been attacked. It was Josephine's. Hesitantly, Frank reached for Sirius's shoulder. Sirius brushed him away and crossed the street quickly, passing straight through the remains of the front door frame.

A group of people were standing, crouching or kneeling around the mangled remains of a woman at the foot of the stairs. They glanced towards Sirius as he entered, followed by Frank, and Benjy Fenwick came towards them.

"What happened to her?" Frank asked.

"Hit by a combination of hexes," Benjy replied. "She must have put up a good fight."

"Judging from the wreckage, yes," Frank agreed, looking around at the devastation that had been caused. He glanced once more at the body, and winced. "I don't think I even want to know what combination of hexes would cause that."

Benjy nodded. "Moody reckons she survived quite a lot of them, too, before they killed her."

"Are there any more bodies?" Sirius asked hoarsely.

"One up there on the landing," Benjy informed him, pointing. "And another one inside that room. Moody's in there now."

Sirius began climbing the stairs, Frank still just behind him. The body of Josephine's father lay at an awkward angle against the door, the eyes open and staring, the back twisted, blood covering his face and congealing around a wound to his chest. Sirius stepped over the dead man, while Frank crouched to close his eyes. In the room beyond, Alastor Moody was bending over a figure in the desk chair. He looked up as Sirius, and then Frank walked in. His expression was grim.

Sirius stepped past him without a word and looked down at the huddled body. There was no blood here, and Sirius felt oddly grateful for that. He held out an unsteady hand and touched the white skin of Josie's cheek, but said nothing. Downstairs, there was a murmur of voices. Footsteps thundered up the stairs, and Sirius knew that it was James long before his friend walked into the room, slowed down and came to stand by his side. James stood there for a long moment. Then he said,

"Sirius, I'm so sorry."

Sirius shook his head. "It's not like there was anything between us ..."

His voice sounded strange, a little higher than usual, and much less commanding. James brought his hand to rest on Sirius's shoulder.

"It doesn't matter what there was or wasn't between you," he said gently. "Even the loss of a friend can be more painful than anyone can imagine."

"They had no right ..." Sirius said fiercely. "She was no danger to them. She couldn't have fought them if she'd tried. She was completely defenceless."

"Her father tried to defend her, by the looks of it."

"But I didn't, James, and I should have done. I told her it would be all right. I said I'd look after her."

"Sirius, this isn't your fault," James said firmly. "She was a squib, her father openly opposed the Death Eaters, they were bound to ...

"She was pregnant," Sirius said abruptly, silencing James for a startled moment in which his mouth hung open very unflatteringly.

"She ... what?" James stammered. "I mean ... who ... whose ..."

Sirius looked at him, and gave a dry laugh. "There's no need to look quite so shocked, James. It wasn't mine."

"Of course not," James said indignantly, though he did look just a little embarassed. "So then ... Snape?"

He spoke the name quietly, and somewhat incredulously. Sirius nodded tightly. Then, with clenched fists, he said,

"What if he did it, James? What if he found out, and he killed her?"

"No one would kill his own child, Sirius. Be reasonable."

"Reasonable?!" Sirius flared briefly, then calmed himself once more with a few deep breaths.

He turned away, trying to hide his face, but it was futile in the presence of his best friend, as futile as it was that evening when, back at Godric's Hollow, Lily greeted him with more warmth than usual and refrained from teasing him or arguing with him all evening.

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Iris sat at her dressing table, watching her reflection in the mirror while she combed her hair, noticing more than ever the streaks of silver that were beginning to creep in amongst the fair, the dark rims of her eyes and the lines on her face. She cleaned the brush as she always did, and gave a sigh. She remembered the days when her reflection had brought her pleasure, not sorrow, when she had smiled at herself and enjoyed the feel of her own, soft hair, and been proud of her pale skin and rosy cheeks. But the rose had faded, along with her smiles, more and more each year, and her once joyful spirit had crumbled.

Once upon a time, she had had hopes, dreams of a life filled with joy and happiness, of a handful of children clinging to her skirts, of playing and laughing with them, looking up at a husband who smiled back at her, who gave her both love and respect and never caused her a moment's grief. These dreams had been shattered, one by one, and her heart had broken along with them, into a multitude of little pieces that sometimes regretted their capacity to keep beating so disconnectedly, and their continued ability to feel misery, despair ... even love.

"What are you thinking, Iris?"

Iris was so startled she almost cried out. She had been staring so intently at the mirror that she had no longer seen what it reflected, that her husband had long since appeared behind her. She sprang to her feet, knocking over the stool she had been sitting on.

"Augustus," she breathed. "I didn't hear you come in."

"That much was obvious," he said. His face was grimly set, his eyes narrowed and his mouth - she felt a renewed shock - was drawn up into what could almost be called a smile.

"W-what is it?" she asked timidly. "What's happened?"

He held up his right hand. Iris stared at the sheet of parchment he held in it.

"What's that?"

Lowering his hand, he held it out to her. Hesitantly, she stepped forward, half expecting him to pounce on her the moment her hand took the parchment from his, but he did not. He watched her as she unfolded it, saw what it was, and gasped,

"Where did you get this?"

"I told you not to write to her any more," was his only reply.

"Where did you get it?" she repeated. His expression was cold, and though he gave her no answer, she knew it already. "No," she whispered. Shaking her head repeatedly, she backed away, staring down at the letter in her hands. "She's dead," she uttered, dismayed. "Dead. An innocent girl ... hardly more than a child. And ... the baby ..."

She looked across at him suddenly. "You killed her!"

"No."

"No? But you would have, wouldn't you? You would have killed her if you had had the chance. Even if you'd known ..."

"I would not have allowed a filthy little squib like her to give birth to my son's impure bastard," he spat.

"His _child_!" Iris screamed at him, her anguish causing her to forget her terror, preventing her from even considering the consequences of her words. "His helpless, unborn baby!"

"I did not kill her," her husband repeated evenly.

"It doesn't matter who performed the act. You or one of your Death Eater friends, or even your precious master!"

She paused for breath, then suddenly began to laugh, mirthlessly and almost hysterically, holding onto the bedpost.

"Shut up!" Augustus yelled at her, grabbing her by the arm and shaking her.

Iris stopped laughing, but smiled at him with a strange mixture of resignation and triumph gleaming in her eyes.

"You should tell me the name of the Death Eater who killed Josie. I want to thank him. I do believe he has achieved what I have been trying to do for years, but in vain."

"What do you mean?"

"Severus," she said breathlessly. "I wanted Severus to see the error of his ways ... your ways. I couldn't. But now ... He will never serve the man who is responsible for the death of his child."

Augustus took a turn at laughing. "My son is not as sentimental as your vivid imagination likes to paint him, you stupid woman."

"He is my son, too," she said quietly. "Don't make the mistake of forgetting that. You may think you are the one who has raised him, moulded him into a younger copy of yourself. But he is not as heartless as you are. He still has the ability to care about people. He cared about Josie."

"He doesn't even care about you!" her husband said harshly. "You're nothing to him."

"You're wrong," she said, growing calmer with every moment that passed now. "He may not know it himself, but he does care. And one day, perhaps, you will discover that."

"No. I will prove you wrong, you fool. But you won't be here to witness it."

"What are you going to do? Kill me?"

"Aren't you afraid I might?"

Iris considered the question. Then she said slowly,

"I've been afraid for years. Afraid of your anger, afraid of your strength. I've never seen you this angry. I've never been more aware of your strength. But I'm not afraid any more. Why should I be afraid of you killing me? I've not been alive - really alive - since I married you. Go ahead, kill me. I think ... yes, I think I shall welcome the release."

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Severus had not thought of Josephine all day. For the first time in months, his mind had been clear, free of her. And then, he had caught sight of the _Evening Prophet_. An elderly wizard had been sitting in the Leaky Cauldron, reading it, and Severus had recognised the picture of her house. He had snatched the newspaper out of the old man's hand, and handed it back moments later, dumbfounded.

She was dead. Josephine, the only girl he had ever let into his life, was dead. She and her parents had been killed that very morning, the morning of the first day that he had stopped thinking about her. And he had no idea how that made him feel. Of course, he told himself, she had been a squib, and was therefore no great loss. But ... Josephine? Colourful, boisterous, lively Josephine? Dead?

After an hour's walk up and down the deserted Diagon Alley, Severus realised for the first time in his life that he needed to talk to someone. To one particular person, in fact. He made his way home, entered the hall, and found the house dark and quiet.

"Mother!" he called.

There was no answer. He looked for her in the drawing room, the living room, the dining room, the kitchen ... there was no sign of her anywhere. Concluding that she must have gone up to bed, he climbed the stairs, calling again as he went.

"Mother!"

Still no answer. Well, if she was already asleep, he would just have to wake her. But when he burst into the bedroom without stopping to knock, when he directed his impatient gaze towards the bed and saw her lying there, he knew at once that he could not wake her. Nothing would ever wake her again. She lay spread-eagled on the bedspread, one arm hanging limply down the side of the bed.

Severus stood in silence, staring at her body for a long moment and feeling frozen, as though the doorway he had entered through had been a sheet of ice. He was not even aware that he was not alone in the room until his father's voice spoke at his left elbow.

"Isn't it peaceful?"

Severus leapt on the spot, and spun to face the voice.

"W-what?" he stammered.

His father repeated. "Peaceful. This silence. No more arguing, no more complaining, crying, begging ... Just you and me, my son. Free to do whatever our master requires of us."

Severus stared at his father, not knowing what to say, his mind a total blank. His father's face was red and shining, and his eyes glowed with macabre delight as they shifted from Severus's face to the body on the bed.

"I strangled her," he whispered in a voice that quavered with a gloating note. "For the first time in my life, I did something the muggle way." He gave a harsh laugh. "You know, I can almost understand the wretched creatures a little? It is so much more satisfying to kill that way. To feel the pulse under your fingers, strong at first, then weakening. Hands clutching and tearing at your robes and finally going limp."

He walked over to the bed as he spoke and raised Iris's hand, only to let it fall back at her side. He smiled. Slowly he said,

"Your mother was a good-looking woman, Severus. It was part of the reason I agreed to marry her. The other part was her submissiveness. I thought it would be easy to make her accept anything I said, that she would never disagree with me. I was wrong. She was against me every inch of the way, even when it came to you. She didn't want you at first - she didn't want any child of mine. But I had my way. And yet she died claiming her right as a mother over mine as a father. Can you believe that? She actually thought you considered yourself truly her son, that there was some of her in you ... that you would care what happened to her. She always was a fool."

He reached out and took Iris's chin between his fingers, turning her face to him contemplatively, and for some reason, something inside Severus seemed to snap, filling him with revulsion at the man he was watching and what he had done.

"Don't touch her," he said sharply.

Augustus looked up in mild surprise. "It's nothing but a dead body, Severus. That's all."

"She's still my mother," Severus said through gritted teeth.

His father laughed. "Oh, come on, Severus. You can't pretend to care ..."

"Move away from her," Severus said, a faint menace creeping into his voice. He drew his wand without thinking, levelling it at his father.

"What's got into you?" Augustus demanded, stepping slowly back from the bed.

"You killed her."

"It was about time, don't you think?"

"She was my mother."

"So what?"

"I won't have my mother's murderer gloating over her. And I won't have his body found by her side."

"Severus, don't be stupid," his father reprimanded him, his voice rising, at the same time betraying a trace of nervousness.

He began to reach for his wand, but Severus disarmed him with ease. After his initial shock passed, Augustus tried a different tack. He smiled approvingly.

"Very good. I see you have decided to teach me a lesson. I should not underestimate you, I see. You have become a powerful wizard, my son. Perhaps more powerful than I am. And you will not let family sentiment stand in your way ..."

"I have no family sentiment for you," Severus hissed. "Murderer."

"She meant nothing to you," his father insisted. "She was timid and weak, and you were as repulsed by her lack of courage as I was. Don't deny it, Severus, I have seen it in your face. Her weakness disgusted you, and you certainly never loved her, you have never loved anyone - any more than I have. You are far more like me than her."

"That may be true," Severus admitted. "But if it is, then I wish I were more like her. She knew love. She loved me, and it can't have been easy. I owe her revenge."

"Nonsense!"

"Shut up!" Severus raised his wand a little higher. "If you insist on speaking, beg for mercy. I am my mother's son. You never know, I might grant it ..."

"Severus ..."

"Then again," Severus said bitterly, "maybe not ... _Avada Kedavra_."

His words were followed by a flash of blinding green light. A heartbeat later, his father lay dead on the floor before him. Severus stood motionless, staring down at the man he had just killed. Then he remembered his original purpose in coming into the room. He tried to discern his current feelings, but could not. His mother was dead. His father was dead. But he did not know what their deaths meant to him. He felt ... empty.

Severus lowered his wand and walked up to the bed. He reached for his mother's limp hand and placed it gently on her chest. His voice shook a little as he said,

"Josephine is dead, Mother. I came to tell you that. I meant to talk to you, as you always wanted me to. I ... regret that it was too late. You were always good to me. I wish ... I wish I had heeded your advice, just once. "

He glanced at the second body in the room. "I have killed my father. How do I explain that to the Dark Lord? If I lie, he will know. So, I suppose ... I must tell the truth. But how to explain why I did what I did, when I do not know myself? Mother ..."

He touched her hand once more and said quietly, "I wish you could tell me what to do."

He sat looking at her for a very long time. He did not notice the letter she held crumpled in her other hand.

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Vindictus Lothian hesitated on his way along the passage that led to the Dark Lord's chamber. It was the strong smell of sweat and dried blood that halted him, and he studied the man who stood a few paces away, sniffing the air, with revulsion. Finally he approached and said,

"Good evening, Fenrir."

Fenrir Greyback did not turn, but kept his gaze fixed out the window and merely gave a grunt of acknowledgement and said in his rasping, terrifying voice,

"The full moon is approaching."

"Yes," said Lothian slowly. "Yes, I suppose it must be."

"I am hungry."

Lothian saw the werewolf lick his lips, and shuddered slightly. Aloud he said,

"You should have joined us for dinner."

Greyback's laugh was one of the most unpleasant sounds the other had ever heard. "My hunger is not for shepherd's pie, _friend_. Unless it were made with real shepherd, that is." He laughed again, greatly amused by his own joke.

Lothian did not answer, but went on his way. He found Voldemort in his chamber as usual, poring over an old book. The Dark Lord looked up as his Death Eater entered.

"Vindictus," he said. "You look troubled."

"It's ... nothing."

"That is not true," Voldemort said accurately.

With a sigh, Lothian admitted, "Fenrir Greyback makes me uneasy, especially now, when the full moon is near."

"Ah," the Dark Lord said with a faint smile. "That. Do not worry, Vindictus. His hunger will soon be sated, I assure you. This full moon will leave him more than satisfied, and our enemies weakened. Peter Pettigrew should also be pleased."

"Pettigrew? What do you mean?"

"He is afraid of being unveiled as a traitor by his so-called friends. But Fenrir has come up with the ideal solution that ought to ensure that, if suspicion is aroused, it will fall in another quarter."

Lothian looked at his master questioningly, but Voldemort said no more.

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At the Potters' house in Godric's Hollow, Remus Lupin also stood watching the waxing moon, but it did not fill him with hunger, only with dread. He did not hear his friends speak his name until James's hand touched his shoulder.

"Come on, Moony," he said amiably. "You won't stop it swelling by staring at it."

"Actually, it seems to grow faster when I watch it," said Remus. "I know it's only my fancy, but it's almost as though I can see it grow."

"And because that makes you so happy, you can't bear to tear yourself away from it, I suppose?" Sirius grunted sarcastically.

Remus smiled faintly. It was good to hear Sirius starting to make jokes again, even if he did so grumpily. He looked around at them all. It was good to see them together, to feel the understanding and sympathy between them all. He turned away from the window, and sat down in the armchair next to Peter's.

"What are you beating us at today, Padfoot?" he asked Sirius.

It was James who answered, though he sounded a little awkward.

"Actually, just one thing ... Lily and I have been thinking ... discussing ... When our child is born, we'll be wanting godparents, and ... well, we've selected Lily's mother and ... Sirius."

Sirius almost choked on his butterbeer, and broke into a fit of coughing. Peter clapped him on the back, as much to congratulate him as to try to alleviate his cough, and Remus said quietly,

"Congratulations, _Uncle_ Sirius."

James began apologetically, "We don't want either of you to think ... I mean ..."

Remus smiled. "Of course. It was always going to be Sirius."

Sirius was still looking bewildered, but betraying the first hint of a smile since Josephine's death. "Godfather? Me?" He stared at Lily. "And you agreed to this?"

She said with a twinkle, "I'm fully resigned to the fact that my child will grow up to be a reckless little rule-breaker anyway. So yes, I agreed to it."

"But it doesn't mean that anyone in this room is free of responsibility," James put in. "All three of you will be our baby's uncles, of course."


	39. Part 39: The Lost Night

**Prequel, Part 39: The Lost Night**

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**1 - Turning Point**

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It was some days before Severus Snape dared enter the Dark Lord's presence, to explain what his master already knew he had done. He told his tale flatly, not finding it hard to betray little emotion as he spoke, for he still did not really know what his feelings were in the matter.

"And so," he finished finally, "I felt it no less than my duty to kill the man who had murdered my mother. The fact that he happened to be my father held no sway."

Voldemort leaned forwards eagerly in his chair. "And now, Severus? What do you feel now? Does your father's death grieve you? Do you feel remorse for your act?"

"No, master," Severus said composedly. "I feel no remorse. There was no affection lost between us."

The Dark Lord studied him with his piercing red eyes, and Severus felt an alien mind probe his thoughts. He made no effort to conceal them, knowing there would be no point in doing so.

Voldemort said pointedly, "You cared for your mother. You also cared for the squib, Josephine. Your mother you have avenged. Does her death anger you as your mother's did? Do you feel a desire to avenge the squib, also?"

Severus swallowed hard. The Dark Lord's words caught him by surprise, although he had known that he would likely be asked about his feelings concerning Josephine, and had carefully practised hiding the surprisingly great pain that he felt when he thought of her. But this question confused him. Surely he had already avenged Josephine, hadn't he? He had not thought about it at the time, the presence of his mother's body had occupied his attention too much, but he had been secretly certain that, in killing his mother's murderer, he had also killed Josephine's. He admitted slowly,

"I believed that my father was responsible for her death as well. Is that not so?"

Voldemort shook his head, and a hint of a malicious grin spread across his pale face. "No. It was not your father who extinguished the spark of life in the squib Josephine."

For the first time, the third person present in the room stirred. Vindictus Lothian had been so quiet throughout the whole conversation so far that Severus had almost forgotten he was there. But he now looked Severus in the eye and stated,

"It was I who killed her."

"You?!" Severus exclaimed.

For only an instant, his surprise was so overwhelming that it broke the facade of his composure. Voldemort studied him with interest, his smile deepening. Lothian inclined his head.

"Yes. Rosier will confirm it if you ask him."

Voldemort asked coaxingly,

"How does that make you feel, Severus? Does it make you wish to kill Vindictus as you killed your father? Do you hate him, too?"

Severus avoided the Dark Lord's probing eyes. He lowered his head and thought hard and fast. The thought that his father had killed Josephine had brought him comfort, a feeling of closure, the feeling that that part of his life was over, that he would not have to think again about the mistakes ... his mistakes ... that had led to death of the only two people who had ever bothered to care for him. He thought back again to the moment when he had seen his mother's body, and the way his father had boasted of his deed and described it in detail, the evident pleasure he had taken in it. He glanced sidelong at Lothian, and found the other man's eyes still meeting his without flinching. Lothian did not show any sign of gloating, or of contempt for his victim as his father had done. The older man's expression was sober. Severus found himself remembering what he had read about the deaths of the Coronis family, how the body of Josephine's mother had been barely recognisable, and her father's drenched in blood, but Josephine had been killed swiftly, a single curse ending her life in less time than it took to bat an eyelid. He asked Lothian slowly,

"Was it you who killed her parents?"

"No," said Lothian.

There was a pause, then the tall man added,

"Rosier would have killed her slowly, drawn out her suffering ... I saw no point in that. She was little more than a child, and she could not have fought back. I chose to end her life quickly."

For the second time, Severus was surprised. He had never before heard Lothian admit to anything like pity, and yet now it seemed as though he was doing just that, even as though he were trying to excuse his action as an act of mercy rather than violence. Severus considered it, and discovered that it was actually possible it had been just that. Josephine's death had been inevitable, but Lothian did not seem to have taken pleasure in killing her, he had merely done what had been required of him, according to his master's orders. Taking a deep breath, Severus announced calmly,

"I do not seek revenge against my fellow Death Eater for Josephine's death."

Voldemort studied him a moment longer, then inclined his head.

"Your reaction pleases me," he said, although his face betrayed a trace of disappointment that no conflict had been fuelled. "Very well then, Severus. You may go."

"Thank you, master."

Severus bowed slightly, then turned and left the room, feeling a measure of relief. He had not gone far down the passage when faster footsteps caught up with him from behind, and Lothian drew even with him. The Death Eater said quietly,

"You reacted very wisely just now. The Dark Lord was pleased."

"I must admit I was a little surprised that he did not punish me for killing my own father," Severus replied.

Lothian gave a wry smile. "That act would be more likely to earn you a reward than a punishment."

Severus stopped walking to look at the other enquiringly. Lothian explained,

"I do not know whether he would wish me to tell you this ... but perhaps he would. Yes, I think it might actually please him if you knew. So I will tell you: The Dark Lord, too, killed his father."

Surprise registered on Severus's face. Lothian started walking again.

"He was younger than you were, and felt no remorse either. I think he rather enjoys seeing you follow in his footsteps, as it were. And yet ..." He glanced sideways at Severus. "Forgive me, but I do not think you were entirely forthright. I do not know how much this girl meant to you, but I cannot believe that you bear no grudge against me."

"You showed her mercy," Severus said quietly. "I may have reacted differently, had you killed her as her parents were killed, or as my father killed my mother."

"That I can understand, and I am not unappreciative of it. But you avoided the point - wisely, in my opinion, in front of our master. However, you need not pretend to me that you do not feel some resentment towards me, as I am sure you must."

"Well," Severus confessed, his confusion mounting again, "I suppose it is true that I was not indifferent to Josephine, but ever since I have known she was a squib, I have been aware of the risk to her, and I am glad, at least, that she did not ..."

"Never mind the girl," Lothian interrupted sharply. He took Severus by the shoulder and pulled him to one side. He looked around him and said quietly, "I have told no one, Severus. Not even the Dark Lord. I felt it was not my place to, not under the circumstances. I even regret, now, that I revealed the truth to your father. I thought it best that he should know, so that he would be prepared for your pain and ready to help you through it. I had no idea he would react in this way ... for I now believe that, by telling him, I may have been responsible for your mother's death, too. But you must believe me when I tell you that I had no intention of robbing you of your heir. If I had known before I killed her ... well, I would have found another way, I assure you. But I cannot expect you to forgive what I did, for whoever the mother, a man's heir is his hope, his future, and if I myself had only been so fortunate as to have a child, and if someone had then done what I have done, I would not rest until I had avenged my child."

Severus stared at Lothian, barely comprehending what he was being told. It began to sink in very slowly. He said hoarsely,

"My ... child?"

Only now did Lothian appear to realise that Severus was having difficulty following his speech. Taken aback, he took a step back.

"You ... didn't know," he whispered.

But Severus did not hear him. He still felt no anger, as perhaps he should have done, at the man who faced him. He felt only pain deeper than he had imagined possible, and a sudden sense of loss that he had never experienced before. Hatred surged up inside him, but he did not know where to direct it. He walked away, leaving Lothian to stare after him, and never paused to speak to anyone until he got home.

Mirmy the house elf greeted him with a sniff. It was clear she had been crying for some time over her task of clearing out her late mistress's things. She approached Severus cautiously and handed him a crumpled sheet of paper, murmuring,

"Mirmy found this in the mistress's hand the other day, Mirmy is sorry she did not give it to master sooner, Mirmy was distressed ..."

"What is it?" he asked distractedly, taking it from her. He glanced down and recognised the handwriting with an unpleasant jolt. Josephine's handwriting.

_Dear Iris,_

_Thanks for thinking of me, and thanks for your advice. I think I will take it. In fact, I'm going to put it in writing now that I promise I will. There, now I have to do it, a promise is a promise. I'll tell Mum and Dad as soon as I've finished this letter. You're right, I do need their help. I'm sorry we won't see each other any more, but I suppose it's safer for both of us this way. Please do as your husband says, and don't write to me any more. I wouldn't want you to get hurt because of me, you've been too kind. And I'll make you another promise. If my baby is a little girl, I'm going to call her Iris. I don't think I'll tell her about her father, or maybe I'll see what my parents say, but I do think it might be better if she never knows. I'll let her think he died a hero, or something. You never know. I still can't bring myself to give up on him completely. Perhaps if he knew about the baby, it might change his mind. But that's probably just wishful thinking. No, he mustn't know. Take care, dear Iris. I'll miss you. I miss Sev, too. Crazy, isn't it, when you think about it? In spite of everything, I'm still mad about him. I do wish he wasn't in with You-Know-Who. Well, no use crying over spilt milk. Goodbye, dear. I do hope that one day, when all this mess gets straightened out, we'll be able to meet again. I'd like little Iris to meet her grandmother. You know, I'm almost sure it's a girl._

_Love,_

_Josie_

Severus read the letter slowly, and with every word he saw Josephine's face rise before his mind's eye more and more clearly, along with the vague shadow of the child that had never been born. The hatred inside him burned fiercely. His child was dead. His own flesh and blood. Lothian had been right. He might not have felt all that strongly about his mother, or even about Josephine ... Josephine, who he knew now had gone on hoping for him until the end. But his child ... That was another matter. He struggled with his new-found hatred. Hatred for whom? For Lothian, the man who had killed his offspring? For his father, who had brought him into this? Neither solution was satisfactory, for his father was dead and Lothian actually appeared to regret what he had done. Who, then, was responsible? Who had really killed his child? Severus quashed the niggling voice that laid the blame on himself. No, that he would not accept. He had not known what would come of his involvement with the Death Eaters, he had been misled into believing that the purity of blood mattered more than mere humanity, that some people had no right to live simply because they possessed no magic powers. He had been misled, and that had made it impossible for him to accept his mother's affection, to build a life with the only girl who had ever touched his heart, to raise a child that might have made him proud, even happy.

He had been misled by the twisted mind of the man he called 'master'. He pictured the Dark Lord in his mind's eye, and finally found something he could focus his hatred on with satisfaction. This was the man whose rules had condemned his mother, Josephine, and his child to death. This was the man on whom he must exact revenge, whatever the cost. But how? How, when he was only one man, and the Dark Lord had so much power, and so many around him?

_But I am one of them,_ Severus thought. _He trusts me. That is my strength. But how can I use it?_

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The muggle village was small by comparison to others, but it would suffice. It was just large enough that what was about to happen here tonight would be noticed, and spread shock and horror even among those in the wizarding community who secretly agreed with the Death Eaters' contempt of muggles, but lacked the backbone to come right out and say so. This would flush them out, this would make them show their allegiance to the Dark Lord.

_They would not dare do otherwise,_ Fenrir Greyback thought with satisfaction.

Shadows flitted among the two-story houses, some slinking close to back doors whose locks and latches offered far less protection than their owners supposed, taking care to keep in the shadows, out of sight of illuminated kitchen windows, others nimbly shinning up trees to take up a position by an upstairs window that had been left ajar to let in the fresh night air.

Greyback turned his face to the sky and watched the movement of the clouds. The light began to change, and with a hungry leer, he climbed a tree of his own, close to a window behind which hung a silly little model aeroplane made crudely out of a piece of cardboard, and painted crudely with red and blue water colours. He was ready, and any second the moon would be in position. He licked his lips.

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**2 - By the Light of the Full Moon**

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Frank Longbottom had seen many horrors during his time working for the aurors and the Order of the Phoenix, but the moment he apparated alongside Dorcas Meadowes, Gideon Prewett and the McKinnons on the green of the isolated moorland village of Fencombe, he knew that here was a sight, and here were sounds, that would haunt his dreams until the day he died. He closed his eyes for a second, and felt Madam Meadowes shake his arm roughly.

"We've no time for that," she told him. "Back to back, now, everyone. Watch yourselves."

The other four obeyed her without question. This was no time to argue about tactics, in any case. After all, what good were tactics against creatures that fought without them, darting here and there as their lust for blood took them, devoid of fear and entirely without pity, growling with fury, intent only on mauling and killing, on tasting human blood?

Gideon started to count them under his breath.

"Eleven, twelve, thirteen ... sixteen, seventeen ... _Merlin _..."

"Focus, Prewett," Madam Meadowes warned him, "Before number nineteen takes you by surprise. McKinnon and Longbottom, to the left. Marlene with me. Prewett, join up with Fenwick over there."

They did as she said, keeping close together as they went, while the other groups who had apparated in other parts of the village did the same. At a sign from Gideon, he and Frank made their way towards the village pub, trying to shut out the screams of terror all around and concentrate on the target Gideon had picked out, a large black-and-grey werewolf who was repeatedly rushing at the barred door of the pub, which shook and shuddered and threatened to give way any second. The beast's ferocity left no doubt in the minds of the two aurors as to whether or not there were humans inside. Gideon bent, picked up a stone and hurled it at the werewolf. It missed by four inches, but achieved its purpose anyway. The creature spun round and turned its shaggy muzzle, already caked with blood, on the two new arrivals.

"All right, you've diverted his attention. Now what?" Frank muttered under his breath.

"I wish I knew. That's as far as my plan went," Gideon confessed.

He had no time to say any more, for the werewolf sprang forward with a growl, forcing Gideon to jump one way and Frank the other. Frank kept his balance and turned back to face their attacker, but Gideon had stumbled over the body of a muggle man lying face down in a condition that left no doubt as to whether or not he was still alive, and was scrabbling frantically for his wand while the werewolf advanced on him. In his mind, Frank went through his options in record time. He thought of trying trap the beast with ropes, but at the speed it moved, and what with Gideon's struggling, it was as likely he would trap his ally along with the werewolf.

"_Locomotor mortis!_" Frank yelled, aiming his wand.

At worst, he thought, the spell would immobilise both the wolf and his potential victim, but keep the distance between them. He was wrong. The wolf bounded towards Gideon at the very moment that Frank's spell struck the spot he had just left, and it was sheer luck that Gideon was able to roll out of harm's way in the same instant. The werewolf's attention turned to the source of the curse that had missed him. It leapt before he had time to utter another spell, and in the next instant it was all Frank could do to dodge its snapping jaws, let alone think about using his wand. From somewhere off to one side, Gideon shouted,

"_Incendio!_"

The werewolf's tail caught fire, and it howled with pain, beginning to spin in circles, chasing its own tail in a vain attempt to tamp out the flames. The fire only narrowly missed Frank on the creature's second round, and he ran to Gideon's side, yelling,

"You nearly burnt me to a cinder there!"

"Sorry," said Gideon, "Thought it was better than getting bitten."

Frank directed his wand at the wolf.

"_Aguamenti!_"

"What do you think you're doing?" Gideon demanded, as a jet of water showered the werewolf, extinguishing its burning tail.

"You didn't want to kill him, did you?" Frank retorted.

"What d'you think he's trying to do to us?" Gideon yelled back, but there was no time for argument.

With its tail no longer burning, the dripping wet werewolf turned back to its original objective and made straight for them again. The fight continued for a terrifying ten minutes, with several more narrow escapes for both the aurors, before the wolf was finally subdued, ropes binding his snout well shut, and a body bind preventing any escape.

Gideon examined his bleeding arm while Frank checked that their foe was quite secure. He straightened up and looked at Gideon with concern.

"How bad is it?" he asked.

"He got me with his claws, not his teeth, thank goodness. I'll live. At least until my sister sees the mess I've made of the jumper she knitted me for Christmas," Gideon said with a wry smile.

Frank looked around him. The others were fighting as desperately as he and Gideon had done, some winning their battles, some lying motionless on the ground beside equally unmoving muggles, and still the growls of the werewolves and the screams of their victims filled the air.

Just over two hours later, though it felt like a whole night to Frank, the battle was over. He walked among the figures on the ground, fighting the urge to be sick every step of the way, and forcing himself to turn over bodies to check if they were alive or dead. A young woman, too badly wounded to be healed even by all the skill in St. Mungo's, gripped his sleeve as he crouched near her. He took her hand and bent closer to hear what she had to say.

"Please," she whispered. "My ... little boy. I don't know where he is."

Frank glanced about him. He could see plenty of little boys, but not one of them looked alive. He began,

"I'm afraid there isn't much ..."

"Neville," the woman said. "His name ... his name is Neville. Find him for me. Look after him. Tell ... tell him I'm sorry ... and I ... love him."

Unable to bring himself to tell the dying woman that it was unlikely he would be able to identify any one child in this chaos, let alone find her son alive, Frank asked gently, "Where did you last see him?"

The woman let go of his arm and pointed across the street. Then, with a shudder, her body sagged and Frank knew that she was dead. He straightened up, just as James Potter came towards him. James looked as pale and sick as Frank was feeling.

"Did you ever see anything so ... so ..." At a loss for words, James fell silent.

Frank shook his head. Sirius and Gideon joined them.

"What a mess," he commented grimly, holding his bandaged arm

It was by now far from being the only injury he had sustained tonight, and the words he had just spoken could be applied equally to the appearance of every auror in the village, though all three of them knew it was not to that he was referring. Frank made to move away from them.

"Where are you going?" James asked.

"I've got to go and look for someone."

"Who?"

"A boy called Neville."

Gideon frowned. "What's he look like?"

"I have no idea," Frank admitted.

"How old is he?" asked James.

Frank spread his hands in a helpless gesture. Sirius remarked,

"Forget it, Frank. You'll never find one kid around here, if all you know about him is his name."

"I'll find him," Frank said with quiet determination. "Somehow."

"Want any help?" James offered.

"No, thank you."

Frank left them standing there, and walked in the direction the dying woman had indicated to him, stepping cautiously over dead bodies as he went. He looked into three houses, finding nothing but debris and two more dead bodies. He entered the third house and peered into every room, but his first glance revealed nothing but broken furniture and shattered doors. He had turned to leave when he heard a creak somewhere above, then another, and then the sound of something being knocked over, followed by a faint sob. The voice was that of a child.

Frank went back to the staircase and prepared to ascend it cautiously, when something suddenly whizzed past him, forcing him to duck to avoid being struck straight in the eye. The missile hit the wall, then fell to the ground behind him with a faint clatter. Frank bent to examine it, and found it to be no more than a child's toy arrow made of yellow plastic, with the typical red rubber suction pad removed. He approached the stairs more cautiously this time, and listened to the ragged breath of the young archer.

"Hello?" he called out quietly. "Who's there?"

His answer was another toy arrow, which he again dodged carefully.

"Neville?" he enquired, hoping against hope that this was the child he had been sent to find.

Amazingly, he was in luck.

"H-how do you know my name?" asked a suspicious child's voice. "W-who are you?"

"Frank."

"We don't know anyone called Frank."

"I know. But I fou... I met your mother outside. She asked me to come and get you."

"Mummy?"

"Yes."

"Is Mummy with you?"

Frank said heavily, "No."

There was a sound of something scrabbling across the floor upstairs. A small, fair head peered over the edge of the top stair above. From what he could see of the boy's face, which was all over cuts and scratches, Frank judged him to be about five or six.

"Are you my Daddy?" the child asked.

The question took Frank by surprise. "I ... why ... no," he said.

The child's face fell. "Oh. I thought perhaps you were. Mummy says he's a fireman, and he rescues people. I thought he'd come to rescue me from the monster."

Very cautiously, Frank climbed a couple of steps.

"I'm not your Daddy," he said quietly, "but I have come to rescue you." He held out his left hand to the child. "Come on down, Neville. It's quite safe now."

But Neville shook his head. "I can't come down," he said. "And it's not safe. It's not dead, you see. Just sleeping. I can tell, 'cause I held a mirror under its nose."

"What?" Frank asked sharply.

He bounded up the stairs now, taking them two at a time. When he got to the top, he froze with shock as he realised Neville had meant what he had said about not being able to come down. He was much more severely wounded than his alert mental state indicated. Neville pointed to an open door.

"Under Mummy's wardrobe," he said.

Frank went into what had once been the bedroom, before it had been torn to shreds in a terrific fight. He had glanced in here earlier, but noticed nothing. Now, however, he walked closer up to the fallen piece of furniture the boy had mentioned, and leaned across to see the other side. He jumped back with a start. Trapped underneath the splintered wood was a werewolf that appeared about to return to consciousness. It sniffed the air groggily, becoming more alert when it caught the human scent. Frank backed out of the room quickly, and pulled the remains of the door shut behind him, for all the good it would do.

"We've got to get out of here, quickly," he said.

Even as he spoke, there was a great crashing of wood followed by the fast and heavy pad of paws on the bedroom carpet. Frank bent over Neville, who wrapped his arms around Frank's neck without further hesitation. Frank had to tuck his wand in his belt to carry the child, rendering it useless, and bolted down the stairs as fast as he could, with the werewolf's breath coming quickly behind him. He ran out into the street, back to where he had left Gideon, Sirius and James earlier. James and Sirius had moved a little way away by now, but Gideon and the McKinnons were not far, and Frank made straight for them, panting at them,

"Get your wands ready, there's one just behind us!"

All three reacted like lightning, casting their spells in unison just in time, flashes of red racing each other on their way to their target, their aims true. The werewolf, though as murderous as any and bent on its prey, was not nearly as muscular as some they had fought tonight, and the force of their combined curses sufficed to send it soaring through the air in a high arc until it crashed against the wall of a building with tremendous force. Then it slid to the ground and lay still. James and Sirius came running.

"Oh my god," Frank breathed, turning to look behind him at his fallen pursuer. "Is it ..."

"Yes," Oliver McKinnon said darkly, "I think it's dead."

James came to a halt beside him just at that moment, and stared in the direction of the unmoving creature in horror.

"Sirius," he gasped quietly. "That werewolf. Have you noticed? It ... it looks like ..."

Sirius squeezed his shoulder. His voice trembled slightly as he said,

"I'll take a closer look."

He walked cautiously across the street. Frank glanced at James's pale face, then watched as Sirius knelt beside the werewolf and examined it closely. He stood slowly and came back to them. James's eyes were fixed on him intently.

"Well?" Marlene asked.

"Dead," Sirius said.

He looked at James and shook his head almost imperceptibly. James heaved a sigh of relief, then turned quickly to Frank to try and hide it. Frank was still holding the badly injured child.

"So you actually found him," James said, impressed.

Sirius took a look at the boy and said,

"You'd better get him to St. Mungo's, Frank. As quick as you can."

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**3 - Neville**

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The _Creature-Induced Injuries_ floor at St. Mungo's seemed about to burst at the seams that night, and it had certainly been a while since so much noise had filled the _Dai Llewellyn Ward_. There were countless people screaming with pain, people shouting for quiet, and people sobbing over those who had got to the hospital, only to die there.

Frank stood quietly beside a bed at the very end of the ward, waiting for the young healer to complete his treatment on the boy Neville. Healer Smethwyck's face was glum when he turned from the bed and faced Frank's eager eyes.

"Well?" Frank prompted impatiently. "How is he?"

The healer in turn asked, "Is this boy some relation of yours?"

"No," said Frank. "I never met him before tonight. I found his mother ..." He lowered his voice. "I found his mother dying. She begged me to find him."

"And the father?"

"I don't know much about him, except that Neville's never met him."

"Then it seems you are all he's got at the moment, until we can contact any other relations he might have. That being so ..." The healer drew Frank aside and confided, "The boy's injuries are bad. Not just on the outside."

"But he wasn't bitten?"

"No, not that. But he had near enough everything else happen to him that could have happened. To be absolutely honest with you, Mr. Longbottom, I'm amazed he made it this far."

"That bad?" Frank breathed.

"I'm afraid so. The best I can say is that he is comfortable. He feels no pain, thanks to the shock and a potion I have given him. But I fear he will not last the night."

Frank bowed his head sadly. The healer went on slowly,

"Even if we can find his family, it will be hours before anyone he knows gets here. You are here now. Mr. Longbottom, I wonder, would you consider staying with him ... until the end? He shouldn't be left entirely alone."

"Of course," Frank said at once. "I wouldn't dream of leaving him, not now. If you'll just give me one moment ..."

He went in search of James, asked him to send a message to Alice as soon as he got home, and returned to the bedside as quickly as he could. Neville's face, now covered in bandages and ointments, looked up at him expectantly as he sat carefully on the edge of the bed. Frank forced a smile. Neville's first words removed it.

"Where's Mummy?"

"I don't know," said Frank, not entirely untruthfully. He added, "But when I saw her earlier, she asked me to tell you that she loves you. And that she's sorry."

Neville pulled a face. Frank debated whether or not to ask, but decided on the whole he might as well.

"What was she sorry about?"

The boy looked at him seriously, as though judging whether this was a person who could be told what his mother had done wrong or not. Finally he said,

"She lied. She says grown-ups have to do that sometimes, to protect someone. But I don't think that's right. I don't think anyone should lie. I'd get in trouble for lying, so grown-ups should, too. Don't you think so?"

"Mostly," Frank agreed with him.

His head a little on one side, Neville asked,

"Have you ever lied?"

Frank was surprised by the question, but gave it careful thought. Certainly he had never lied with bad intent. But he was married to a woman who used a name that was not her own, and he had condoned the fact that Alice Spriggs's grave bore the wrong inscription. He admitted,

"I lie all the time."

Neville frowned. "Why?"

"To protect someone," Frank said with a faint smile. "Your mother was right, it seems. It's something grown-ups do."

"Who do you want to protect?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that." Frank decided to move back to safer ground. "What did your mother lie about?"

"Daddy," the child answered. "She told me I hadn't got a dad. But then he wrote to me."

"He rescues people," Frank remembered.

"Yes. He's a fireman. But he and Mummy argued before I was born, and he went away, and Mummy didn't tell me about him."

"She didn't want to upset you, I suppose."

"I was upset because she lied!"

"I can understand that," Frank said. "But you mustn't be angry with her, you know. She didn't want to hurt you. She lied because she loved you." He bit his lip, hoping Neville wouldn't notice the past tense. He asked quickly, "How old are you, Neville?"

The boy's chest swelled. "Six," he said proudly.

Frank marvelled at the child. Only six years old, and yet he talked as sensibly as any adult - in fact, more sensibly than some. And he had shown amazing courage earlier. It was all so unfair ...

"What were those things that came to our house?" Neville asked.

"Werewolves," Frank answered him.

"So Mummy lied about those, too!" the boy exclaimed angrily. "She said they don't exist, only in stories people tell to scare little children!"

"No," Frank said quickly, "No, she wasn't lying when she said that. She just didn't know, that's all. Most muggles don't believe in werewolves."

"What's a muggle?"

Frank explained. Neville eyed him sceptically.

"You can do magic?" he asked. "Real magic? Not just silly tricks like the magician at Nellie's birthday party? He said he pulled that coin out of my ear, but I know he was lying, because I've seen how they do that trick on telly! You don't pull coins out of people's ears, do you?"

"No. I carry them in my pocket, just like you do."

He produced a silver sickle to prove it. Neville stared at the strange coin for a moment, then he continued his questioning,

"Why didn't you just kill all the - the _werewolves_ with magic, then? Those two men killed the one who was in our house."

"That was a mistake," said Frank quietly. "We never intended to kill any of them."

"Why not? The one in our house ate my rabbit, and then it tried to eat me! I'd have killed it, if I could. Mummy knocked the wardrobe over on it. Then she wanted to go and get help, but another one came and chased her outside. If I had real arrows, I'd have killed them both."

"Neville, do you know what a werewolf is?" Frank asked.

The boy shrugged his shoulders. "A wolf that's got rabies?"

"No," said Frank, shaking his head. "A werewolf isn't really a wolf at all, most of the time. It's just a human being, like you and me. Anyone can become a werewolf."

Neville looked doubtful.

"It's true," said Frank. "I have a friend who's a werewolf."

"Y-you're friends with one of _those things_?!" the child cried, sitting up in bed.

Frank hurried to soothe him, and make him lie down again.

"They're not all bad," he said gently. "They can't help it. They're not themselves when they change into wolves. Some of them don't really want to hurt anyone, but they can't stop themselves ..."

He found himself proceeding with a lengthy explanation of werewolves, how people became werewolves, when and why they transformed, and how to recognise a werewolf. Neville listened with great interest, posing several intelligent questions, and displaying a surprising amount of understanding by the end of Frank's tale. By now, he was also starting to look much worse than when they had first arrived at the hospital, and his voice was growing weaker. There was a silence of several minutes when they had exhausted the topic of werewolves. Finally Neville asked quietly,

"Is Mummy going to come and see me?"

Frank tried not to show anything. He stroked the fringe from Neville's forehead and said nothing. But this was a child that could not be deceived.

"You're not telling me something," he said shrewdly. "That's lying, too, you know."

Frank said nothing. Neville persisted,

"You look sad. Why are you sad?"

"I can't tell you."

"Why not?"

"Because ..." Frank gave a sad smile. "Because I want to protect you."

There was another pause, in which the child studied him closely. Then Neville asked,

"Is Mummy dead?"

Frank was not even startled any more by the boy's perceptiveness.

"Yes," he admitted softly. "Yes, I'm afraid she is."

Neville stared past Frank for a moment. When he looked at him again, he asked,

"Am I going to die, too?"

This time, Frank could not bring himself to answer. He looked away until Neville said,

"Don't be upset, Frank. I don't really mind. I just wish ... I wish I could meet my Daddy. I wonder what he's like. It'd be nice if he was like you."

A single tear trickled down Neville's pale cheek. Frank reached out to wipe it away, and before he knew it, Neville had pulled him closer, and was holding on tightly to him, suddenly crying with grief and fear, and seeming so much more like an ordinary little boy than he had until now. Only half an hour later, Neville's crying had subsided. His eyes were closed, and he looked peacefully asleep. Frank tore himself away from the bedside with difficulty, and went in search of healer Smethwyck, to tell him it was over. The healer patted him on the shoulder.

"It was good of you to stay with the child," he remarked. "Thank you." He then added, "By the way, you're wanted over there."

Frank looked in the direction the healer indicated, and sighed with relief.

"Alice."

She rushed towards him through the crowds, and he clutched her to him, allowing tears to fall onto her shoulder while she patted his back gently. She gave him time before asking tenderly,

"Are you all right?"

"I ... want to go home," he said.

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**4 - Confusion**

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Remus was dealing with the headache of his life. It beat at his temples like a gigantic drum and made him feel as though his eyes would soon burst out of their sockets from the enormous pressure. Opening them was even more painful, so he kept them tightly shut, wondering where he was in the dark. The last thing he remembered was waking up on ... a pavement? And the sound of a great bell booming so loudly it made his whole body shake. Traffic. People in black suits and bowler hats looking askance, probably thinking he was stone drunk. But he wasn't drunk. He may not know much at this juncture, but he did know that.

A soft hand touched his and pushed his fingers around something, not letting go, but guiding his hand upward to his mouth. Remus struggled against the glass that was pushed to his lips.

"Don't fight me, Remus," a voice pleaded through the darkness. "Drink this, you'll feel much better once you do ... I hope." The voice gave a sigh and said to someone else, "Give me a hand, darling."

Someone held him down firmly from behind, and the glass was pressed to his lips again. He had no choice but to swallow the thick, too-sweet liquid. Seconds later, his headache began to recede. Remus opened his eyes to find himself looking into a soft, anxious face with large green eyes, framed by a mass of silky red hair.

"L-Lily?" he muttered.

The hands that had held him down left his shoulders, and footsteps approached him from the side. Someone crouched down beside what he now realised was a sofa he was lying on. He recognised the hazel eyes behind their round frames and the untidy black hair.

"James."

"Hello, Remus," James said, speaking extra-distinctly. "So you recognise us now?"

"I ... what?" Remus said hoarsely and incoherently. "I mean ... yes."

"Do you know how you got here?" Lily asked gently.

He tried to think. The seconds passed, he could hear a clock ticking. The sound of the great bell echoed in his memory, and this time he recognised it. Big Ben. He had been in London, and now he was ... elsewhere, though he wasn't quite sure where. And he had no recollection of travelling. He shook his head.

"W-where are we?" he asked.

"Godric's Hollow," said James. "Our place."

Remus looked around him. He saw comfortable armchairs, a low table with an assortment of potion bottles on it, cream-coloured walls, a photograph of Lily and James on their wedding day, surrounded by himself, Sirius and Peter, a picture of Lily's parents ... Yes, now he recognised the Potters' living room.

"You got here at about half past seven this morning," said Lily. "At least, that's when James found you on our front doorstep."

"On the doorstep? "

"Yes," said James. "You seemed to be asleep." He went on urgently, "Remus, where have you been all night? I met your dad at St. Mungo's at four o'clock this morning, he was worried sick."

"Dad? What was he doing at St. Mungo's?"

"Looking for you, of course! He said he'd been looking for you all night, you didn't come home at all yesterday evening. _Where were you_?" he repeated urgently.

Lily made a hushing sound. "Not now, James, please. Give him some time to recover."

Remus looked from one to the other of them. He asked slowly, a terrible comprehension dawning on him,

"Was last night ... was there a full moon?"

James made a strange, exasperated noise and got to his feet, beginning to pace the floor. Lily asked gently,

"Don't you even remember that?"

"I don't remember anything at all," Remus said, unable to keep the panic out of his voice.

He glanced at James, who had stopped pacing to stare at him. It was only now that Remus realised how drawn James looked, both from exhaustion and from worry, by the look of it. He turned back to Lily again.

"What happened?"

She looked uncomfortable, but nevertheless began to tell him about the previous night's horrific attack on a muggle village. What little colour there had been in his face drained away.

"H-how many casualties?"

James replied heavily, and perhaps a little too directly, "Sixty-nine dead in the village, including seven aurors, twenty died in hospital, six were bitten, but survived, two of them are under ten."

Remus shuddered visibly. He felt simultaneously hot and cold, and sick with revulsion at the mere thought of what had occurred, even though he had not seen it. Or, at least, he could not remember having seen it. A terrible uncertainty grew in his mind, and James asked again,

"Where were you?"

"I ..." Remus paused, tried to think, looked up helplessly at James. "I can't remember."

"You've _got _to remember!" James yelled.

"James!" Lily reprimanded him sternly.

James turned on his heel and left the room, slamming the door behind him. Lily flinched as it banged shut. Then she apologised,

"Try not to mind James. He's seen more than anyone should ever have to, and he hasn't slept a wink, I couldn't even get him to lie down all night."

"Did ... did they catch all the werewolves involved?"

Lily shook her head. " Most of them got away. Some fled during the fight, some escaped afterwards, when the aurors were busy trying to help people. And five were killed. They still haven't been able to identify them. James said ..."

She broke off, but Remus prompted her to continue.

"He said that one of the ones who died - the McKinnons and Gideon killed it by accident - he said ... it looked a lot like you. So much so that at first, he and Sirius both thought ... well, thank god they were mistaken."

Remus was silent for a moment, then he said slowly,

"It could have been me, though. And ... we may yet find that it would have been better if it had been."

"Remus!" Lily cried, horrified, but he ignored her.

"Where was I last night?" Remus wondered out loud, speaking more to himself than to her. "I don't remember anything. I don't even know how I got here, let alone what happened before that."

"You came on the Knight Bus," Lily informed him. "After James had found you outside, we called your parents, and then we tried to figure out how you'd got here. In the end, we called the Knight Bus and asked the driver. He remembered picking you up in London. He said you didn't seem to be too sure where you were, or even who you were, but you had enough money and so he brought you here."

"I gave him this address?"

"Not exactly. He remembered you bringing me home before, and seeing as he didn't know what else to do with you ..."

"What condition was I in when James found me?"

"You were asleep, like he said."

"That's not what I meant. I mean was I ... injured in any way?"

"Oh. No," Lily said, happy to have at least a bit of what she considered good news.

"No?!"

She was startled to see that he looked upset by this. More than upset - devastated covered it more accurately.

"Remus," she asked, "what is it?"

He said urgently, sitting up a little straighter,

"There must have been something, surely. A bite, a cut, maybe just a scratch that you didn't notice ... a tear in my clothes somewhere."

He looked down at himself, but his shirt and trousers, though scarred from having been mended after previous transformations, were undamaged.

"Remus, there was nothing," Lily said gently. "I thought that was good."

Remus shook his head. "No, Lily, it isn't good. If I wasn't locked up, injuring myself last night ... then what was I doing?"

A long silence followed. Lily sat on the edge of the sofar, frowning deeply. Eventually she said,

"I really don't understand much about what it means to be a werewolf. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he replied. "You don't have to understand it."

But Lily protested,

"You're wrong, I do have to understand. If I don't, there's nothing I can do to help you. I know you've said before that I don't know how dangerous you can be. Well, I think after last night, I'm beginning to realise it. But that doesn't change what I've always known about you. What all your friends know about you." She looked him straight in the eye. "You're a good person, Remus. If you weren't, you wouldn't be so afraid right now. You are afraid, aren't you? Afraid that you might have been there last night?"

He lowered his eyes. "Yes," he confessed. "That frightens me more than anything."

Lily took his hand. "I know this probably isn't all that much comfort, but ... Even though I think I am beginning to understand what you've been trying to tell me, that you could do the kind of thing that those other werewolves did last night without meaning to, if you were loose under a full moon ... I really don't believe you did anything of the kind."

"Lily, there's no way of knowing ..."

"Remus, listen," she cut him short. "If you had been involved in last night's nightmare, do you think you'd be as unhurt as you are now? That village was swarming with aurors last night, and even the werewolves who managed to escape must have come away with injuries of some sort. You haven't suffered a scratch, and you're not even experienced at going up against humans when you've transformed. If you had been there, I'm sure _something _would have happened to you."

Remus dared to look at her again. His expression was doubtful, but she could see that there was hope in his eyes, nevertheless.

"It's wishful thinking," he said quietly.

"No, it makes sense," Lily insisted. "Or I think it does, but you've got to help me. Tell me exactly what usually happens when you transform."

He looked horrified at the thought. "No."

"Please, Remus, you've got to, if we're going to figure this out. I need to understand."

Remus hesitated a moment longer. Then, reluctantly, as briefly as he could, and with as little detail as possible, he explained to her what happened to him every full moon.

"When it starts to go dark," he said, "I go to into the hut that Dad and Uncle Malcolm have reinforced. Dad locks me up in there, with heavy padlocks on the outside, and then I wait. I transform ..."

"That's the part where you're still aware of who you are?"

"Yes."

"Until you've fully transformed?"

"Yes."

"I see. Go on."

"Well, I try to get out of the hut. That's usually the first way I injure myself. I get bruises from the brick walls. We tried padding the hut once, but it was no use. Anyway, when I find that I can't get out, I go mad. I need to satisfy the blood lust ... so I bite and scratch myself."

"Until the moon wanes?"

"Or until I pass out, whichever happens sooner."

"And when you wake up?"

"I'm human again."

"And, I suppose from what you've told me, well ... covered in your own blood."

"Yes."

"But you can remember what happened?"

"Every second of it."

"And when you used to go out with James and the others, could you remember what had happened afterwards?"

"Always."

"Have you ever been loose under the full moon on your own?"

"Not since I was a child," he said dully, remembering the occasion only too well.

"And?"

"I killed the cat."

Lily winced, but persisted, "You know that you did that?"

"Of course, she didn't rip herself ..."

"No, no, what I mean is, do you remember doing it, or did you only see the evidence of it afterwards and realise that you must have done it?"

"Oh no," he said. "I remember doing it, all right."

Lily smiled triumphantly. "Then I'm sure I'm right. Wherever you were last night, it wasn't Fencombe. If you had been there for some reason, if you had hurt any of those people, you'd have remembered it afterwards. Seeing as you don't remember it ..."

"But I don't remember anything at all!" Remus exclaimed, frustrated. "I'm sorry, Lily, your reasoning is tempting, and it's very kind of you to try and make me feel better, but it proves nothing. All right, if I was in the village - Fencombe, did you say? - I ought to remember it, but I also ought to remember if I _wasn't_ there. But I don't. I don't remember a thing!" he finished shakily.

Lily would not be swayed. She insisted,

"There's a reason why you don't remember anything, I'm sure of it."

He laughed humourlessly. "Yes. They say that we sometimes forget things we don't want to remember, because they're too terrible to admit to ourselves. That could be true in this case."

"That's not what I meant," Lily protested. "We'll work this out, Remus." She added gently, "Even if the worst were true, we both know you wouldn't have gone there of your own free will."

"It wouldn't make the result any better."

"But it does mean that, whatever happened - whether you were taken to the village by force, or whether someone drugged you to plant uncertainty in your mind, or the minds of the Order - someone else was involved. Someone knows what happened. I have no idea who, but I'm going to try to find out."

He stared at her for a long moment, then said softly,

"Thank you, Lily."

"Don't worry, everything will be fine, you'll see. I have every faith in you, even if you don't."

"And James?"

Lily considered him. "You're terribly fond of James, aren't you?"

"James was the first to offer me his friendship, and the first who didn't withdraw it when he found out the truth about me. I am terribly fond of him ... and you."

Lily gave him a sweet smile and, to his surprise, kissed him on the cheek.

"We're both terribly fond of you, too," she said. "And now to start testing my theory ..."

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That evening, Lily, James, Peter and Sirius were seated around the kitchen table, sipping butterbeer and - in Lily's case - pumpkin juice.

"So what do you reckon it was?" James asked. "A Forgetfulness Potion?"

"No ordinary Forgetfulness Potion is that powerful," Lily said thoughtfully. "Not when the antedote is administered within the first twelve hours."

"Did he take an antedote?" Sirius asked.

"I gave him one almost as soon as it occurred to me that he might have been given something," Lily said, remembering. "It must have been about ... nine o' clock."

"We don't know when he might have been given the potion in the first place," Peter pointed out.

"He can't have been given the stuff before the moon was full," said Sirius. "You can't feed someone Forgetfulness Potion before they've done anything to forget."

"Unless," said Lily, "you know they won't be doing anything at all, and you just want to cast a doubt."

Sirius frowned. "It's possible, I suppose."

"Well, you don't think he's lying, do you?"

With a faint smile, Sirius shook his head. "I may have shown signs of a suspicious mind in the past, but I'm pretty sure Remus couldn't stomach anything like what happened last night and convincingly pretend not to know anything about it."

"What about a memory charm?" James suggested. "They can be pretty powerful."

"Yes," Peter said eagerly. "That could be it. If, say, You-Know-Who himself performed the charm ... we'd never be able to break through it, it would be too powerful."

"We know someone who could try," Sirius said.

"Alice? Do you think she would?"

"I'm sure she'd try if Remus asked her to," Lily agreed with Sirius. "And in case she doesn't succeed ... well, there is one other course. Whether Remus was given a potion, or whether someone put a charm on him - someone was involved, and that someone knows what happened."

"True," James said. "But likely as not, that someone is none less than Fenrir Greyback himself, and quite honestly, after what I've heard about him and what I saw last night, I'm not too keen to go looking for him. Not that I'd even know where to start."

"Malcolm might have an idea," Lily pondered. "He found him once before."

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**5 - Precarious Positions**

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That night, Peter Pettigrew lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling with sore eyes. He had found it easy to back up Lily's theory and play the part of the loyal friend this afternoon. After all, out of them all, he was the only one who knew beyond a shadow of a doubt what had happened to Remus the previous night, and it pained him that, to put it bluntly, it was no one else's fault but his. He had voiced fears that the Order would sooner or later come to suspect that one of its members was not as loyal to the fight against Voldemort as they made out to be, and that suspicion might fall on him. Voldemort had assured him that that would not be the case, that his 'friend' Fenrir Greyback had a way of making sure that, should suspicions arise, they were more likely to centre on someone else. _Someone else_. That had sounded so convenient and so vague at the time, that Peter had felt nothing but relief, and thought no more about it. Had he known that by 'someone else' the Dark Lord meant one of his best and truest friends ...

_It wouldn't have changed anything_, he was forced to admit to himself.

He had already failed his sister. Now he had failed one of his best friends. And nothing would change that. Because whenever Peter thought of turning back, he remembered what had happened to Pippa, and how he himself had been 'persuaded' to join the Death Eaters in the first place, and such a fear gripped him that he daren't even consider betraying the Dark Lord, even though it pained him that the only other way was to betray his friends.

Still, he had not been required to do an awful lot so far, thank goodness. He had given the Death Eaters a couple of dates when he knew certain more powerful members of the Order would be too occupied to appear at the scene of any attack very quickly. He had provided Voldemort with a complete list of names of the members of the Order that he knew of, but had kept certain details secret, on which he rather prided himself. Voldemort had been so sure that Peter would not dare keep anything from him, that he had not probed any further.

_I may have revealed things I shouldn't have, but I haven't told him about James, I haven't let my friends down._

Or rather, he hadn't. Up to now. Now it was a case of confessing what he knew and what he had done, or letting the uncertainty continue as to what exactly Remus had been doing last night - knowing that it was bound to leave some people with doubts about Remus's credibility, and more than that, that the uncertainty would be torture to his friend, who had never shown him anything but kindness.

Was it any wonder that his eyes were sore, and he could not sleep? There was no easy way out of this. In fact, as far as he could see, there was no way out at all.

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Professor McGonagall slipped her wand back into the pocket of the cloak she wore over her night dress on her way along the corridor to the stone gargoyle that guarded the headmaster's office.

"Treacle tart".

The gargoyle move aside with incredible agility for a creature made of stone, and the deputy headmistress stepped onto the moving spiral staircase beyond. Seconds later, she was knocking on Dumbledore's door, and bidden to enter almost immediately. Evidently, the headmaster had not been able to sleep any more than she had tonight. It was also evident, from the way he was standing in the middle of the room with his hands behind his back, that he had been pacing restlessly.

"Minerva," Dumbledore greeted her. "What can I do for you at this late hour?"

She closed the door carefully before answering him.

"Hagrid sent a message that there was someone at the front gate."

"At this hour? Most unexpected. And you went to investigate? Not on your own, I trust."

"Of course not. Hagrid accompanied me. We were both surprised to see who it was."

She told him the name, and Dumbledore raised an eyebrow with interest.

"Indeed? And did he state his purpose in coming here?"

McGonagall nodded. "He wants to talk to you. In the Shrieking Shack. He claims to have 'a proposition that will interest you'."

"Really? And this cannot wait until tomorrow?"

"He says not."

"In that case," Dumbledore said, removing his scarlet nightcap from his head. "Be so kind as to let him know that I will see him in the Shrieking Shack in fifteen minutes ... after I have slipped into something more appropriate."

Precisely fifteen minutes later Dumbledore, now clothed in forget-me-not-blue robes, emerged from the tunnel beyond the Whomping Willow into the Shrieking Shack on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. A dark figure standing close to one of the boarded up windows turned around as he entered, revealing a sallow face with a long, hooked nose and black eyes.

"Severus," Dumbledore greeted the young man pleasantly. "This is an unexpected visit, indeed. What brings you back to school, and at such a late hour?"

"Headmaster." Severus inclined his head. "I have a proposition to make."

"That sounds promising," said Dumbledore. "Shall we sit down?"

He examined the broken remains of chairs littered about the room, and finding none intact, waves his wand to conjure up two chintz armchairs. He sat in one of them, and waited for Severus to seat himself in the other.

"There," he said. "That's better."

Seated on the very edge of his chair, Severus began hesitantly,

"What I am about to suggest must on no account go beyond these walls. Can you promise me that you will tell no one about this conversation?"

"I fear that will depend on what it is you are proposing," Dumbledore said cautiously. "But certainly, you may rely on my discretion, provided your intentions are not dishonourable or damaging to any third party. Tell me your proposition, Severus. I am all ears ... proverbially speaking, naturally."

Severus ignored the humour and began to speak. He outlined his plan of furnishing Dumbledore and the Order with information about the Death Eaters' activities, under the pretence of doing the opposite on the Dark Lord's behalf.

"If I could come and work at Hogwarts," he said eagerly, "I could tell the Dark Lord I am doing so in order that it might help me spy on _you _for _him_, whereas in actual fact it would merely ensure that I will have a chance to speak to you whenever I need to, to tell you about his plans, so that you can act in time to thwart them."

Dumbledore listened to all the young man said with patient interest. When Severus had exhausted himself, he asked mildly,

"There is one thing I would very much like to know. I do not wish you to think me ungracious, or unappreciative of what it is you are offering to do for me. But there is one thing that puzzles me greatly."

"Yes, headmaster?"

"Why?"

Severus's mouth twisted with distaste. "Because I hate him," he said fiercely.

"Voldemort?" Dumbledore said, watching Severus flinch at the sound of the name. "Again - why? I was under the impression, in the past, that you rather admired him. What has brought about this sudden change?"

"My reasons are my own," Severus snapped.

Dumbledore rose from his chair. "In that case," he said. "I am afraid I must decline your offer, tempting though it undoubtedly is. I cannot afford to take such a risk with the lives of people who rely on me to keep them safe, and their identities secret."

"All right," Severus said quickly. "All right. But this time I really must request - no, insist - that what I tell you remain a complete secret. It is a very private matter, and I do not wish it to be widely known and discussed."

Dumbledore studied him a moment, then inclined his head.

"You have my word."

He sat down again. He waited patiently for Severus to give his reasons in his own time. The young man explained about his meeting with Josephine, the relationship that had developed between them, his discovery that the girl had been a squib, Josephine's death, his mother's, how he had killed his father, and finally, how he had found out that when Josephine had died, his child had died with her.

"The Dark Lord did this," Severus hissed at the end. "He is responsible for all these deaths, though he committed none of the murders with his own hand. He was behind them all, it was his doctrine that condemned Josephine and her family to death ... and my child," he added bitterly. "And I hate him for it."

"A plausible reason, to be sure," Dumbledore said slowly. "Though I must confess I do not find it pleasing. Hatred is rarely a good basis for doing good. But, as the saying goes, the enemy of my enemy is my friend. I see that you speak the truth, and have genuinely become Lord Voldemort's enemy, as am I. According to the old rule, that makes us friends, I suppose. I could wish that your motives were more pure, that you had seen the error of your ways out of a love for human life, perhaps, rather than the wish to see a life ended, and that you wished to atone for past mistakes ... perhaps that will come, with time. For now, I will be content with the knowledge that you intend to bring about Lord Voldemort's downfall, and will stop at nothing to achieve it. I accept your help gladly, and if you apply for a position here at Hogwarts, I will grant you one. We will, in any case, be needing a new Potions master this summer."

Severus appeared taken aback. "Potions? But ... headmaster, surely ... you need a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher far more urgently than that, don't you?"

Dumbledore's blue eyes fixed him warningly. "I do not consider that to be a position to which you are particularly well suited, Severus," he said quietly, but firmly. "I offer you Potions. I believe you were always highly skilled at that subject."

Severus bowed his head. "Yes, headmaster."

"Very well then. That is settled."

He rose to leave, and Severus followed suit, but after Dumbledore had made the armchairs disappear once more, the headmaster said,

"You must be very careful, Severus. I need hardly tell you how powerful Voldemort is, or what he is capable of. I suggest, above all, that you use the time until the start of your new employment this summer to study Occlumency, at every opportunity."

"I have already begun to do so, headmaster."

Dumbledore nodded approvingly. He gave Severus a small smile of encouragement, and departed back along the tunnel.

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**6 - Exploring the Past**

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"I'll get it," Frank said when the doorbell rang on Saturday morning.

He picked up his wand and walked out into the hall. Peering trough the spyhole, he was mildly surprised to see Remus on the doorstep. Well, it looked like Remus. You could never be too careful these days. Frank directed his wand at the door and muttered a spell - the Longbottoms' front door was more or less sound proof, and there was no way he could have spoken to anyone on the other side without this spell.

"Good morning," he said. "What did Dumbledore say at the end of our last meeting?"

"That he would give ten packets of sherbet lemons for a new pair of socks," Remus answered correctly.

Frank opened the door to let him in. It was clear to each of them, even as they shook hands, that neither was in the best of spirits, and both felt a little awkward. Nevertheless, Frank invited Remus to come through into the living room, where Alice was clearing up the breakfast things, still wearing a dressing gown.

"Remus!" she exclaimed, putting down the coffee pot to come over and hug him. "What a lovely surprise!"

"Good morning, Alice," Remus replied reservedly.

She stood back and studied him. "You're looking very glum. What's up?" she enquired.

He glanced at Frank, then turned back to Alice and began,

"I really have no right to ask this of you, but the truth is, I don't know where else to turn. O hope you won't mind too much ..."

"Mind what?" Frank asked.

He had put his wand away again and was beginning to stack plates and cups with a mechanical air.

"It's about the other night," Remus said. "The full moon. I understand some terrible things happened that night and ... the fact is, I don't remember where I was at the time."

Alice and Frank exchanged a glance. Frank's tight expression reminded Remus so very much of James's that he quickly guessed Frank had been at Fencombe, too. Sure enough, Frank said,

"I thought of you that night. I told Neville ..." he broke of, the shadow of painful memory passing over his face.

"Neville?"

"A boy Frank came across in the village," Alice explained. "He suffered the same fate as many of the village's children, I'm afraid. He died." She added softly, "Frank was with him till the end."

"He was a brave kid," Frank said distantly. "The bravest I've ever met." He shook himself and addressed Remus in a more normal tone again, "But what about you? You say you can't remember where you were?"

Remus shook his head. He told them how he had turned up on the Potters' doorstep the morning after, with no recollection of where he had been or what he had done the night before, and of Lily's insistence that they must get to the bottom of this, and later the advice of his friends to appeal to Alice for help.

"I know you don't do this kind of thing any more if you can help it," he said. "I'll understand if you'd rather not. After all, you've left all that behind you now ..."

"I can't promise anything," she interrupted him. "But of course I'll try."

"Alice ..." Frank began, but she cut him short.

"Don't worry, Frank, I'll be very careful. Now let's all sit down." She and Remus did so, though Frank remained standing, and she continued, "This might be a bit unpleasant. Whatever you do, Remus, try not to start blocking me."

"I wouldn't know how."

"Not consciously, perhaps, but sometimes people do it without meaning to. Sit back a bit. That's right. Shut your eyes. Now try and relax."

"Alice, I don't know that this is such a good ..."

"Hush, Frank. Either go away or sit down quietly, please."

Frank sat down, watching anxiously while Alice closed her eyes and began reaching for Remus's consciousness. For a long time, nothing at all seemed to happen, except that Alice frowned a few times and made the odd incomprehensible murmur.

From her point of view, on the other hand, very much was happening. Only most of it had nothing to do with what she was trying to find out. It was not easy, when you carried another life in your body, to make psychic contact with any other consciousness but this, and it took her about ten minutes to push that to the back of her mind and reach out further. Even then, the first mind she was aware of was Frank's, and she silently wished she had simply asked him to leave the room, but it was too late now, if she spoke at this time she would have to start all over again. So she pushed Frank's mind aside as well and kept searching until, at last, she found another.

Frank knew she had made contact when he saw Remus twitch suddenly.

Alice travelled backwards through Remus's memories of the days since the full moon, as far as the moment Lily's voice echoed gently, "Don't fight me". So far, it had been no problem. Now came the difficult part. Alice tried to go back further, but found her path blocked by something that was not there. A great emptiness that rose up before her, like a vast balloon that she circled and prodded from all angles, but could not bring to burst and let her in. She touched thoughts and feelings all around it, but she could not get into that bubble. She tried for several minutes, straining both her own mind and Remus's until they were both sure to end up with headaches, then decided to give it a rest, instead allowing her mind to probe around the emptiness, to what had happened before. She caught brief glimpses of street lamps, of tall buildings and of water running underfoot, and she heard a distant chime that seemed familiar. Every now and then, it seemed she could almost hear something else, and she pushed a little harder to try and make out what it was. Just a breath of air? A breeze? No, a whisper. A voice. Someone speaking hurriedly. Afraid. She began to pick out bits of sentences "... what to do ... too powerful ... scared ... help ... please ... please ..." Who was saying these words? She looked around, but whenever she turned her head towards the voice, its position shifted. She turned and turned again, but she could not grasp it. Another sound became muddled with the voice, a sound of a different origin, a sort of panting and moaning. Alice pressed on and found herself up against the emptiness again. She pushed and pushed, and became suddenly aware of a splitting pain in her head.

Outside the world of their combined thoughts, Frank watched Alice and Remus anxiously. At the point where the pain exploded in his wife's head, he could finally take no more. He took Alice by the shoulders and shook her urgently.

"Alice, it's enough. Stop. Stop! There's no point in going on."

He looked across at Remus with concern. His face was twisted in agony, and he was twitching and moaning with pain.

"Rora!" Frank yelled.

She snapped out of it. At the same time, Remus gave a shout and opened his eyes. Alice blinked up at Frank, took his hand and said weakly,

"It's all right."

Remus stared at her. "What was that ... that hole?" he asked her.

Alice leaned against Frank, who had sat down beside her, and answered,

"I'm not entirely sure. But I think someone modified your memory ... removed a part of it, so you wouldn't know what happened during that space of time."

"Then ... Lily was right ..."

"It looks that way. Anything might have happened, or nothing, I really couldn't say. We can't find out any more, not this way. And the only thing we have to go on are those snippets of someone talking, but I didn't recognise the voice. Did you?"

Remus looked thoughtful. "I'm not sure. It sounded vaguely familiar, but I can't quite place it."

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"So," Lily said triumphantly later that day, when Remus came to see her and tell her what Alice had discovered, "I was right. Someone did meddle with your memory."

"Goodness knows why, though," said Remus.

"Obviously to make you doubt yourself, and maybe to make others doubt you, too. You said the voice was familiar," Lily said. "What did it sound like? Old? Young?"

"Young, I think. It was hard to tell, it was so quiet." He thought again. "No, I'm pretty sure it was a young voice."

"Not Fenrir Greyback, then," Lily murmured with slight relief. "What?" she added, as Remus stared at her, an odd expression on his face.

"I - I don't know ... your saying Greyback just triggered something ... whoever was talking ... they said something about Greyback, too." He buried his face in his hands while she watched him think. "Scared," said his muffled voice. "Help ... yes, he wanted help getting away from Greyback."

"What about ... Jeremy?" Lily wondered out loud.

Remus looked up at her sharply. "What did you say?"

"Jeremy," she repeated carefully. "Jeremy Crowe. Could it have been him?"

"I ... suppose so." Remus seemed doubtful.

Lily was nodding vigorously. "Of course, it must have been Jeremy. Who else would be that close to Greyback, and come asking you to help him get away? You must have met him somewhere, but something went wrong and ... and ..." Her eagerness died away as she contemplated what might have happened next.

Remus suggested heavily, "And Greyback found both of us, and made us go with him to this village, and when the full moon came out ..."

"No!" Lily protested sharply. "Don't say it. For goodness' sake, Remus, do you _want_ to believe the worst? No, that's not what happened next, it was something else, and there's only one way to find out. We must find Jeremy and ask him."

"If it was Jeremy."

"Let's hope it was. It's all we've got to go on."

"But Jeremy could be anywhere. He could even be dead."

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**7 - Jeremy's Story**

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How does one find a boy few people have ever seen, and whom even less know by name? A boy in the clutches of a person whom everyone tries not to see, and whose name they try hard to forget? Malcolm began with a few people he knew still working at the Department of Mysteries, visiting them one by one at home, but anyone who grudgingly admitted that yes, it was true his nephew's place in the committee had been taken by a young boy who submitted willingly to any experiments that were put forward, seemed unable to recall, or claimed never to have known, the youngster's name.

"_The cub_, that's what the other one calls him," said one witch secretively.

When Malcolm asked her whether, by "other one", she meant Fenrir Greyback, she winced, shrank back, and said she didn't know anything and was very sorry, but she couldn't help him. Only two people seemed at all willing to say any more on the matter, and they insisted that it must be in secret, sometime after dark, somewhere remote. Malcolm took the information Gloria Lovegood and Damocles Belby gave him to some of his less reputable contacts, who insisted on three times the usual amount of bribery before they agreed to make enquiries for him.

It had taken a month, but by the time the next full moon came around, Malcolm knew what he needed to know. He had a detailed description of a certain wooded area, and a track leading through that wood which would take him to a fortified cave in which the werewolf leader and the "cub" Jeremy Crowe were said to live secluded from the rest of the world - at least, part of the time. Problem number one was that they only ever seemed to be seen there just before the full moon. Problem number two was that Malcolm had no idea where he might find them the rest of the month, except at the Ministry of Magic, where he could not dare to show his face now that it was so deeply in Voldemort's pockets. There was John, of course. John still worked at the Ministry. But ask John to seek out Fenrir Greyback? No, he could not do that. There was only one thing he could do, though it was risky ...


	40. Part 40: In Immediate Danger

**Prequel, Part 40: In Immediate Danger**

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**1 - Another Month On**

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Faith took the freshly baked cake out of the oven and glanced at the clock. It brought a frown to her face. It was almost midday, and still Remus had not left his bedroom more than twice - once to go to the bathroom, and once to come down for breakfast. Since then, he had shut himself in upstairs with his books and she had neither seen him nor heard him again. Admittedly, it had never been unusual for her son to spend a whole day doing nothing but read, but in weather as fine as today's, he normally did so out of doors. And yet despite the glorious sunshine, as far as she knew he had not even opened his window.

She put the cake on a plate to let it cool, and poured out a glass of pumpkin juice to take up to him.

"Come in," Remus answered her knock on his door.

He was sitting at his desk, studying the book Professor Darkhardt had given him for Christmas one year. Faith set the glass down beside him, saying conversationally, "I've just got the cake out of the oven. What icing do you prefer? Strawberry, Lemon ..."

"I don't mind," he replied absent-mindedly.

"It's lovely weather out," Faith said, going to the window. "I'm surprised you're not out enjoying it while you can."

Remus looked up from his book for the first time since she had entered the room.

"After last month, I decided it was safer not to go out at all today. Just in case. I'd rather wait until the full moon has passed."

Faith turned to face him. She tried to find something to say, but she couldn't think of anything. So she merely walked up to him and stroked his cheek. He gave a faint smile.

"Don't worry, Mum. I'll be all right again tomorrow. I won't get prison pallor just from spending one day indoors."

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It seemed to have become Ministry of Magic policy to have all staff work on Saturdays, although John could not think why he had been asked to come in today. Nothing had happened all morning, or rather, nothing he was allowed to do anything about. All the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures seemed to do these days was record incidents involving dangerous magical creatures. They were never allowed to act upon the information they received. The Ministry was run almost entirely by Death Eaters now, and its latest activities included things like firing all half-blood personnel and issuing new rules to prohibit the employment of muggle-borns. Last week, "_conspiring with muggles_" - defined as spending more than one our a week with more than two muggles at a time - had been added to the list of crimes punishable by a three-month term in Azkaban, whereas muggle-baiting had been legalised. Within his own department, home-breeding of hitherto unrecognised species remained illegal, but became legal the moment the breeder registered the new breed with the Ministry and provided the Ministry with a 'prototype' for further research. A vampire who attacked a pure-blood witch or wizard or a Death Eater could be sentenced to life, whereas one who killed a muggle would get off without so much as a fine. House elves were bred and then kept in cages until they could be sold off to wealthy pure-blood families, and for the right amount of money, it was now possible to purchase mountain trolls to guard family fortunes. And anyone who dared speak out against these policies usually vanished almost immediately, either never to be seen again, or to return with opinions totally the reverse of those they had voiced before.

Under these circumstances, John supposed it was no wonder, really, that he hardly ever slept nights now. Or that Faith said goodbye to him every morning as though he were heading towards his own execution rather than just another day at work. She worried about him terribly, and he couldn't blame her. Lately, every day made him feel more and more that it was time he followed his son's and Lily's example and resigned before his name was added to the long list of those who had been asked to leave, sacked, or simply disappeared. It was only the knowledge that his income was all his family had to live on at the moment that kept him here. True, Gordon Gryffindor had offered to tide them over if he would prefer to stop working at the Ministry and seek another position, but John had no idea what position to go looking for. He had never worked at any other job but this.

He checked his watch. It was lunchtime at last. He took off his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes. God, he was tired. Strong coffee was definitely what the healer ordered right now. John went out, locked his office behind him and headed towards the lift. It filled with more people on their way to lunch as it stopped at other floors. One or two acknowledged him with a nod. No one spoke. The Ministry of Magic had become a quiet place to work.

Most people stepped out of the lift when it reached the Atrium, John among them. But he had only just passed the golden grille when a harsh, rasping voice close by said, "Well, well. If it isn't my old 'friend', Lupin."

John stopped short and turned towards the speaker. He recognised the man with an unpleasant leap of the heart. The other witches and wizards went about their business, some casting nervous glances as they passed, all of them keeping their distance.

"Remember me?" the big man continued.

"Greyback," John said, and though his voice was steady it sounded hollow and weak compared to the other man's growling tone.

"I've been hoping we'd run into each other ever since I started coming to the Ministry," the other went on. "What luck it happened to be today."

John felt his jaw tighten. He, too, had been expecting - or dreading - an encounter with Greyback since he had heard that the werewolf was loose again, but it had not prepared him for the actual moment. In the years that had passed, the revulsion he felt for Greyback had not lessened. Nor had the fear. He pulled himself together. He would not give Greyback the satisfaction of seeing him quiver. Their history was long passed, and he had come out on top back then, sending Greyback to Azkaban, where he belonged. He walked on without another word.

But Greyback was not finished. He followed John in the direction of the fireplaces and barred his way again.

"Not so fast," he said. "It's been so long, surely you wouldn't walk away before we've caught up on old times?"

"I would," John said evenly. "It's lunchtime, I'm hungry ... and in my opinion, it hasn't been long enough."

Greyback snarled. "You want to pick your words more carefully, Lupin. You don't want to make me angry." He picked his teeth with a yellow fingernail. "How's your son?" he asked.

"Get out of my way," John responded quietly.

Ignoring his words, Greyback continued, "How did it feel, having your only son turned into something you hate so much?"

John knew he shouldn't rise to the bait, but he couldn't help it.

"My son is nothing like you," he retorted sharply. "And I never hated werewolves, but you ... you're something less than human."

"I am what people like you made me. With your hate, and your fear, and your persecution."

"I tried to help you! You could have had a different life, you could have been someone, but you chose to go on killing and give people more reason than ever for their prejudices ..."

"Prejudices they now hold against your son, eh?"

Greyback was smiling unpleasantly. John did not answer this time, but merely said, "Stand aside, Greyback."

"He and I are not so different," the werewolf claimed. "There's a killer in him, too. You should try and get him to accept that, rather than fight it. He'd be much happier that way, satisfying his lust for blood rather than suppressing it, using his power to subdue the people who want nothing more than to put him down like an animal turned rabid ... people like you. If he has an ounce of pride, he ought to despise you. You made him what he is, and you taught him to hate himself for it."

"That's not true!" John cried.

Again, Greyback had touched a nerve so expertly that he couldn't resist the urge to protest, even though he knew it was playing into the other's hands. John took a few deep breaths to steady himself. He said more calmly, "I love my son. But you wouldn't understand that. You don't understand love, or compassion, or pity."

"I understand _revenge_," Greyback said with a satisfied sneer. "I've proved that to you well enough, I should think. It doesn't do to go against me, Lupin. It comes at a price, and it's not cheap, as your son can testify. You underestimated me once. Only a fool would do so twice. You're not a fool, are you, Lupin?"

John stared at him, horrified by what he was hearing. Greyback gave a yellow-toothed grin and walked away.

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"It's tonight, isn't it?" Bridget asked Malcolm as they sat on the balcony together, eating sandwiches and drinking tea.

"What is?"

"The full moon."

She looked across at him. Malcolm seemed to be concentrating on his food, but she knew that what this actually meant was that he was avoiding her eyes. She put a hand on his arm to stop him eating, and forced him to look at her.

"Yes," he said with a sigh. "It's tonight."

Her brown eyes were fearful.

"And you still haven't been able to find Jeremy Crowe."

He shook his head.

"He goes to the Ministry practically every day!"

"I can't get to him at the Ministry. You know I can't just go waltzing in there."

"John might be able to catch him there."

"I can't ask John to get involved in this. If he comes up against Greyback again ..."

"Remus is his son, not yours!" Bridget said hotly. "Don't you think if he knew what you were planning, he would demand the right to help you go about it in what, in my opinion, is a somewhat less reckless and suicidal manner?"

"Do you want to get John killed?"

"I don't want _you _to get killed!" she cried. "And I think you underestimate John if you think he couldn't outwit someone like Greyback."

Malcolm shook his head. "No, Bridget. You don't know Greyback and what he's capable of, and you don't know the effect he's always had on John. John's too soft to deal with the Greybacks of this world. Greyback can't be measured by normal human standards, his evil goes deeper, and John ... John's too good for this world, surely you know that."

"Yes. But I still think ..."

"No, Bridget," Malcolm said firmly. "I will not involve John in this. Greyback's hurt him enough already."

"Then at least let me go with you."

"No."

"You're not going alone!"

"It's too dangerous."

"Too dangerous for me, but not for you, I suppose?!"

"It's too dangerous for anyone, but I have no choice."

"Really? Have you asked Remus?" she demanded. "Have you asked him whether he would rather see his uncle mauled by a couple of werewolves or put up with a twelve-hour gap in his memory?"

Malcolm left the table and went indoors. Bridget called after him, but he did not come back.

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**2 - Taking Risks**

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Faith had been expecting John home by three, but he had not come. It was now nearly four o'clock, and she had been getting increasingly worried for half an hour.

"Perhaps it's been a busy day," Remus suggested when she went up to his room to talk to him about his father's lateness.

"Then why hasn't he called?" Faith wondered. "He said he should be home by three, he knows how I worry about him."

She went over to the window and peered out towards the only possible apparition spot in the clearing. Remus closed his book and came to stand beside her. He put his hand on her shoulder and said soothingly, "I'm sure he'll be home long before it's time to lock me up."

His mother's fingers closed around his, but she did not stop staring out of the window. The minutes passed. Remus returned to his book. It was a quarter past four when Faith said, "There he ... no, wait. It's Bridget!"

She hurried out the door and down the stairs to let Bridget in, though not before ascertaining it really was Bridget by asking their agreed question and receiving the right answer. Bridget hugged Faith as she came in. They went into the living room.

"Is John home?" Bridget asked as soon as she had sat down.

"No," Faith told her. "He should have been in an hour ago. When I saw you apparate, I thought perhaps you'd seen him."

Bridget shook her head. "No, I came here to talk to him about tonight. Malcolm's made up his mind to go looking for Jeremy Crowe tonight, and I can't persuade him otherwise."

"What?" Remus said sharply, having just appeared in the doorway.

Both women looked up. He came into the room and stared at Bridget.

"He can't go looking for Jeremy, not tonight. He only needs to stay with Jeremy a moment too long, and ..."

"I know, I know," said Bridget with exasperation. "I've been through all that with him, but he claims he can find Jeremy, talk to him and get back well in time. He's on his way there now."

"Jeremy won't be alone," Remus said. "Fenrir Greyback hardly ever leaves him out of his sight."

"Fenrir Greyback?" Faith echoed fearfully. "Surely Malcolm knows better than to go anywhere near him."

"You'd have thought so, wouldn't you?" Bridget agreed. "But no, he seems determined to walk straight into his waiting arms. I think it's partly because of what happened last month. I don't know, sometimes lately I've got the impression he feels that if someone could only stop Greyback ..."

"No one can stop Greyback," Remus said. "Not alone, and certainly not ton..."

He broke off. A key was being turned in the front door, and Faith jumped to her feet and went out into the hall. Remus and Bridget waited, and soon Faith returned. John was with her. He looked drawn.

"Hello Bridget," he said.

She returned his greeting. He sat down in his usual armchair, and Faith resumed her seat. Remus still remained standing.

"Dad," he said, "Bridget's been telling us Uncle Malcolm wants to go looking for Jeremy Crowe tonight, even though he knows Jeremy's probably with Greyback."

John's tired blue eyes flickered from Remus to Bridget.

"It's true," she told him. "He's pretty determined. I told him it's too dangerous, but he says it's the only time he knows where to find Jeremy, except for when he's at the Ministry, and he can't go there."

"I'm at the Ministry every day, why didn't he say something?"

"He doesn't want you to get involved."

"Involved?!" John exclaimed. "Good god, if it hadn't been for me ..."

He suddenly buried his face in his hands. Bridget, Faith and Remus exchanged glances. It was a long time before John looked up again. His expression was haunted.

"I met Fenrir Greyback today," he began telling them. "He taunted me and ... implied certain things ... That's why I'm late," he explained to Faith. "I needed some time to think before I came home. To work things out. And then I wanted to talk to Malcolm about it, but he wasn't there." John turned to Bridget. "Do you know where he's looking for the boy?"

"I've got a rough idea."

"Then let's not hang about," John said, getting to his feet again. "He's got a head start already, and a better idea of where he's going, it won't be easy to catch up with him."

Remus followed him to the door.

"Dad, let me come with you."

"No, Remus, it's too risky."

"Not yet, it's still early. Dad, please, I know he's only doing this for me, I can't stay behind knowing what might happen."

John put a hand on his shoulder. "Remus, we don't know how long this will take. It could be dark before we find him."

"I could come just for a while, and if we find it's getting too late ..."

"It might already be too late by then for you to apparate back here, if it's even possible to disapparate from where we're going. And you can't expect your mother to lock you up all by herself."

"But ..."

"Come on, Remus," John said, and he walked out the front door.

Remus followed him obediently to the brick-walled hut. His father held the door open for him, and Remus crossed the threshold. Then he turned round once more.

"Dad, when you spoke to Greyback, did he tell you ... I mean, what did he say?"

John's eyes widened in surprise as he studied his son's face.

"Y-you knew?"

Remus realised then that the secret his uncle had kept all these years was out at last. While Remus had let himself be persuaded to keep it, Greyback himself had finally found the opportunity to gloat over what he had done, and Remus could see now for certain that Malcolm had been right not to tell John before. He had never seen his father look so pained.

"Yes," he said gently. "Greyback told me himself that he was the one who bit me."

"And he did it because of me," John said heavily. "Out of revenge for what I'd done to him."

"You did what you had to do," Remus answered quickly. "Uncle Malcolm told me all about it, and I know his version was the true one. What Greyback was doing was monstrous, and you had to stop him."

"And by doing so, I sealed your fate, for which I can never expect you to forgive me."

"There's nothing to forgive. Dad ..."

But John seemed incapable of looking his son in the eye. He turned away and closed the door behind him, reinforcing it with spells and ignoring his son's continued shouted attempts to speak to him.

He rejoined Bridget and Faith, who looked frantic.

"For god's sake be careful, both of you," she pleaded. "John, darling ..."

He embraced her quickly, but said nothing more. He and Bridget returned to the apparition spot, turned and disappeared. Remus was still banging on the door of the shed. Faith walked up to it and leaned against the wood.

"He's gone," she said, and the banging stopped.

Faith felt warm tears start to trickle down her cheeks.

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Dressed in muggle clothes and prodding the ground with the old walking stick Faith had made him use during his recovery after escaping the Death Eaters, Malcolm had been searching the forest his contacts had told him about for several hours without finding a trace of Jeremy Crowe. Every now and then, he had found a print and bent to examine it with a hand gloved in dragon hide, but they had all been the pawprints of animals that dwelt here. It was growing increasingly dark between the trees, and his watch told him that he ought to give up soon and go home. Even if he found Jeremy now, they would not have much time to talk before the moon came out. Whatever anyone believed, Malcolm was not feeling suicidal, nor had he any desire to be bitten.

He lit his wand and peered through the light it shed. It was maddening how one clearing in this woodland looked so very much like another. But just as he was deciding that it was hopeless, the wand light fell on something in the undergrowth - the remains of several small animals that appeared to have been killed some time ago, though apparently not for food, for their carcasses had been discarded. He examined the bushes and ferns on either side of the spot, and found a place where the twigs had been broken and the ferns trampled.

Malcolm followed the trail, and the forest grew denser and darker still around him. The wind picked up and rustled the leaves overhead, making a sound like the whisper of a million hushed voices warning each other of his approach.

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Remus sat on the floor of the hut, counting. He had been cross with himself earlier for losing control like that, and was trying hard now to concentrate on the passing seconds and minutes to keep himself calm, and not let his panic get the better of him. He had got as far as two hundred and ten minutes, eleven seconds. Roughly. He couldn't say exactly whether that covered the length of time he had sat here, because there were gaps when other thoughts had interrupted his rhythm, or when he had forgotten to count at all. He had not even started to count until he had heard his mother walk away.

Twelve seconds. He wondered what exactly Greyback had said to his father. In any case, his uncle had been proved right. The realisation that he, Remus, had not been bitten by chance or accident, but purposely as an act of revenge, had shaken his father badly. On top of that, the news that Uncle Malcolm had started out for Greyback's lair hours before the full moon had added to his already deep distress, and there was no knowing what might happen if there was a confrontation. His father was not himself tonight.

"Keep counting," he told himself in a whisper. "Keep counting. Twenty seconds. Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three ..."

Bridget and his father couldn't have found his uncle yet, or they would have come back by now. Half of him hoped they wouldn't find him at all, the other half was anxious what might happen to his uncle if he was really caught out alone in the night with two werewolves.

"Twenty-four ... No, probably more like thirty by now. So, thirty-one, thirty-two ... It's all my fault," he muttered, clenching his fists.

When Alice had proved unable to properly uncover his lost memory, he should have left it at that. He should have told Lily to leave it at that. He should have stopped her going to his uncle, and above all, he should have anticipated Uncle Malcolm getting a reckless idea like this and done something to stop it. Or he should have gone looking for Jeremy himself. At least that way, if the full moon had come up, they would each have stood an even chance, whereas his uncle and his father and Bridget ... It didn't bear thinking about. He tried to go on counting.

"Forty-three, forty-four, forty-six - no, forty-five, forty-six - seven ..."

If anything happened to them, it would be his fault.

"It's all my fault."

Tap-tap-tap. Someone was knocking on the door from the outside.

"Remus?" the voice was muffled, but recognisable.

"James?"

"Yes. Glad to hear you're still yourself. How long do you think you've got?"

"I can't tell, I've lost count," Remus said, getting up from his sitting position and instead kneeling closer to the door. "Are Sirius and Peter with you?"

"Yes. We've got a plan. Hang on."

Remus could hear some murmuring going on outside, and then the door lit up a few times. Finally the key was turned in the lock. Remus stood.

"What are you all doing here?" he asked, anxiously glancing up at the sky.

"We reckoned Malcolm might get it into his head to do something incredibly stupid tonight," Sirius said grimly. "And seeing as he wasn't in when we called, it looks like we were right."

"Yes," Remus sighed. "You were right. He's gone looking for Jeremy Crowe, knowing Greyback's likely to be there, too, and Dad and Bridget have gone after him."

"Then we're going after _them_," James said. "Come on, let's get going before you transform and can't apparate any more."

"But ... James, it's too late, if I go now I'll be a danger to everyone."

"Don't worry, we'll be with you," James reassured him. "Sirius and I can keep you under control."

"But then you'll have to let on to Uncle Malcolm and my dad that you're animagi!"

"Can we worry about that later?" Sirius put in. "We should be getting a move on."

"I don't know that this is such a good idea."

"Remus, we need your help," James insisted. "Sirius _should_ be able to pick up my mum's scent all right, but if not, we'll need to follow your nose, you'll find humans all right once you've transformed."

Remus remained reluctant. Peter, too, looked uncomfortable.

"Are you a marauder, or not?" Sirius demanded.

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**3 - Nighttime Battle**

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Malcolm could see the entrance to Greyback's den now. He approached the gaping black hole cautiously, listening for any sound and shining his wand light in every direction. There did not seem to be anyone about. He took a careful step into the narrow passage and began to walk along it, one gloved hand holding his wand aloft and the other gripping the walking stick in his left hand tightly. Eventually he came to a heavy oak door with bands of iron running across it, and a small barred window through which he could see very little except the pale flame of a single flickering candle. He extinguished his wand light and knocked. He heard a chair being pushed back, and the shadow of a person blotted out the candle from view for a second. Malcolm kept his wand at the ready just in case. The candle was lifted and carried towards the door, and a young, slightly hoarse voice asked, "Who's there?"

"Jeremy?" Malcolm asked quietly. "Is that you?"

"Yes." The voice sounded puzzled. "Who are you?"

"Is Greyback there?"

"No. Who are you?" the boy repeated.

"My name is Malcolm Marley," Malcolm introduced himself. "You've met my nephew, Remus Lupin ..."

There was a pause. Then the door opened slowly, and a skinny young boy stood there with a candle in his hand, looking sickly and unsure of himself.

"You're Remus's uncle?" he said, studying Malcolm. "Yes. You look like him. But you shouldn't be here. _He_ isn't in, but he'll be here before long."

"Can I come in?" Malcolm asked in a friendly tone.

;-))) Jeremy hesitated briefly, then stood aside. Malcolm passed into the cavernous space, looked around swiftly and then sat on a chair that looked like it had been smashed to pieces and put back together again a good few times, laying his stick across his knees and tucking his wand in his belt. Jeremy closed the door and bolted it before turning to look at his guest.

"You've picked a bad time to visit," he remarked. "The moon will be full in about half an hour. If there was anything particular you wanted, you'd better come to the point."

"All right," said Malcolm. "I want you to tell me about the last time there was a full moon. I suppose you know my nephew is having difficulties remembering where he was at the time. It has made him doubt himself, because he doesn't know what he might or might not have done. His friends are determined to get to the bottom of it - with your help."

Jeremy stiffened. "You're wasting your time. I don't want to talk about that."

"Oh, I think you do," Malcolm said pleasantly. "It's preying on your mind, I'm sure. Otherwise why would you have let me in?"

"Maybe I let you in to trap you for when _he_ gets back."

Malcolm shook his head. "If this was a trap, you wouldn't have bolted that door, you'd have made sure to leave it unbolted so Greyback could come in and surprise me. Besides, I spent many years working as an auror, and I think you may give me credit for a certain amount of skill at getting out of tricky situations."

"You can't disapparate from in here. Nor from anywhere within ten miles. It's been fixed so that people can apparate in, but they can't get away."

Still Malcolm was unmoved, which visibly unsettled Jeremy, who after a pause asked, "What is it you want to know?"

"Anything you can tell me about what happened to Remus last month. Where he was, what he did, if anything, and why he can't remember."

"And assuming I know all that, why would I tell you?"

"Because I think you're a good kid at heart."

"I'm a werewolf!" Jeremy cried with a bitter laugh.

Malcolm shrugged his shoulders. "The one doesn't rule out the other. I've told you who I am, and who my nephew is. You can't seriously expect me to be afraid of you."

"Well, you should be," Jeremy said shakily. "I-I'm dangerous."

But he faltered under Malcolm's penetrating gaze, and he looked away quickly to hide the fact that his eyes were suddenly brimming with tears. Malcolm rose slowly and pulled the boy up against his chest, patting his head with one arm.

"It's all right to cry, Jeremy," he said kindly. "Believe me, I know what you've been through. You saw your parents and your sister murdered, and you've been forced to do terrible things. But it doesn't have to go on like this. I can help you, take you away from here, protect you."

Jeremy pulled away abruptly. "Protect me? From _him_? You couldn't even protect your own nephew! Yes, I know we were sired by the same wolf, that we're the same, that we ... we ..."

"You were both children who fell victim to a man who is bloodthirsty and cruel. But you're both better than him. Please, Jeremy, help me, and let me help you."

There was a long pause. At last, Jeremy nodded.

"I'll tell you what you want to know. I'll tell you because your nephew and I are brothers, and because he tried to be kind to me. But when I've told you, you'll have to go, quickly."

"Jeremy, you ..."

"I said I'll tell you!" Jeremy yelled. "Listen!"

The boy told his story, and Malcolm sat down again and listened carefully to every word. When Jeremy had finished, he said, "What you did was very brave. Greyback can't have been pleased."

The memory of something dreadful distorted Jeremy's young features.

"No," he said faintly. "He wasn't pleased."

Malcolm checked his watch. "We can only have minutes to spare," he murmured.

Jeremy strode to the door. "It's time you left," he urged, shooting back the first bolt.

"It's time we both left," Malcolm amended. "Leave the door."

But it was too late. Already, Jeremy had unbolted the door all the way and opened it a fraction to let Malcolm out and then, with a sudden violent force, it burst right open and Jeremy went flying as Greyback forced his way in. Malcolm sprang to his feet, wand in one hand, stick in the other. Greyback sneered.

"Marley. How nice. What a day this has been for reunions. First your brother-in-law, and now you."

"John?" Malcolm exclaimed with a shock.

"Bumped into him at the Ministry. We had a nice little chat. Caught up on old times."

Malcolm felt anger and fear mount at once.

"You talked ... about that night?"

"In a roundabout way." Greyback eyed Malcolm with interest, then rumbled with anger, "So, you never told him, is that it? Never told him it was I who bit his son. That explains a lot. His arrogance, the lad's ignorance ... yes. It was you. You deceived them."

"I protected them from you, in the best way I could think of!"

"How touching. Now let's see how well you can protect yourself."

He flew at Malcolm without further warning, causing him to drop both wand and stick as he struggled against the bigger man's powerful hands around his throat. Jeremy leapt onto Greyback from behind and began tugging frantically at his arms. Greyback released Malcolm with a roar of fury and started down the tunnel, trying to shake the boy off him as he went, repeatedly beating Jeremy's slight body against the rocky walls. Malcolm retrieved his possessions and went after them. He had promised to help Jeremy, and he still needed the boy to repeat his story in front of the Order, so everyone could witness the truth. He could not leave without him.

They came out into the open. Jeremy's grip on Greyback was loosening, and with one more heave, he was thrown to the ground. Greyback spat on the boy disgustedly and reverted his attention to Malcolm. Panting, Jeremy rolled onto his side.

"Go, if you really can, Mr. Marley," he said painfully. "We're out of time."

Even as he spoke, the light changed, and his voice faded into a low growl. Malcolm witnessed the sheer terror on his face less than a second before it was obliterated by sprouting fur and his whole body changed its shape. At the same time, Fenrir Greyback began to transform, welcoming the full moon with open arms and an ear-splitting howl.

Now was definitely the time to leave, to stay here would be folly. But Jeremy was just a kid who couldn't help himself, and he had called himself Remus's brother. That alone was enough to keep Malcolm where he was. He could not bring himself to abandon the boy. But the werewolves' transformation was now complete, and the larger was already advancing on him with fangs bared. The smaller one struggled up off the ground. It was limping, but its snarl was both hungry and menacing.

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"It's too late," John remarked heavily. "If he hasn't returned home yet, there's little we can ..."

He was interrupted by a howl that set the trees around them shaking, followed by a ferocious growl and then a scream of pain. He glanced at Bridget, whose face looked ghostly white in the moonlight, and she reached for his hand as they both broke into a run. They arrived just in time to see Malcolm roll over, thus throwing a small but fierce-looking werewolf off, revealing the now torn and blood-stained back of his overcoat, then jump up and face the larger werewolf, which was already pouncing when Bridget caught it mid-air with an impediment jinx. Malcolm whirled around.

"Bridget! John! What are you doing here?!"

"Saving your skin, if it's not too late," Bridget retorted with an anxious glance at his back.

"I don't need saving!" He dodged both Greyback and Jeremy and glared fiercely. "I've got my escape route planned."

"Oh, really?"

"My old stick. I turned it into a portkey." Malcolm shot a hex at Greyback, causing him to go cross-eyed very briefly.

"Where is it, though?" Bridget demanded.

"Behind you. John, look out!"

Malcolm flung himself at his friend and knocked him out of Jeremy's way just in time.

"Sorry. I - I sort of ... froze," John apologised. He looked up, and suddenly shouted, "Bridget!"

She screamed. Greyback's long, cruel claws had slashed her wand arm. Malcolm sprang towards her with an angry shout, and John focussed his attention on Jeremy.

"Bridget, darling ..."

"I'm all right," she said through clenched teeth, retrieving her wand. "But I think we'd better leave quickly."

Malcolm positioned himself in front of her. "Pick up the stick, it'll take you back to Faith. John and I can finish up here."

"We'll leave together."

"Not without Jeremy."

"Malcolm, he's dangerous!"

"Do as I say!"

"No!"

Greyback picked up a lump of wood in his teeth and hurled it at them. Malcolm ducked, Bridget stumbled, and her right hand touched the stick on the ground, while her left still clung to Malcolm's arm. Within seconds the wood had vanished, and they found themselves in a familiar clearing where there was no sign of Greyback or Jeremy or ...

"John!" Malcolm shouted.

He pulled Bridget to her feet and made hurriedly for the apparition spot.

"No, wait, you're already injured!" she called after him, but he was gone before she had finished.

Faith came running towards her from the house.

"Bridget - your arm," she panted. "Where's John? And Malcolm?"

But Bridget's eye had fallen on the open door of the hut. "Where's Remus?" she whispered.

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John hadn't had much time to think about where and how the other to had gone. He had read a lot about werewolves over the years, and learnt that, apparently, they made no distinction between human prey and human prey, but it seemed to him that Greyback was determined to tear him, personally, limb from limb and devour him in small portions. Seconds after Malcolm and Bridget had vanished, he had narrowly escaped Greyback's jaws several times between warding off the younger werewolf with careful jinxes, and was sporting gashes and bruises all over his body. He knew he stood little chance, he was not that good a fighter - nowhere near as good as Malcolm. Jeremy jumped at him and threw him off balance, sending him sprawling on the dry leaves, and Greyback pounced on top of him. The werewolf's muzzle was inches from his face, and the arm he held up to shield himself, he knew, would not hold Greyback for a second. He steeled himself for the inevitable blow, now feeling the second werewolf's breath behind him, too.

But the blow never came. Something large, black and hairy appeared from among the bushes and collided heavily with Greyback, rolling away with him across the leafy ground. Next second, a proud stag entered the scene and beat back the smaller werewolf with his antlers. A growl from a few feet away made John turn his head quickly, and he had a glimpse of a grey-brown werewolf, smaller than Greyback but much larger than Jeremy, before the black dog jumped across him again and seized the newcomer by the neck, dragging the third werewolf with him towards Greyback. Greyback sprang, and amazingly, though the dog now released the other werewolf it did not turn against it, but fought alongside the dog against the huge, terrifying monster that was Greyback.

John scrambled to his feet and backed away. He soon lost track of who was fighting whom, it all seemed just a tangle of fur and paws and antlers. He heard something in the dry leaves by his feet, and looked down to see a rat, strangely tugging at the hem of his robes. Just then, a call echoed through the woods.

"John! John!"

"Malcolm! Over here!" he shouted back.

Malcolm came running, heedless of the twigs and brambles that clutched at him, and came out beside John, panting, "I misjudged a bit, apparated too far west. What the ...?"

He stared at the animals. John shrigged perplexedly. The rat was still pulling his robes. He looked down, and it scurried away, then stopped and looked back at them.

"What's it doing?"

"I think it wants us to follow it," John said wonderingly.

They tested this theory, and sure enough, when they began to walk towards the rat, it moved on. It led them to the tunnel entrance.

"What is this place?"

"Greyback's den," Malcolm explained. "But seeing as he's out here, we'll probably be safer in there. Now, if I could just figure out a way to get Jeremy ..."

At that moment, the third werewolf broke free of the fighting and bounded towards them. Malcolm shoved John in the tunnel, just as the stag intervened and barred the way, causing the other creature to crash heavily against its antlers. The werewolf howled. The rat squeaked. Malcolm and John hurtled along the tunnel in the dark, following the sound of the rat's short claws on the stony ground. But when they reached the open doorway of Greyback's underground lair, both men froze. The rat had vanished. In its place, right there in the opening, stood Peter Pettigrew.

"W-what ..."

"Not now. Get in!" Peter yelled.

The two men obeyed, but Peter did not shut the door.

"What are you waiting for?" Malcolm cried.

"The others. Have a look round, do you see another room?"

"Yes," said Malcolm, spotting the second door.

"Can it be locked, does it look solid?"

Malcolm took a closer look. "I should think so. Why?"

"We don't want to leave Remus out there with Greyback if we can help it," Peter replied shortly. He yelled down the tunnel, "It's okay, bring him along!"

The noises drew nearer. Snapping, barking, growling ... then the stag appeared and shot through the doorway, followed by a werewolf and finally the black dog. Greyback was just behind them, but Peter and Malcolm threw their weight into the door and slammed it shut, bolted it tightly and waited for a moment to see whether it really would hold against Greyback's furious attempts to break it down. It held. Meanwhile, the other werewolf had been guided into the second room. Malcolm ran over and quickly locked and bolted that door, too.

"Remus?" John breathed meekly, staring at the closed door.

Peter nodded. "Yes."

John sank onto a rickety chair. The stag and the dog chose that moment to change back into their human forms. Malcolm stared into their guilty faces. John seemed too exhausted to even show surprise.

"Y-you ..." Malcolm began, but James cut him short.

"Where's Mum?"

"Safe," Malcolm assured him. "Back at home with Faith. Since when have you three been ...?"

"Since school," Sirius told him. "We did it so we could be with Remus when he transformed. It's a big secret, mind you. No one knows except us and Bridget, and it's got to stay that way, all right? It is illegal, after all."

He sounded rather proud. Malcolm smiled. Then he glanced at John, and his smile faded again. James gingerly touched the back of Malcolm's coat. Malcolm felt it, and said, "It's all right. Just a few scratches, nothing serious. John ..." He approached his friend cautiously. "Are you hurt anywhere?"

John did not answer, so Malcolm looked him over. He did not seem to have sustained any injuries worse than anyone else had. They all looked somewhat the worse for wear.

"What happened to Jeremy?" Malcolm finally asked of James and Sirius.

James looked unhappy. "I'm not sure. The last time I saw him, he wasn't looking too good. But we had to concentrate on getting away from Greyback, and making sure we got Remus somewhere safe without you two getting hurt."

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**4 - Daylight and Death**

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None of them slept that night, and the hours passed slowly. Conversation was slow. Malcolm kept looking at his watch, as it was too dark at the end of such a long tunnel to tell when it was day. Everyone sighed with relief when at last he announced that the full moon should have passed now.

They cautiously opened the door into the other room and found Remus, once again human, asleep on the floor. John stood dazedly in the doorway, watching him, while the others began to make plans.

"First of all, we've got to find out if Greyback's still hanging round out there," Sirius said. "Malcolm and I can go. I'll change back into Padfoot though, don't want Greyback to see who we really are if he is still out there."

"I'll come too," James volunteered, changing back into Prongs.

Malcolm turned to John.

"Will you be all right?"

John nodded, and Malcolm and the two animagi went outside. Peter hung around near the main door, while John crouched beside Remus and gently examined his wounds. They were not all that much worse than usual, and he drew his wand to begin healing them as best he could with his wand. Remus stirred when John began examining the bruises on his chest left by Prongs's antlers.

He blinked a few times, then murmured hoarsely, "Dad? Is everyone all right?"

John had not yet found his voice again, so he merely nodded. Remus propped himself up against the wall. John was watching him with a strange expression that made him uncomfortable after a while.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I - I don't know," his father said uncertainly. "It's just ... knowing it was Greyback who bit you ..."

"It really changes very little."

"It changes everything!" John protested. "It means that, after all, it _was_ my fault. If I had dealt with Greyback differently ..."

Remus gripped his father's shoulder purposefully.

"I'm sure Greyback was dealt with as was necessary, and the blame for what happened to me, to Jeremy and to anyone else he ever bit lies with him alone, not yours. You did all you could to stop him."

"No. I didn't kill him. I had opportunities, but I wasted them all. I left him alive, left him to kill and torture and bite. I left him to bite you. You can't expect me to forgive myself for that."

"Dad, please don't do this to yourself," Remus begged him. "You're not to blame for anything Greyback did, not you. You only ever acted out of love. Love for Mum, for me ... for human life. That can't be wrong."

"But I never made the sacrifice I should have made, a small sacrifice really, of Greyback's life and my innocence for the lives of so many others."

Seeing his father's haggard face, torn by guilt, Remus ran out of comforting words. It pained him to see his father like this, but he knew that the words did not exist that would lift the blame from him that he burdened himself with.

Feeling there was nothing else left to say, he said quietly, "Whatever you may think, no one else will ever see it that way. And if never having been bitten, being free of the wolf, meant having a father who could kill self-righteously without a second thought, or having any other father but you ... I choose the wolf, and I choose you. I'm proud to be your son."

John's eyes filled with tears at these words, and he pulled Remus into his arms. They stayed like this for some moments, until Peter appeared in the doorway and gave a discreet cough. Father and son broke apart and looked up.

"The others are coming back," Peter announced. "They've found Jeremy."

John and Remus got to their feet, and stood aside to let Malcolm enter the room, carrying the badly wounded boy in his arms. He laid him on the sparse bed that stood against the wall.

"Find some bandages if you can," he told James and Sirius behind him, "Or anything else we can use. John, you've had more experience at this sort of thing than I have ..."

John sat on the edge of the bed and carefully began removing the blood-stained clothes to examine the wounds. He ran his wand over many of them, healing them with a murmured spell, and bound others with the old rags Sirius and James brought, but when he stood his expression was not hopeful.

"I think there's more to his injuries than we can see on the surface," he said quietly to the others.

"Hadn't we better get him to St. Mungo's then?" Peter suggested.

"I don't know that moving him is such a good idea. But I'm no healer."

Just then, Jeremy stirred. "Mr. Marley?" he whispered.

Malcolm stepped forward. "Yes?"

"Tell ... tell your nephew ..."

"I'm right here," Remus said, approaching the bed himself.

Jeremy looked up at him. "I'm sorry," he murmured weakly. "I ..."

His eyes shifted, then stopped, staring blankly at the wall past Remus's shoulder.

"Jeremy?" Malcolm shook him. "Jeremy!"

But Jeremy did not move. He would never move again.

"Poor kid," Sirius muttered.

Remus asked, "Did ... _we _kill him?"

"No." Malcolm straightened up with a sigh. "It was Greyback who killed him, when he murdered his family, bit him and brought him here."

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"It could have been me," Remus remarked quietly later that day. "If you and Uncle Malcolm hadn't fought Greyback off after he'd bitten me, I could have ended up like Jeremy."

He was looking at his father, but John was silent, had been silent all afternoon. They were all seated together in the Potters' living room - Remus, his parents, Malcolm and Bridget, with her wand arm bandaged and in a sling, Peter, Sirius, James and Lily. The latter turned to Malcolm.

"But when you first found Jeremy, he told you about last month, didn't he? You said you'd talked to him before the full moon came out."

"Yes."

"What did he say?"

All eyes came to rest on Malcolm. He began slowly, "It was Greyback's plan to lure Remus to Fencombe that night, and make sure he'd be there when the full moon came out. It seems he thought if Remus once experienced what it was like to give in to the wolf, he wouldn't want to go back ... and if that didn't work, well, Greyback wasn't bothered what became of him. Jeremy was to be the bait," Malcolm explained. "He was to approach Remus and beg him for help getting away from Greyback, and then he was supposed to suggest they talk later, at the village. If you had been there," Malcom said to Remus, "you wouldn't have been able to stop yourself, of course ..."

"But Greyback's plan didn't work out like that," Lily said eagerly. "Did it?"

"No. Jeremy started out following Greyback's orders, but couldn't bring himself to pull it through. He lured Remus to Greyback's den instead, and drugged him heavily with potion."

Remus sounded cautiously hopeful when he asked, "Then ... I didn't hurt anyone?"

"You weren't even conscious," Malcolm said with a reassuring smile. "Jeremy told me that when he came back to let you go early next morning, you were still out. You hadn't moved a muscle all night."

"That must have been some potion, to knock out a werewolf for a whole night like that!" Sirius exclaimed.

"Perhaps you should have some of the stuff every month," James suggested, his light-hearted laugh not quite succeeding in masking his relief.

But Malcolm was shaking his head. "I wouldn't advise it. Too many doses, and you might never wake up again."

"You mean," said Lily, shocked, "it was the Draught of Living Death?"

"Yes."

Sirius whistled.

"In fact, it was probably sheer luck that Jeremy didn't overdose you," Malcolm added to Remus.

"Or providence," said Faith, and took her son's hand between hers.

Malcolm went on, "Jeremy didn't tell me how Greyback reacted when he found his plans had been foiled. But he did say Remus was still unconscious when they dropped him off in London. The rest we know."

"It was brave of Jeremy to defy Greyback like that," said James.

"I'm glad we know the truth now," Lily said. "And we can all put our minds at rest."

She smiled at Remus. His return smile was watery, at best. He said slowly, "Jeremy shouldn't have had to die. He was so young ..."

"That's Greyback's particular brand of terror, striking at the young," said Malcolm gravely.

Silence fell. Lily broke it eventually, smiling round at them all and saying brightly, "Well, I think this calls for a celebration - the return of Remus's clear conscience, Jeremy's bravery ..."

"... and that everyone's back safe and sound," agreed Bridget.

"I'll see to drinks," Sirius said, making for the kitchen.

Soon they were all holding glasses of elf-made wine, pumpkin juice or firewhiskey. Remus extricated himself from his mother's grasp and rose, clearing his throat. He looked round at everyone.

"I'm not very good at making speeches, but ... I just want to say ... thank you. I know you all stuck your necks out for me last night, and I appreciate it. I ..."

"Shut up and drink, Moony," said Sirius, giving him a friendly thump on the back and tipping back a large gulp of his own firewhiskey. "Now, who's for a round of gobstones?"

They spent hours playing and laughing together. Even John, sombre though his mood had been all day, couldn't help but chuckle once or twice. That night, however, he went to bed with a heavy heart, and after a few hours of trying in vain to get off to sleep, got up, slipped on a dressing gown and went out into the garden. He gazed up at the moon and stars, and struggled to grasp all the things that had happened, not only in the past two days, but the forty-nine years of his life. He remembered his father, lying on his deathbed, telling his only son not to worry, or to grieve, promising that everything would be all right, and that to everything in life there was a reason. He had tried to believe that. For a long while, he had even succeeded. But now ... now he could see no reason, and the world seemed a vast, cold and empty place until ...

"John?"

He turned to see Faith standing right behind him, her pale face bathed in moonlight, dark eyes looking up at him full of love and anxiety. She came closer and slipped her arms around him, resting her head against his chest.

"Did you know?" he asked her shakily after a while. "Did you know ... Greyback ..."

"Yes, I knew Greyback was the one who bit Remus."

"And yet you never said ... never blamed me ... even when my mother blamed you."

"Only Greyback was to blame."

"I'm the one who incurred his wrath. He was striking at me when he bit our son. He wanted to hurt me. And by god, he succeeded. He could hardly have picked a better way."

"He can only succeed if you let him," said Faith, looking up at him and shaking him gently. "If you refuse to feel blame for what happened to Remus, then Greyback can't touch you."

"That's easier said than done. How can I not blame myself, when I know Remus could have had a normal, happy childhood if only I ..."

"Do you think his childhood was so very unhappy?"

"What?" John blinked.

"Did Remus ever complain that he was unhappy? Did he seem miserable to you?"

John hesitated, then admitted, "Only when ... when he thought that I was ashamed of having a werewolf for a son. When I was distant ..."

"In fact, only when you let what had happened to him make you feel guilty. At all other times, he may have had more difficulties than other children, but he had you, and he had me, and he had our love. And that's what matters. Now as much as it did then. If you let Greyback's deed make you feel guilty, then your grief will make Remus unhappy, and it will make me unhappy. I can't bear to see you in such pain, John. I'm afraid that it will break you, and without you, I ... I don't know where I'd be. Where any of us would be. I need you to beat this, John. I need you to defy Greyback, and not let him win."

"You expect too much of me, Faith," John said heavily. "You've always seen me as a better man than I ever was."

"I love you," she said simply. "But I know that others see you the same way I do. Malcolm, Bridget, Remus ... we all see a good man who deserves to be happy, and not one of us wants to see you hurt like this. That's why Malcolm and I kept this from you in the first place. You attach too much blame to yourself, John. Please, try to forget the past, and let's just be glad we have the present. Don't blame yourself because your son became the victim of a dangerous and brutal man. Be proud that he has risen above that, and that he's become the man he is ... and that he's so much like you," she added with a loving smile.

John remained looking doubtful, but he held her closer in the moonlight, and kissed her tenderly. Upstairs in the cottage, Remus withdrew from his bedroom window, the frown on his brow smoothing out a little, and crept back into bed.

"I shall have to leave the Ministry," said John a while later, when he and Faith had gone back up to bed. "I can't go back to work there, not now."

"What will you do instead?"

"I don't know." He stroked her hair. "I'll find something."


	41. Part 41: Birthdays

**Prequel, Part 41: Birthdays**

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**1 - Career Options**

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Lily Potter looked at the clock that hung on the wall beside the door and then glanced at the two cooling tea cups and the no-longer-quite-fresh scones on the kitchen table with a frown. It was Tuesday. Monday and Tuesday were 'Remus days'. Remus was always punctual to the minute. Now, if it had been a Wednesday or a Friday, that is to say a 'Sirius day', she would have been quite prepared for half an hour's delay. Peter sometimes didn't turn up until an hour later on Thursdays, because he would forget it was his day to look in on her. But Remus being this late was highly irregular. So much so that she was beginning to get slightly worried when, at last, she heard the sound of the knocker rapping against the front door. After the usual ritual of question and answer, she let Remus into the hall. They returned to the kitchen, where Lily apologised at once for the cold tea and scones.

"But you are rather late today," she said. "What kept you?"

"An interview for a job, actually," he replied, taking a seat and reheating the tea with a flick of his wand.

"And?"

"I got it."

"Oh, that's wonderful!" Lily exclaimed. "Well done! What is it? When do you start?"

Remus laughed. "I shouldn't get too excited about it. It's nothing fancy, and it's only temporary. Still, it ought to be quite enjoyable, and every little bit of money is always welcome, especially since Dad left the Ministry. Actually, it was Bridget who helped me get it. She asked her employer, Mrs. Shaw, if they couldn't do with an extra hand. Well, Mrs. Shaw said she couldn't afford to employ anyone at the moment, but she does have a friend who runs a library in Kensington. That's where I've been this morning. I didn't expect it to take so long, or I'd have let you know I was going to be late. But the head librarian was pleased with my knowledge of what he calls 'Fantasy and Myth', and insisted on showing me round the library after I'd signed on the dotted line."

"Why is it only temporary?"

"That part will probably amuse Sirius. I'm going to be standing in for the woman who usually runs the 'Fantasy and Myth' section, who's off on maternity leave."

"Oh yes," Lily agreed with a grin, "Sirius is bound to have something to say about that."

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Sirius did not disappoint them on this point. When he was told the news that evening at dinner, he roared with laughter until Remus said, "Well, all right, I knew it would tickle you, but I don't quite see that it's as hilarious as all that."

"I was just thinking," Sirius gasped between laughs, "this poor bloke's probably glad to think he's finally getting a worker who doesn't come over all funny once a month. He's in for a disappointment, poor devil."

"Hm. Yes, it does look like I'm going to have to rake up the old creative excuses again."

"When did you ever have _creative_ excuses?" James teased. "Aunt taken ill, mother taken ill, grandmother taken ill ... they were very unimaginative for a person of your intelligence. Is your grandmother even still _alive_?"

"I think so. I don't really know. Anyway, I think I'll start making my way home now. I start work tomorrow morning, I don't want to be caught nodding off on my first day."

Remus came home to find the light still on in the living room and his father sitting pensively in his usual armchair, reading glasses on his nose and a letter in his hand. He looked up over the rim of his glasses when Remus entered and gave a tired smile.

"Your mother's told me the good news," he said as Remus lowered himself onto the sofa. "Congratulations."

"Thanks. It's not going to pay much, unfortunately, but what I do get paid ..."

"What you do get paid, you will keep to yourself," his father said firmly. "Invest it in your future, in things you're going to need some day, when you become a teacher."

"I doubt that's ever going to happen ..."

"Remus," John interrupted him, and he looked and sounded very grave, "if you expect me to not reproach myself for what Greyback did, then you had better prove to me that it isn't going to ruin your life. You've always wanted to be a teacher, haven't you?"

Remus could not deny it.

"Well then. You've studied for it. You've taken exams. I know most teachers don't have to bother with all that, a certain amount of skill is usually all that's required, but you said from the beginning you wanted to do this properly, and I respect that. But do it, Remus, carry it through to the end. Don't give up."

"All right. I won't. But if you won't let me give you the money I earn, what are we going to do? We must have something to live off."

John glanced thoughtfully back down at the letter in his hands, then handed it to his son. Remus read it. When he looked up, his expression was both surprised and pleased.

"Professor Dumbledore wants youto be the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher?"

"What do you think of the idea?"

"I think it's great," said Remus, handing the letter back to him. "Have you told Mum?"

John shook his head. "Not yet. I'm not sure how she'd take it. If it comes to that, I'm not really sure what to make of it myself."

"You're definitely qualified."

"I suppose I have 'a certain amount of skill', yes," said John with a wry smile. "But that isn't what bothers me about it. Teaching at Hogwarts would mean living there for the better part of the school year. The term starts in a few months' time, and I don't know how often I would be able to come home after that."

Remus thought about it.

"Mum wouldn't like you being away so much, of course," he said. "But I still think this is a good thing, and I think she will see it that way, too. She couldn't come with you, I suppose?"

"I'm afraid not. Hogwarts isn't a hotel for its professors' families, after all, it's a school, and from what I've heard the teachers' rooms are just about large enough for one person. And the income won't be enough to rent a place in Hogsmeade."

"All that set aside," Remus said, leaning forward in his seat and watching his father's face intently, "do you fancy the job?"

"I don't know," John said. He removed his glasses and leaned back in his arm chair, closing his eyes in thought. "I suppose ... I might enjoy it, actually. It's very different from what I'm used to, of course. It would be a challenge. But it is a very important job, particularly at a time like this. It could prove very rewarding."

"Then why not give it a try? I'm sure Professor Dumbledore won't hold you to anything if you find it doesn't suit you."

"I'll think about it."

"You do that," said his son. "And talk to Mum about it."

"I will, when I'm a bit clearer in my own mind."

"All right. But don't wait too long." Remus got to his feet. "I'm going up to bed. Good night, Dad."

"Good night, Remus."

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**2 - A Quiet Birthday**

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For the next few days, John spent a lot of time reading Dumbledore's letter over and over in secret, whenever Faith wasn't looking, and he discussed it with Malcolm and Bridget, but he still hadn't told her about it. Finally, one Monday morning at breakfast, when Remus had just left for work, Faith surprised him by bringing the subject up herself.

"So - have you decided what you're going to do about the job Professor Dumbledore has offered you?" she asked, piling the dirty breakfast plates into the sink and turning the tap on.

John's jaw dropped a little in surprise. Faith turned round slowly to look at him.

"When were you going to let me into the secret?"

"I wanted to ... I ... soon. I suppose Remus told you?"

"In a way. He didn't mean to. He just happened to mention it yesterday. He seemed to be under the impression we had already talked about it. I gathered from what he said that I'm the last to know."

"Not quite. I mean, I've talked to Bridget and Malcolm, and Remus, of course, but no one else." Seeing her frown, he added quickly, "I'm sorry. I wanted to talk to you about it. I just wanted some time to consider it by myself."

"By yourself? And yet you discussed it with Malcolm and with Bridget? But not with me." Faith turned the tap off and returned to the table. She pulled a chair closer to his and sat down. "What you really mean," she said, "is that you were going to make up your mind to refuse Professor Dumbledore's offer because you didn't think I'd like it, isn't it?"

He smiled guiltily. "Something like that. If I accept this position, it means I'll have to spend a lot of time away from home. I don't like the thought of leaving you alone like that, and I didn't think you would like it either."

"John ..." She took his hand and squeezed it. "Of course I'm not overly enamoured of the idea of your being so far away, but we do need to eat, and ... and I gathered from what Remus told me that you're really quite keen on the job."

"I never would have thought of it myself," John said quietly. "I would never have put myself forward. But since Dumbledore has suggested it, I've thought about it a lot, and yes, I must admit the idea is growing on me. I'm sorely tempted to accept."

"Then go ahead. I've seen you struggle on for so long in a job you had started to hate just to get by, and if this is something you feel you could be happy doing, then don't waste any more time, tell Professor Dumbledore you'll take it. If this will give you something to do that you enjoy, I'll be happy for you. And I'll be a lot happier knowing you're working for someone who's definitely on our side, and that you're safe at Hogwarts." There was a pause, then she got back to her feet and returned to the sink. "Think about it, John. But think about what _you_ want. Don't worry about me. I'll be all right."

She said it quite lightly, but her voice was slightly choked, and he did not miss it. John came to stand behind her and picked up a dish cloth. She gave him a watery smile.

"Seriously, John," she insisted. "Don't let me stop you doing what you want to do. Promise me."

He hesitated briefly, then he nodded.

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Bridget and Malcolm came round that afternoon, and no one talked about jobs any more for the rest of the day. Instead, Malcolm brought up the discussion of John's birthday for about the hundredth time.

"I've told you," John said warningly, "that I have no intention of making a big thing of my birthday. I'm going to spend it the same way as every year - just a quiet day at home with the family. That's all I want."

Malcolm shook his head vehemently. There was a mischievous glint in his eye. "No, no, no, John, that won't do. How many fiftieth birthdays do you think you're going to have? It's always the same with you, you always did have to be forced into having some fun on your birthday. You should have seen him on his thirtieth," he added as an aside to Bridget. "I virtually had to drag him out of the house by the scruff of his neck, but when he got to the Bouncing Banshee, he had the time of his life. The barmaid took a shine to him, and we had free cocktails all night - because it was his birthday, she said."

"No, Malcolm, _you _had free cocktails all night, because you paid for them out of my wallet after I had fallen asleep at our table," John recalled with amusement. "Remus was just a few months old, and still making his presence very much known every night, and all I wanted was a quiet day ..."

"... at home with your wife and baby, yes, I know. But you've got to get out at least once in ten years. Remember your fortieth birthday?"

"I prefer not to," said John.

"Oh, come on, you enjoyed it, really. And you'll enjoy this one, too. It'll do you good to get out."

"I don't want to get out, I'm quite happy staying where I am."

"Well," Malcolm told him, leaning back against the sofa cushions. "We've all got our hearts set on a nice, noisy party, so I suggest you cooperate, or you'll have no say in the matter whatsoever. And just so you know: I ran into that belly dancer from ten years ago the other day, and she gave me her new address, just in case, and I can promise you, if you thought she was a sight to give you sore eyes then, you don't even want to think about what she looks like now. So, what's it to be? The _Leaky Cauldron_'s a bit too stuffy for partying ..."

"Maybe I like 'stuffy'."

"The _Three Broomsticks_ just hasn't got the atmosphere, and it's old-fashioned ..."

"So am I."

"And it's full of school kids at weekends."

"I don't mind school kids."

"The _Hog's Head_ smells funny."

"It's goat."

"What?"

"The smell you were referring to," said Bridget. "It's goat."

"Right. So. Anyway - how about reliving old times and going back to the _Banshee_? We haven't been there for years."

"You _are _joking!" John exclaimed, but he didn't sound too sure.

Malcolm just grinned.

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June came, bright and warm, and life continued much as usual. John finally made up his mind to accept Dumbledore's job offer, and Faith put a brave face on it, as she had promised she would. No more mention had been made of viable locations for John's birthday party for weeks now, but he still felt apprehensive when he went to bed the night before - he had known Malcolm long enough to be distrustful of his apparently having given up trying to persuade his old friend to have some sort of party.

John woke on the day of his fiftieth birthday, feeling much the same as he had on his forty-ninth. Really, he thought, one birthday was very much like another. He rolled over. Faith's side of the bed was empty. He wondered when she had slipped out. She had closed the bedroom door behind her, and he rose now and opened it.

Out in the hall, a delicious scent of freshly baked bread wafted up the stairs, and John went downstairs and entered the kitchen, still in his pyjamas and dressing gown, to find the kitchen table laid out with a white table cloth and set for five. It was laden with a delicious selection of cheeses, meats and jams, jugs of juice and pots of steaming tea and coffee. Faith and Remus were already fully dressed and greeted him with enthusiastic congratulations and hugs.

"I thought I said I didn't want a fuss," John remarked amusedly.

Faith kissed him. "You've got to be made a fuss of today, John, sorry."

"Can we even afford all this?" he wondered aloud.

"On the expectations of your new job," Remus said with a grin, "yes."

Faith said, "You might want to go and get dressed before you open your cards." She indicated a stack of envelopes at the head of the table. "Bridget and Malcolm said they'd be here by half past ten."

"In that case, I've got plenty of time. I've never known your brother to be punct..."

But just then, there was a loud knock at the front door.

"There's always a first time," said Remus, going to answer it.

"So, thought we'd be late, did you?" Malcolm said, laughing as he preceded Remus and Bridget into the kitchen. "You should have known I'd want to make sure there's some of the best food left." He glanced at the table and added appreciatively, "You've outdone yourself, sis, and that's saying something. John, _old_ friend - happy birthday."

He embraced his brother-in-law and then stood aside, making way by taking a seat at the table while Bridget took her turn.

"Happy birthday, John," she said, with a warm hug and a kiss on his cheek.

"Thank you. I'm sorry I'm not exactly suitably attired to receive guests."

Malcolm said jovially, "We quite understand. Old folks take a bit longer to get going in the morning."

John laughed. "I'll remind you of that in two years' time!"

Malcolm grimaced and turned to his wife. "Give him his present and shut him up, will you?"

Bridget smiled and said, "Do you realise you're one of the hardest people I know to buy presents for?"

"I can imagine," said John, putting an arm around Faith and squeezing his son's shoulder. "I've got all I need."

"Not quite. Faith said you could do with a new pair of slippers," Bridget continued. She looked down at his feet. "I love the ones you're wearing, by the way."

These were a very old pair Malcolm had bought him once as a joke. They were faded and threadbare, and had pictures on them of foxes dressed up as Robin Hood and Little John. Malcolm had told him they were something called 'merchandise', connected with a Muggle 'film'.

"I'm rather attached to these myself," he admitted.

"Which is why we've spent months hunting high and low to buy you these," Bridget announced, presenting him with a carefully wrapped parcel. He unwrapped it, opened the box, and revealed a brand new pair of slippers exactly like the ones he was wearing. Everyone laughed, and they sat down cheerfully to enjoy their breakfast.

Bridget and Malcolm left around lunch time, wishing the other three a nice, quiet day, and John finally had time to go upstairs and get dressed. When he came back down, he found his wife and son waiting for him in the living room. There was a small parcel on the coffee table.

"What's this?" he asked. "I thought we'd agreed not to buy each other presents any more."

"We had to get you something, though," Faith said.

John picked up the parcel and unwrapped it carefully. It contained a very old, tarnished gold pocket watch. He recognised it at once. It had belonged to his father, and John had been forced to pawn it a month ago, shortly before he had made up his mind to become a teacher as Dumbledore had suggested. Touched, and not knowing what to say, John pulled them both into a hug.

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**3 - Summons**

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It was nearly seven that evening, and John, Faith and Remus were sitting together comfortably in the living room. The magical violin was playing soft music, and John was happily enjoying the peace and quiet when, suddenly, the fireplace coughed. Well, actually, it was not the fireplace, but the head of Gordon Gryffindor, which had made a sudden appearance there. The old wizard's expression was both apologetic and serious.

"Good evening," he said. "I'm sorry to disturb you - happy birthday, by the way, John - but I'm afraid something rather urgent has come up. There's an emergency meeting of the Order, you had better come at once. In fact, I think it's best if all three of you come. You'll see why when you get here."

And with that, he was gone again. John sighed.

"I should have known something would come up. It seems there's no such thing as an evening of rest to be had any more these days."

With a frown, he reluctantly heaved himself out of his chair and led the way into the hall. Faith cast a glance at Remus who, to her surprise, winked at her. She raised her eyebrows at him, and he whispered,

"I think I know what the 'emergency' is. I shouldn't worry too much."

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The great door at Gryffindor Hall was opened to them by Cronky, the very old house elf, who bowed so low to them that his nose nearly brushed the floor.

"Hello, Cronky," John said. "Where is everyone?"

But he did not have to wait for an answer. A chorus of voices from the gallery above began to sing "_Happy birthday to you_" rather dissonantly, finishing with a loud shout of "Surprise!"

Balloons magically began to rain down on them, and Malcolm led the others down the stairs. There was soon much patting on the back, hugging and congratulating going on. There was old Gordon, now smiling, Dumbledore, the Longbottoms, James and Lily, Sirius, Peter, Bridget and Malcolm, Alastor Moody, the Prewett brothers and Benjy Fenwick, Dedalus Diggle, the McKinnons, Edgar Bones and Dorcas Meadowes - not the whole Order, but quite a turnout, nonetheless.

Malcolm said, "I hope the venue's not too modern for you, John."

"A bit grand, perhaps," he answered. "But just about old-fashioned enough to suit me."

They all sat down to a delicious, sumptuous meal in the dining hall. For once, no one talked about fighting at all. They drank wine and told jokes, James and Sirius provided entertainment by reliving some old pranks from their school days and describing a few of the inventions they were most proud of, such as the penetrating omnioculars which aroused Moody's interest greatly. Once everyone was full up and the table had been cleared, Gordon signalled to Cronky, and the house elf disappeared with a pop, only to return a moment later with a parcel so neatly wrapped that only a house elf's deft fingers could have performed the job. The tag read, '_To John, from your friends_.' Intrigued, John opened it slowly. It was a small suitcase, of good quality leather. Across the corner was written '_Professor J. Lupin_'.

"It's from all of us, the Order," Bridget explained. "We thought it might come in useful.

John looked around at them all. His eyes were suspiciously bright. "Thank you all," he said with feeling, "for everything. This present, and the evening. It's been wonderful."

"See," said Malcolm, "I told you you'd enjoy your party, if you only made the effort to have one."

John smiled at him. "I must admit, I have. This was definitely one of your better ideas."

Malcolm glanced sideways at Bridget and grinned. "Yes, well, I can't take all the credit. Personally, I still don't see what's wrong with the _Banshee_."

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That night, John did not go straight to bed. Remus stayed up with him for a while, smiling as he watched his father examining his new suitcase with barely concealed pride.

"I gather you like it," he remarked with amusement.

John nodded. He snapped it shut, and put it down carefully next to his chair.

"It makes it all seem more real, somehow, and more right. It's strange, I haven't felt like this for such a long time."

"Like what?"

"It's hard to explain. Like ... like something is going right, for once. Like there's still a purpose, a meaning in all of this. I used to believe everything had a meaning, once upon a time, that there was a reason for the things that happen to us, somewhere in the grand scheme of things. I had forgotten what it felt like to believe that. I had begun to doubt that there even is a 'grand scheme'. But now ... now, at last, I feel like I will be doing something that's worth while and maybe, somehow, preparing the way."

"Preparing the way for what?"

"For the future. A better future. Isn't that why one teaches? To help prepare the next generation for life? It is a job worth doing. The children should be taught as much as possible about how to defend themselves against what we're all facing. I think I can help them, and I think I'll enjoy doing it. My work at the Ministry used to be about helping people, and these past few years have been frustrating. Now, I will finally be doing something for people again, giving them something they need. And also," he added meaningfully, "preparing the way for you."

"For me?"

John smiled. "Now that I've got used to the idea, I'm genuinely looking forward to my new job, but I won't be doing it forever. But I like to think that I won't be the last Lupin to teach at Hogwarts." He pointed to the case. "There's room for an extra letter on there, Remus. And one day, I want to see it there. Nothing could make me prouder."

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**4 - New Lives**

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It was two o'clock in the morning on July 30th, and Frank Longbottom was feeling shaken up and exhausted. There had been times during the last twelve hours when he had begun to reproach himself for having put his wife through this, and when he questioned the reasons. Was it really so important to have a child? Surely his wife's comfort was more important to him than the selfish wish for an heir? They didn't need a child, they could have got on fine on their own. Or they could have adopted. Anything, anything to spare her the pain, and himself the torment of standing by, watching and listening helplessly and genuinely fearing for her life.

"Frank?"

Her voice, faint and insecure, broke his thoughts, and he practically leapt from his chair to her bedside and took the hand she held out to him.

"Alice, I'm so sorry."

"W-what? What are you talking about? Where's Neville? Is he all right?"

Frank gave a small start. They had not talked about names for a long time. He had not really thought about it. There had seemed to be no need, and he had never even wondered why. Now he realised. In both their minds, their child had already been named. And now, as he turned towards the cot and lifted the tiny bundle of life out to place it in his wife's arms, all his earlier thoughts and fears seemed small and insignificant. They were alive and well, both of them. Alice's face had never looked so soft, or so happy, despite the pallor. She smiled.

"He's beautiful, isn't he?"

"That's because he's yours," Frank said tenderly.

She looked up, and reached out a hand to pull him closer. He kissed her, and then he kissed their baby son. He touched Neville's tiny fingers, and they closed tightly around his, holding on as if they would never let go.

"What was it you were sorry about?" Alice asked quietly.

"Putting you through this," said Frank. "You seemed to be in so much pain."

"Was I?" she asked detachedly. "Maybe. I don't know. It doesn't matter now."

"No," he agreed. "Nothing matters. Nothing but you two. Whatever happens, I promise I will always look after you both, until my last breath, I ..."

"Frank," she interrupted him gently, placing her fingers over his lips. "Some moments are best enjoyed in silence."

He nodded. She was right. This was one of those moments. A perfect moment, filled with more happiness than he had ever thought possible. Words would only spoil it, they couldn't express half of what was in his heart, anyway.

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Lily Potter was very busy combining the name of Sirius Black with all the curses she had ever heard of, and making up some of her own when she ran out. He was late again. In the normal way, she wouldn't have minded, but today was different. She had been having odd cramps all morning, and was becoming increasingly sure that they were nothing less than genuine contractions. They had started some time ago, and she had held on only by telling herself that it would be all right, Sirius would be coming soon. But when the appointed time had come and gone and there was still no sign of Sirius, she had first gone into a panic, and then started thinking of all the curses and hexes she would like to try out on him.

"It would have to be a Friday," she muttered under her breath, clenching her teeth.

She went to the phone again. James had had one of these Muggle devices installed for her, so she could phone her mother. This she had done. But her mother, of course, was in Surrey, and there was little she could do except advise Lily to hang magic and call an ordinary Muggle ambulance. So Lily now dialled Bridget and Malcolm's number. She let it ring, and ring, and ring, but no one answered. Evidently, then, the Marleys were not home.

"Couldn't you have waited till tomorrow?" she asked the bulge that was causing her this distress, stroking it with one hand and making her way into the kitchen. "I don't know where your Daddy is today, and your godfather-to-be is as conspicuous by his absence at the agreed time as ever. Ouch! Oh, for goodness' sake!"

She made it to the kitchen, took a pinch of Floo powder and chucked it into the fire. She pulled up a chair, leaned forward as far as she could and said,

"Faith Lupin!" Quietly she added, "Come on, please be home, please ... Faith!"

Faith's head obligingly appeared in front of her as summoned.

"Lily!" she exclaimed, "what is it?"

"It's ... ouch ... the baby. I think it's due," Lily said, and to her own annoyance tears began to spring to her eyes. "And Sirius should be here, but he's not, and I don't know where James is, and I called Mum, but she's too far away, and Bridget's not there, and I don't know what to do."

She suddenly started sobbing. Faith said quickly,

"It's all right, Lily, don't worry, we'll work this out. Hold on." She disappeared for a moment, then returned. "Can I come through to you?" she asked.

"Oh yes, please!" Lily exclaimed. "Come in," she added, remembering the correct phrase that would make their fireplace allow Faith to join her.

An instant later, Faith was standing in her kitchen, and put her arm around Lily's shoulder.

"It's all right," she said, "John's going to find James for you. They'll come straight to _St. Mungo's_. All we need to do now is get _you_ there. The _Knight Bus_ is probably the quickest way. Come."

Lily allowed Faith to guide her into the hall and wrap a cloak around her shoulders. It was then that they heard the roar of an engine outside the front door, and Lily could not be stopped from tearing it open and yelling at Sirius.

"Where _have_ you been?!"

He gaped at her, stared at Faith, and then leapt forward to catch Lily as she gave another gasp of pain and doubled over. His face went very white. Faith held out her wand, and with an ear-splitting noise, the purple triple-decker _Knight Bus_ pulled up beside them. Faith told the driver where they wanted to go, while Sirius guided Lily to a fluffy arm chair. She had started sobbing again.

"I was waiting for you," she complained. "You were supposed to be coming to make sure I was all right, but you didn't turn up, and I wasn't all right."

"Lily," he said, mortified, "I'm sorry, honest, I didn't mean to be late, I got held up, I ... I'm sorry."

He looked even more terrified when she suddenly clutched at his collar and began crying into his shirt, and was relieved when Faith rejoined them and took over, talking soothingly to Lily and getting her to relax a little. They reached _St. Mungo's_ quickly, and Sirius's relief was even greater when James turned up just five minutes later.

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Sirius was pacing. He had been pacing for close to three hours now. For the first few hours after their arrival at _St. Mungo's_, he had exercised patience - or what passed for patience in Sirius's world. Then he had paced for a few hours, up and down the waiting room, and down and up again until he was too tired to go on pacing. He had sat down and waited some more. Presently Peter had turned up, explaining that there had been a message from James waiting for him when he had got home from work. Remus had been the last to arrive. He had come straight from the library where he now worked, and where his parents had called on him earlier, on their way home, to tell him Lily had gone into labour. And then Sirius had started pacing again.

"Do all children take this long to be born?" Peter wondered.

"I don't think it's all that unusual," said Remus.

It was another half an hour later that the door to the waiting room finally opened, and the appearance of James put an abrupt end to Sirius's pacing. The beaming smile on his face told all. Sirius heaved a relieved sigh, and all three of them took turns at hugging James.

Then Sirius asked, "And? Is it a boy or a girl?"

"A boy," said James, appearing to grin even wider. "We're going to call him Harry."

"Why Harry?" asked Peter.

James shrugged. "No particular reason. We just like the name, that's all."

"That's a bit lame, isn't it?" Sirius remarked, slowly regaining his typical jovial air. "I mean, no reference to any historic personality or to someone to whom you feel particularly close emotionally or anything like that? Just Harry."

"Yes, just Harry," James said. Then he added, "Well, Harry James, actually."

"Very original," Remus said with a smile. "I congratulate you."

"Well, we thought it was better than something portentous and legendary or being named after a star," James said with a wink.

"You have a point," Sirius admitted. "Okay, _Just Harry_ it is, then. When can we see him?"

James grinned. "I thought you'd never ask. Come on."

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The sun was setting, colouring the horizon a deep shade of pink, against which the branches of all the trees in the forest surrounding the Lupins' cottage were silhouetted like an enormous spider's web. Malcolm stepped out of the house and searched for Bridget with his eyes. She had not gone far, she was leaning against a broken down bit of fence just a few yards from the front door, and he came up behind her.

"Bridget," he said, "is everything all right?"

She nodded a little too quickly. He took her by the shoulders and turned her round to face him, then uttered an exclamation at the sight of the tears that sparkled on her cheeks. She gave an embarrassed sort of shrug and turned away again.

"Why are you crying?" Malcolm asked.

"I thought women were entitled to cry when - when their children suddenly grow up and have children of their own," Bridget answered tearfully.

He said gently, "They don't usually go running off in the middle of the news though. And I think the tears are supposed to be tears of joy. You're upset."

"I dare say I'll get over it."

"It might help if you told me what exactly it is you need to get over."

She turned her head to look up at him, and then leaned against him, pulling his arms around her with a heavy sigh.

"It ... it's just ... I've been wondering lately if I was too young when I had James. I was hardly more than a child, only just eighteen, and now ... now he's a father, and I ... I ..."

Malcolm started grinning, and even gave a slight chuckle.

"I get it. You don't like the idea of being a grandmother. If it's any comfort to you, my darling, I'm sure no one will ever guess. When you take the baby for a walk, people are more likely to think it's your own."

"That's just it!" Bridget cried.

She pulled away from him and began to pace up and down rather quickly, wringing her hands as she struggled to express what was on her mind without sounding too foolish.

"I feel ... I feel I _am _still young enough to ... well ... have a baby," she finished quietly, coming to a stop a few paces away from him, but keeping her eyes averted. "The fact is not all that long ago, when you came back, and you were safe, and we got married, and you were getting better, I thought perhaps ... who knows? We were both still young enough, and I ... I mean ... I love James. Dearly. Ever since he was born, he's meant the world to me, but ... He's not _yours_."

She finally raised her eyes to Malcolm's face, which had turned grave. He came to her and took her in his arms. Bridget clung to him tightly.

"When I was with the Death Eaters," Malcolm said quietly, "there were times when I thought about the same thing. I would have liked us to have children, too."

"But it's too late now," Bridget murmured. "I can't have a child younger than my grandchild, it would feel wrong."

Malcolm sighed. "Yes, I suppose it would."

"Do you mind terribly?" Bridget asked, looking up at him searchingly.

Malcolm hesitated only a moment before shaking his head with a tender smile.

"As long as I've got you," he said, "I don't mind anything."


	42. Part 42: The Hunt Begins

**Prequel, Part 42: The Hunt Begins**

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**1 - All Hallows' Eve**

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The school year had begun, as it always did, on September 1st. Faith had cried a little when John had left, and he had had to master all his resolve in order to leave her, promising that he would come home as often as work allowed - every weekend, if he could arrange it.

He had found it surprisingly easy to settle into his new job. The Hogwarts students were by no means blind to the goings-on in the world outside. How could they be, when the body of their previous Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher had been found outside the school gates just a couple of months ago, and when many of their families had already suffered losses at the hands of the Death Eaters? Many therefore showed great eagerness to learn as much as possible in this subject. While John hoped that none of these youngsters would ever find themselves in danger, he could not help but be impressed at the good-hearted determination displayed by some, a determination that he suspected Narbus Darkhardt had seen in Remus and his friends back when he had talked of 'recruiting' them into the Order once they finished school.

After about a month, John had made a mental list of his own, which he divided into three categories of potential future allies: probable, possible given encouragement, and risky. He was at this moment checking the homework of one student whom he placed in the third group. Barty Crouch Jr. was in Ravenclaw, and there could be no doubt that he was a highly intelligent boy - the results he had achieved in his O.W.L. exams at the end of the previous year were quite impressive. He had also proved himself to be a very good dueller. But there was something about him that John found unsettling. Barty could be odd at times. He would practise duelling for hours, appearing perfectly calm and in control of himself, and then, all of a sudden, it would be as if some invisible dam had burst, and he would unleash a Disarming Spell or Impediment Jinx that was several times more powerful than was necessary, and someone would walk away with a bleeding nose, a torn lip or a black eye. Barty would always apologise politely enough when this occurred, but somehow his apology was never wholly convincing.

_Then again,_ John thought, _what can one expect from a sixteen-year-old boy? They're all bound to get carried away sometimes._

He recalled plenty of times in his own youth when Malcolm would return to the common room after having been summoned to the office of one teacher or another to apologise for the mischief he had done them or fellow students. Malcolm, too, had always apologised obediently in front of the teachers, but on more than one occasion continued to rant about the person in question to John afterwards, and maintain that so-and-so had had it coming, and that he would do exactly the same thing again if he ever got another chance. All the same, the fact remained that Malcolm never _had_ done the same again to the same person, whereas Barty ... Barty seemed to hold grudges for a very long time, and unlike other students seemed most averse to talking about them. While other students, when brought before their teacher, would have shouting matches and sometimes even have to be physically pulled apart from each other before they calmed down and agreed to bury the hatchet, Barty would always mildly apologise, smile at the other party, and walk away as if nothing had happened.

_But he's only a boy,_ John reminded himself once more. _I suppose I'm just letting my dislike of the father affect my judgement of the son. That's hardly fair. And yet ..._

But his thought was cut short by a knock on the door of his office. John removed his reading glasses and looked up.

"Come in," he called.

He was surprised to see not a student, but the headmaster himself enter the room. Dumbledore's expression drove all thoughts of Barty Crouch Jr. straight out of John's mind. The older wizard looked deeply concerned about something. He refused the seat that John offered.

"I have very little time," he said briskly. "I have received a warning that the enemy is planning to 'celebrate' Halloween with what could possibly turn out to be the greatest massacre of innocent people we have yet witnessed."

John sat a little straighter in his chair. "Tonight?" he said sharply. "Where?"

Dumbledore's sigh gave vent to more frustration than John had ever known him to express.

"In too many places at once, I fear. My source tells me that several simultaneous attacks will take place all over the country. It will be impossible for us to ward off much of the harm."

"But surely, even Voldemort's forces are limited."

"Less so than they were, I fear. From what I have just been told, his supporters are by now far more numerous than even I had guessed."

"Who told you this?" John queried cautiously. He did not think that Dumbledore would reply - the headmaster had so far always avoided answering John when he had tried to find out where exactly all the apparently inside information came from that Dumbledore seemed to be receiving at the moment. But this time, he was surprised.

"I will tell you," Dumbledore said, "if only to stop you questioning me further - and so that, in the event of anything happening to me, our informer will not be left entirely cut off. You wondered, when you first came here, why I had appointed someone as young as Severus Snape to the position of Potions master here at Hogwarts. Now you know."

John stared. "Severus? But ..."

"Yes, Severus. He became one of Voldemort's trusted Death Eaters even before he left school, but now he is our spy."

"A Death Eater? Are you sure he can be trusted?"

"I have no time to discuss the issue of Severus's trustworthiness at present, John. I can only ask you to trust me on this, as I have already asked Minerva to. You two are the only people, apart from myself, who are aware of his position at present. I must ask you, as I have asked her, to swear to me that you will tell no one else about him."

"Of course," John promised. "All the same, I ..."

"Not now, John," Dumbledore repeated. "Time is short."

"I understand. Where do you want me?"

"Here," said the headmaster, surprising him again. "I want you to stay at the school, and help Minerva keep everything under control until I get back. What is about to happen is likely to spark a panic, and I want you to make sure it does not get out of hand. Hagrid will come with me."

The occasion seemed to call for solemnity. John rose from his chair and extended a hand to Dumbledore, which the headmaster shook.

"Good luck," John found himself saying.

Dumbledore nodded curtly, and swept out of the room.

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**2 - A Dark Moment**

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The next morning's copy of the _Daily Prophet_ was devoted entirely to the events of that Halloween, though to read them described in the paper, one might of thought it had been a night of glory rather than of horror. The world, it said, had taken one step further towards its eventual purification from inferior non-wizard beings, the enemies of the Dark Lord had finally witnessed the increased power of the pure cause, several pockets of rebels had been crushed, and room had been made for the expansion of wizardkind. Reading between the lines, it told of small towns reduced to rubble by giants or burned by dragons, Muggles slaughtered by the hundreds, devastation wrought by Death Eaters all over the country, of damage caused and lives destroyed.

Dumbledore called a meeting of the Order of the Phoenix at Gryffindor Hall that evening, and there had never yet been a meeting so quiet, overshadowed as it was by what many of those present had experienced the night before, and the absence of some of its members who were still recovering. Even Sirius was quiet and withdrawn, still anxious about James, who was at home in bed, recovering from the severe burns he had sustained last night.

"How did it happen?" John asked Bridget after the meeting had ended.

Her voice shook as she explained, "He and Lily were with the group that went to Surrey when it all started, one of the places where the Death Eaters were attacking was the area where Lily used to live - they had a dragon with them. By the time they got there, it had set several of the houses on fire, including Rose's ..."

"James went in to try and save her," Malcolm took over the story, putting his arm around his wife. "He nearly got himself killed in the process. Luckily, Sirius and Peter were able to pull him out. They took him straight to _St. Mungo's_."

"Will he be all right?"

Malcolm nodded. "He was lucky they got him there so quickly. The Healers say he might be left with minor scarring on his arms, but nothing too serious. Lily's mother wasn't so lucky."

"She was probably dead before James ever got there," Remus murmured, joining them on the way down.

"I suppose," Sirius answered heavily. "I'm going to go and see James before I head home. You coming, Peter?"

Peter nodded and followed him quickly. Remus frowned after them for a moment before following. John looked a question at Malcolm, who shrugged.

"I don't know all the details of what went on in Surrey last night," he said quietly. "But I gather Sirius is a bit ... off with Remus."

"Why?" Bridget asked. It seemed John was not the only one in the dark here.

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"Sirius, would you mind telling me what I've done to offend you?" Remus was asking Sirius at almost the same time, as he hurried to keep up with his friend on the way down the gravel path, across the street and along the familiar route that led from Gryffindor Hall to the Potters' house.

"Nothing," Sirius grunted shortly, turning a corner.

Remus glanced at Peter, who just shrugged his shoulders. He addressed himself to Sirius again.

"It's not nothing, you're obviously cross with me, and I'd like to know what I'm supposed to have done wrong."

"All right," said Sirius, stopping abruptly and turning on him. "Fine. Where were you?"

"What?"

"While Peter and I were heading into a burning building to save James, where were _you_?"

Confused, Remus said slowly, "You know where I was. I was holding Lily back from going in after James."

Sirius was nodding vigorously now. "Exactly. Now you know why I'm cross."

"What, so you think I should have let her run in and get herself killed?" Remus demanded.

"Has it occurred to you she might not have, that she might actually have been of some help in there?! She is a witch, and pretty good with charms, if you recall. Things like shield charms, fire-repelling charms ..."

"She's also a woman who was in a panic about what might be happening to her mother and her husband," Remus retorted. "Do you think she'd have had the wits about her to think about casting all those charms at that moment?"

"I don't know! Never got the chance to find out, did she, thanks to you."

Remus shook his head. "Sirius, if you're right, then no one could be more sorry than I am. But remember I was there with her, I saw the state she was in - she wasn't thinking straight, she wasn't thinking at all, she was just desperate. She nearly collapsed in my arms!"

Sirius's expression changed from anger to something unreadable. He asked quietly, "Didn't you rather like that, really?"

Remus gaped at him, at a loss for words. Peter was looking from one to the other of them like a spectator at a tennis match.

"Think about it, Remus," said Sirius. "For once, I'm going to suggest you do what you do best - let your head rule your heart."

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Maybe you don't. But if and when you figure it out, remember what nearly happened today. Ask yourself how you'd have felt if anything had happened to James and you had been left holding Lily."

And with that, Sirius marched on down the road, Peter in tow, leaving Remus to stare after them, dazed and confused. His mind went over last night's disaster again - James disappearing into the flames, Lily screaming and running to follow him. Stepping in her way, holding her back with all his might, feeling her stagger against him, hands clutching his shirt, tears soaking his chest, faint and helpless. Comforting her as best he could, wanting to take the pain away from her, wanting to protect her ... Was Sirius right? Had something happened to him at that moment, or maybe even before that, had he felt something he shouldn't have? Lily was beautiful, kind, affectionate - she knew what he was, and yet she still treated him like a human being. More - like a dear friend. Was he beginning to react to that in ways he shouldn't?

"Remus?" It was his father's voice, his father's hand on his shoulder, that recalled Remus to the present. "You shouldn't stand outside alone like this."

What was that look in his father's eyes, that tone in his voice? Sorrow? Sympathy? Understanding? Hardly that, for how could his father understand what he did not understand himself?

"I'm glad James made it," John said quietly, and perhaps a little pointedly.

James. The haze that had gathered around Remus's thoughts lightened. James was his friend, the best friend he had ever had. James had been the first to offer Remus friendship, he had been warm and loyal from the first. He thought of James's ready smile, his friendly laugh, and of all the things they had been through together, and the darkness seemed to lift. Maybe he had allowed himself to feel something for Lily that he must not, maybe Sirius was right for once, but he loved James as if he were his own brother, and nothing in the world would ruin that, ever. He wouldn't allow it.

"Yes," Remus said with a faint smile, "so am I."

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**3 - A Light Moment**

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The Order celebrated Christmas together at Gryffindor Hall that year. After watching Remus closely for a month following that Halloween's experience, Sirius had finally relaxed a little around him again, and he took the opportunity on Christmas Day, under the influence of possibly more glasses of eggnog than were good for him, of taking Remus aside and putting one arm around his shoulder, leaning in conspiratorially to say,

"Look, Moony, old friend ..."

"Yes?" Remus responded warily.

"I just want to say," Sirius went on, his speech slightly slurred, "that I'm sorry about ... you know. What I said to you after that business ... Halloween ... about Lily."

Partly to silence Sirius, partly to escape this embarrassing situation altogether, Remus replied quickly,

"No, listen, you were right." As Sirius's eyes widened in surprise, Remus went on, "For a moment there, I think I did ... I may have ... had feelings that were ... inappropriate. But it was just a moment, Sirius. It passed. I know you've been watching me ever since, but I promise you, you haven't been as vigilant over me as I've been over myself. And it's all right. I'm in control." He tapped his temple and smiled.

Sirius studied him a moment, though his eyes were a little hazy. "Mind over matter, eh? Head over heart?"

"As always," Remus said with a faint sigh.

Sirius patted him on the shoulder. "You know, I'm actually sort of sorry to hear you say that. I mean, with the right girl ..."

"There's no such thing, I'm afraid," Remus replied. "Not for me."

"You never know, Moony," Sirius objected with a grin. "You're probably just looking for the wrong type. You never did know what was good for you."

"I'm not looking for any type," Remus protested.

"Yes, yes, I know." Sirius waved a hand. "Half-breed, half-human, not worthy, and all that. But some day, you might come across a girl who doesn't mind all that. It just won't be ..."

"Lily!" Remus exclaimed, extricating himself from Sirius with difficulty as she approached with Harry in her arms.

Lily smiled. She was still wearing black, which wasn't really a colour that suited her very well, but the smile was an improvement, at least - in fact, Remus thought, it was probably the first smile he had seen from her since her mother's death. James came up beside her.

"What's going on here?" he asked. "Has Padfoot had too much 'Christmas spirit' again?"

They laughed together at the pun, unoriginal though it may be, and James reached across to take his son from his wife. She handed Harry over carefully, her green eyes watching James's face. His jaw seemed to tighten a bit as he took the weight, but he was clearly determined to hold the baby for as long as he could - his arms were healing well, but he wasn't yet fully recovered.

Across the room, Bridget was standing by the french windows, watching her son unobtrusively.

"Don't worry," her father said quietly. "Another couple of weeks, and he'll be back to his old strength."

"He'd better be," Bridget replied. "I've had about as much as I can take of seeing the people I love hurt by that monster and his followers. It's high time we got rid of him once and for all. The Death Eaters would soon fall, if only we could destroy Voldemort, he's what keeps them together."

"One of us can. You, me, James ... or Harry."

"If it is Harry," Bridget said, "then we have a long wait ahead of us."

"If it is Harry," Gordon murmured under his breath, "then I doubt I'll live to see it."

Bridget looked up sharply. Her father was not looking at her - seemed to be making a point of not looking at her, in fact. She didn't know if it was her imagination, but his steel-grey eyes, once so sharp, seemed softer somehow. His face was lined with age, and she realised with a shock just how old he must be. Funny, that she had always known her father was so much older than her mother, yet never thought of him as an old man. It was the strength that he had always seemed to exude, she supposed. But when she thought about it, she could not see that strength that he represented in her mind in the man standing by her side. She saw him, perhaps for the first time, not as a powerful, venerable wizard, but as a man of close to ninety years, a man who had loved a very young wife and lost her, who had seen his daughter drift away from him and lived alone for many long years, who now watched from afar the grandson whom he should have been close to, whom he should have helped teach everything he knew, not really a part of his own family's lives, just standing on the edge, silently watching and protecting, quietly loving, but never asking to be loved in return. And yet that was not entirely true, she realised ruefully. He had asked for her forgiveness, and her love, many times and in many ways, though never in so many words. And another thing she realised was that she had given both, yet never let him know it to this day.

She said in an oddly choked, suddenly timid voice, "Father ... Dad ..."

He looked down at her, his grey eyes widening with surprise, and sparkling with a surprising softness.

"I'm sorry," Bridget whispered.

He shook his head. "You have nothing to be sorry for, my child. Every generation must sooner or later make way for a new one. By the time Harry becomes old enough to fulfil the destiny that may lay in store for him, another twenty years may likely pass. No one lives forever. I simply doubt I have another twenty years."

"I ... I hope you do," Bridget said, and found that she meant it.

Gordon smiled faintly. "That alone," he said, "means more to me than a single year."

It had taken such a long time, Bridget thought, for them to reach this moment. So many years, so much pride, so much stubbornness had stood between them for so long. But now, this Christmas, she finally watched them all slip away, and for the first time since her childhood, she slipped her arms round her father and hugged him tightly. He hesitated briefly, unsure how to deal with this sudden display of affection, but then nature and his heart took over, and he wrapped his arms tightly around her and planted a kiss on the top of her head.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

John sought out Bridget a couple of hours later, and handed her a glass of sherry. He sat down beside her on the sofa and smiled, raising his own glass in a toast.

"What are we drinking to?" she asked.

"You tell me," he said. "I saw you and your father earlier. It was nice to see you truly reunited at last."

"I don't understand why I've waited this long," Bridget said. "But I'm glad we've finally buried the past. I feel ..." - she drew a deep breath - "free."

Bridget smiled back at him, and he noticed that there was something different about that smile. It was happier, more at ease with the world. John twirled his glass in his hands.

"I feel much better myself," he said. "Teaching at Hogwarts has proved to be everything that I hoped it would be, and more. I sometimes wonder I never thought of teaching as a profession before. All those years I spent at the Ministry ..."

"All those years I spent being angry with my father ..."

They both fell silent for a moment, then laughed.

"Well, here's to overcoming the mistakes of the past, then," said John, raising his glass.

"Here's to love," Bridget added, raising hers.

"Even better," he said softly, and they each took a sip from their glasses.

Gordon glanced their way and smiled at Bridget, and she smiled broadly back.

"I think you've made his Christmas," John remarked.

He moved up a little to make room as Malcolm and Faith came up and joined them.

"You two are looking very cheerful," said Malcolm, taking his wife's hand.

John raised his glass again. "Here's to making the most of days like this," he said, wrapping his free arm around Faith.

Bridget winked at him. "Here's to love," she repeated.

"That's the spirit," said Malcolm, kissing her.

"Eat, drink and be merry," Alastor Moody was saying gruffly to Edgar Bones at the other end of the room, "for tomorrow ..."

"Sirius!" Lily's cry turned all heads towards her.

"It's all right, darling, it's not a real Billywig," James said placatingly.

His five-month-old son kicked his legs in the air in delight at the sight of the vivid blue insect floating out of his reach. It seemed to interest him much more than the rattle it had been just a few seconds earlier.

"Oops," said Sirius. "Err ... hate to worry you, James, but ... I think something went a bit wrong with my spell ... it ... err ... _is_ a real Billywig!"

"Sirius ..." Lily repeated.

"Sirius!" James chimed in, rolling his eyes.

"Don't worry, I'll get it," Sirius offered, flourishing his wand.

Remus snatched it out of his hand quickly from behind. "Not with that, you won't," he warned as the Billywig began zooming all around the room, poking its stinger at people and causing everyone to duck, jump and run out of its way. "You'll never hit it, but you might hit one of us."

A mad chase for the blue insect began, ending in a triumphant shout of "Got it!" from Sirius, followed quickly by a "Oh bugg...", a "Sirius!" from Bridget this time, and roars of laughter as Sirius, evidently having been stung by the little creature in revenge for his having caught it tight in his fist, began to levitate a few inches off the ground. Even Lily, now holding Harry safely in her arms again, could not help but chuckle as he struggled comically in mid-air, and gladly helped perform a sticking charm that kept Sirius firmly glued to the floor in a corner of the room until the effects of the insect's sting had worn off.

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It was the longest, and probably the loudest Christmas party the Order had ever celebrated. Towards the end of it, many of the attendees agreed to finish off a very pleasant evening by travelling to Hogsmeade and visiting the _Hog's Head_ for a couple more drinks before turning in, though John and Faith, Bridget and Malcolm and old Gordon stayed at the Hall to look after little Harry and Neville until their parents got back, and some others opted to go straight home instead. A few pints at the _Hog's Head_ later, Moody produced a camera, to everyone's surprise, and began taking photographs of them all, of which he later provided copies to everyone. They were photographs of a happy bunch of people ... who had no idea of what lay just around the corner.

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**4 - Peace Before the Storm**

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"Sir, I was there," Severus Snape insisted, staring intently at the headmaster across the desk that stood between them. "The Dark Lord made the announcement on the last stroke of midnight. He knows about the Order of the Phoenix - he knows a great deal more about it than he should know, more even than I do. He has names, he has addresses ... and he's going to use them. He is coming after you, all of you. It will begin soon. He is determined to finish you all, each and every one of you, he will take you out one by one if he has to."

"What do you propose?"

"Take him out first, of course! Challenge him outright, destroy him and the Death Eaters in one blow."

Dumbledore shook his head. "It's impossible, Severus. We learnt that at Halloween. Their numbers are far greater than ours, we cannot hope to win in a direct battle."

"Then how do you hope to win?"

There was a pause, then Dumbledore admitted quietly, "I ask myself that, too, sometimes. But tell me, Severus: How does Voldemort know all this?"

Severus flinched at the name, but answered firmly, "He has his own spy."

"Someone is spying on the Order?"

"No. Someone is spying _in_ the Order," said Severus. "One of them is passing information to the Dark Lord, one of them is a traitor."

"Who?"

"I do not know."

Dumbledore studied him sharply, as though searching for a lie, but he found none.

"In that case," he said heavily, "the prospect is indeed a bleak one."

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Two weeks later, the Order was mourning the loss of the McKinnons. They had been due to visit Marlene's family in Derbyshire for the weekend. The Death Eaters had been waiting for them there. No one had survived.

Benjy Fenwick was next. Muggle eye witnesses, whose memories were later modified, reported seeing him cornered upon returning home by two figures robed in black and wearing masks. They had left little of the young Auror to identify.

Then came Edgar Bones, and his death was perhaps the hardest blow yet for the Order, as they had all acknowledged him as one of their best, a powerful wizard, a cautious man - and yet he had been killed, and his family with him.

It was the Prewetts' turn at the end of March. Just a week before they were killed, Gideon had sat telling his friends how he had found it hard to enjoy his youngest nephew's first birthday earlier that month, with the memory of his good friend Oliver's death still so fresh in his mind - little had he known he would not live to see his sister's twin sons celebrate their birthdays. The evidence and the witnesses' reports all pointed to the Prewett brothers having put up "One hell of a fight," as Moody grimly put it, against the five Death Eaters who came after them, but it was not enough to save them. Remus had overcome his qualms on this occasion and gone to visit Heather, knowing that she and Fabian had been an item for quite some time now. She had seemed not quite able to believe what had happened. She admitted to him that she had probably never really been in love with Fabian, and yet his death had come as a shock, and she had cried her heart out on Remus's shoulder.

April brought another unexpected and painful death, one for which Voldemort himself was responsible. Dorcas Meadowes' death finally sent many within the Order into a mood of despair, and it took all Dumbledore's powers of persuasion and morale-building that month to prevent the Order from breaking apart entirely.

And then came May.

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It was a Saturday afternoon, and the weather was warm - too warm. The heat was quite oppressive, and as Sirius worked in the yard behind the flat of buildings where he lived, he thought that it couldn't be long before something burst and a downpour came. After all, it was a well known fact that washing your car, cleaning the windows or, in his case, polishing your motorbike worked more reliably to bring on wet weather than a rain dance.

But even though he knew that he was almost certainly doing it in vain, polishing his motorbike was more to Sirius than just the effort to make his treasured machine gleam and sparkle and dazzle the girls as he sped past them. The scrubbing motion did something more, it somehow helped cleanse his heart and mind, and wipe away the trouble and the pain. So many people he had known and called friends had died lately - no, not died. They hadn't just died. Because that would have been all right, he thought. No, they had been murdered. The McKinnons, the Prewetts, Benjy, Madam Meadowes, old Bones ... and not just them. The Death Eaters had targeted others as well, people who, though they weren't members of the Order of the Phoenix, opposed them nonetheless. In particular former Aurors who were still working, despite having been driven out of the Ministry. People like Florence Fortescue ...

Sirius scrubbed a bit harder at speck of dirt. Flossie had been a nice girl. She'd never been one of his conquests, not exactly, but he had always liked her. She'd been clever, and decent, and a good sport. It hadn't been her fault that kissing her turned out to be the beginning of the end of his relationship with Rory. She'd been furious, not just with him, but with herself. Yes, a decent girl, Flossie. And now ... now she was dead. Her body had been found two days ago. It was clear that whoever had killed had enjoyed it. She hadn't died quickly.

Sirius swore. And Remus chose that particular moment to enter the yard from the street. He frowned.

"Sirius?"

His friend spun round, wand drawn. Then he lowered it.

"Oh, it's you," he said, turning back to his motorbike.

"Luckily," Remus said, coming closer. "Otherwise it would have been a bit unwise to turn your back on me, wouldn't it?"

"Have you come for anything special, or just to lecture me about following Moody's advice about 'constant vigilance' and all that rot?" Sirius grunted, attacking the stain again.

"That's not why I came," Remus said. "But it looks like such a lecture might not be a bad idea."

"What's the point though?" Sirius asked. "The people who have been dying lately listened to Moody's advice. They looked out for themselves. Didn't do them any good, did it?"

"I suppose not," Remus admitted.

Sirius glanced at him over his shoulder. "What did you come for then?"

"I was at James and Lily's last night. They told me you were upset about what happened to Florence. And they seemed to think you could do with cheering up."

"So they sent you? Great idea," Sirius remarked sarcastically. "Barrel of laughs, you are."

But there was a faint grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he said it, and when Remus gave him a friendly jab in the ribs, Sirius chuckled.

"I appreciate the thought," he said. "But I'm really not in the mood to be cheered up right now."

"Fair enough. Mind if I join you anyway?"

"What, fancy a ride, do you?"

"Good God, no!" Remus protested quickly. "I wouldn't get on that thing if there was a horde of rampaging Hippogriffs behind me."

"Wouldn't do you much good in that case anyway," Sirius replied, really grinning now. " seeing as Hippogriffs can fly. Here." He thrust an old rag into Remus's hands. "And don't tell me you're scared of getting your hands dirty, not after building those mud pies for Harry last weekend."

Remus laughed. "All right then, where do I start?"

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**5 - Fight Together, Die Alone**

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An hour later, both of them covered in sweat and with polish down the front of their shirts, Sirius and Remus climbed the stairs to the flat.

"Where do you want these?" Remus asked, looking for a place to put the dirty rags.

"Oh, just chuck 'em down somewhere," Sirius said dismissively, heading for the kitchen.

Remus went into the bathroom and placed them carefully on the edge of the sink before beginning to wash his hands.

"I'm out of pumpkin juice," Sirius yelled from the kitchen. "So it's Muggle drinks only today. What'll it be? Beer?"

"In this heat?" said Remus, joining him. "No, thanks. A glass of water will do."

Sirius handed him a glass and pointed to the tap. "Help yourself."

He tapped the bottle of beer he was holding with his wand, and the lid flew off. Sirius placed the bottle to his lips. But he hadn't had a chance to drink even a sip before the telephone started to ring. He sighed.

"Now what?" he wondered aloud, putting his bottle down.

He strode out into the hall to answer the device, and Remus heard his half of the conversation.

"Hello - Why, what's up? - Have you called James? - What about Peter? - Of course. I'll bring Remus with me, too. - Yes, he's here. - No, okay. - Right. See you there."

When he returned to the kitchen, Sirius's good mood had vanished once more. He glanced at the untouched bottle on the table and said,

"If you've finished your water, we'd better make a move."

"Why, what is it?"

"Death Eater attack at Oxford Circus. That was Bridget. She and Malcolm are heading over there now, and James is on his way. Peter's not home, probably at the Ministry, so we can't get hold of him, obviously. And she says not to apparate there, because we don't want to end up in the middle of it all."

"Then how do we get there?"

This brought a faint smile back to Sirius's face. "This is your lucky day, my friend."

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Remus had been only too happy to arrive at Oxford Circus after his forced ride on Sirius's motorbike. But by now, polish and oil weren't the only things staining his shirt. Some of the stains were red and sticky, and the stinging pain in his left arm told him that he himself was the source of some of them. It was also starting to rain. He looked around him. The others didn't look much better. Moody had joined them, and now that the Death Eaters had dispersed, he was leaning against a wall, re-attaching his wooden leg.

"Shall we get the Muggles back up here?" Sirius asked, nodding towards the underground station, where they had herded as many people as they could, to get them out of harm's way.

"Not just yet," Malcolm advised. "Best check around first, make sure the Death Eaters are really all gone and ... where's Bridget?"

They looked around.

"She was right next to me a minute ago," James said, puzzled.

Malcolm glanced at him, then looked around more intently, beginning to pace from one end of the intersection to the other.

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Bridget had indeed been right next to James. But while he had walked towards the underground station to join the others, she had seen something out of the corner of her eye, and turned that way to see what it was. She saw a child, edging towards the street corner. A little girl. As she moved towards the child, in the opposite direction from James, a masked and cloaked figure stepped around the corner. Glancing up at her for the briefest moment, the Death Eater snatched the girl up from behind, stifling her cry with a hand over her mouth, and retreated rapidly down the side street. Bridget followed, wand in hand, but when she got to the corner, he was nowhere to be seen. She hesitated briefly. Was it wise to pursue him alone? Maybe she should call the others, call Malcolm ... but at just that moment, she heard the child cry out in fear up ahead, and she continued at a trot along the street, round another corner ...

She stopped in her tracks. The Death Eater was standing there, a little way down the deserted street, with the struggling child still held firmly in his grasp. His eyes met Bridget's, and she recognised them. She gripped her wand a little tighter, and took a couple of steps towards him.

"Let her go, Vindictus."

There was a moment's tense silence in which Bridget wondered what he would do. Would he let the child go, or would he kill her just for the heck of it?

"Let her go," she repeated more urgently. "You only took her so that I would follow you. I'm here now."

Slowly, the Death Eater bent forward and set the girl on her feet. He released her and straightened up, his wand held out before him. Terrified, the child looked from him to Bridget.

"Go on," Bridget said gently to her. "Run."

The girl took to her heels at last. Lothian raised one hand and pulled off his mask and hood, and Bridget looked into his face for the first time in over twenty years. He hadn't changed much in all the time that had passed, she realised. His black hair was dappled with grey now, and the first lines were starting to crease his brow, but other than that, he looked much as he had done on the day she had left him. He, in turn, appeared to be studying her.

"It's been a long time," he said at length. His voice was low and even.

"Yes."

"You've grown more beautiful than ever."

Bridget caught her breath. Whatever she had expected him to say to her when they met again - and she had, after all, always had a feeling that they would - it had not been this. Her surprise must have shown in her face, for he gave a dry laugh.

"I may be a Death Eater, Bridget, but I am still a man - a man who once chose you as his wife, if you remember. It pleases me to see that I was right when I married you, in thinking that you would one day become one of the most beautiful women in wizarding Britain."

"Oh, so you were after more than just my family's wealth and high standing," she replied cynically.

"To be sure," he replied. "I would not have wanted a plain wife - or a foolish one. And yet, on that count, I seem to have been wrong about you after all. To follow me here alone was, indeed, very foolish. Unless ..."

"Unless what?"

Lothian hesitated, then he lowered his wand a fraction.

"Perhaps we can solve our differences without wands. What do you say, Bridget? Won't you reconsider?"

"Reconsider?" Bridget laughed mirthlessly. "I've had plenty of time to reconsider - if I was going to. But I haven't doubted that leaving you was one of the best decisions I ever made, not once in all these years. I've never regretted it."

"You're still my wife, however ..."

"No." Bridget shook her head firmly. "I am not."

Lothian glanced at her left hand. "Then why are you still wearing the ring?"

She smiled faintly. "_A_ ring, Vindictus, not _the_ ring. Not the one you gave me. This one I received from a man who promised me very little, compared to all the wonderful things you said you would give me. But everything he did promise, he has kept. And more importantly, he loves me."

"Is he aware," Lothian said, his voice harder and colder than before, "that his so-called wife is, in fact, a bigamist?"

"We have no secrets from each other. He knows everything. He even knows you."

This caught the man by surprise. "Me? How ...?"

"Remember the name Marley?" Bridget asked, unable to resist taunting him a little further. "Malcolm Marley?"

"Marley?" Lothian exclaimed. "He was at death's door the last time I saw him!"

"Well, he's far from it now," Bridget assured him. "It took some time, but he recovered, and he's not far now."

A slow smile played about the Death Eater's lips at these words. "Still far enough for me," he said, "and too far for you. Very well, I can see you have definitely chosen your side."

"I chose it more than twenty years ago."

"Then there is nothing for me but to kill you."

"I've not only grown more beautiful," Bridget said with some scorn, "but also more powerful, Vindictus. If you want a duel, you shall have it - but remember that my friends are not far off, and will be looking for me by now. Where are your friends?"

Lothian raised his wand. "I don't need anyone's help to defeat you."

He struck first, but Bridget expertly blocked his Blasting Curse and fired her own spell back at him, which he in turn dodged.

"Not bad," he acknowledged. "But can you keep it up?"

He fired more curses at her, in rapid succession, but Bridget blocked each one and finally managed to get in between them with a hex of her own that he only just managed to block in time. They began to circle around each other. Lothian eventually flung aside his cloak, which was proving a hindrance to him against Bridget, who was wearing Muggle trousers and was therefore able to move much more easily without tripping herself up. But Lothian was the more powerful of the two, and eventually he managed to get a curse past her guard, propelling her backwards several yards, until she crashed against the wall of a building. He tried to follow it up with another, but Bridget turned her shout of pain into a Defensive Charm at the last minute and deflected it. She got back to her feet, and the next spell that penetrated a defence was hers.

They continued that way for several long minutes, until both of them were bruised and scratched, their clothes torn in several places, and the rain had soaked them thoroughly from head to toe. Thunder rolled. Lothian wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth.

"You were right," he panted. "You _are_ good, Bridget. Your father must be proud of you."

"As I am of him," she replied, gasping for air as much as he was.

"Oh, so you are talking again? Have you decided which of you it is that must defeat the Dark Lord?"

"If it's information you want, you're barking up the wrong tree."

"What I want is to fulfil my duty, carry out my orders ..."

"To kill me?"

"Yes."

"Then why don't you?" Bridget asked him. "Surely you don't need to do it the hard way. Your 'old friend' Tom won't think any the worse of you if you just finish me off with a nice little unblockable killing curse."

"Even a Death Eater has his principles, my dear," said Lothian, getting ready for another round. "One of mine happens to be that anyone who has the ability to fight, should at least be given a chance."

"Fair play?" Bridget exclaimed. "Don't make me laugh! How many Muggles have you killed, and what kind of a chance did you give them?"

"None, but you must give me credit for showing them mercy by killing them quickly, at least."

"Mercy is not a quick death, Vindictus. Mercy would have been to let them go."

"I will not argue the point, as you seem to be the expert," Lothian said mockingly, then, "_Impedimenta!_"

"_Protego!_"

The fight looked set to continue into another round, but suddenly, amid the splattering rain, Bridget heard voices calling her name, somewhere in the next street. Lothian heard it, too. Running footsteps were coming nearer. Bridget turned her head just a fraction. Lothian didn't even look properly, merely aimed his wand lazily past her left shoulder and uttered the words of the curse that, so he planned, would take care of the intruder for good.

James, taking the corner at a run, skidded to a halt, eyes wide open. He saw his mother's head turn, saw the panic on her face when she spotted him, saw the jet of green light leave Vindictus Lothian's wand, directed at him. He heard his mother cry his name and saw her take a step in his direction, and then he saw the curse catch her right in the middle of her back. The force of the spell lifted her off the ground before dropping her where she had stood.

There was another low roll of thunder. The rain poured down. James stood as if frozen. Then he screamed.

"Mum!"

He hurtled towards her, everything else forgotten, dropping his wand, oblivious to the presence of the other man in the rain-drenched street. He fell to his knees in the middle of a puddle and stared, horror-struck, at his mother's body. More people came running. The first was Malcolm. He dropped to the ground opposite James and let out a horrible, strangled scream. With trembling hands, he bent over Bridget and gathered her in his arms, burying his face in her wet hair and rocking to and fro desperately. Remus came up behind him. He brought his hand to rest on his uncle's shoulder, but knew it would offer him no comfort. He glanced across at Sirius.

Sirius's face was colourless. His mouth hung open. There was a gash on his cheek that was bleeding freely, the rain mingling with the blood to cause little trickles of red that ran down the side of his neck. The thunder rolled again, and lightning flashed, but no one moved or said anything. After an age, Sirius raised his eyes from where Malcolm knelt cradling Bridget, and spotted the man opposite him.

Lothian looked almost as pale as Sirius, but his eyes were fixed not on Bridget, but on the young man who knelt crying in the rain, the young man who looked so much like him that no one would ever doubt they were father and son.

"You," Sirius growled at the Death Eater. "You killed her!"

"Sirius ..." Remus began, taking a step towards him.

"I'll kill you!" Sirius yelled, drawing his wand. "_Avad..._"

"Sirius, no!"

Remus knocked his wand arm out of harm's way, and the spell merely hit a window box that came crashing to the floor. But Sirius was fighting him, struggling to get past Remus at the man who had killed Bridget, and when Remus wouldn't let him, he struck him first on the jaw, then in the stomach, causing Remus to double over just long enough for Sirius to fling himself past him and extend his hands towards Lothian's throat.

But the delay had been just long enough for Lothian to regain his self-control. He took one last look at James, then he turned on the spot and disapparated a split second before Sirius reached him. Sirius rounded on Remus.

"You let him escape!" he shouted. "He killed Bridget, and you let him get away!"

"Killing him won't bring her back to life!" Remus yelled back over the noise of the rain.

"Nothing will," said a quiet, unsteady voice.

They both turned to look at James. Remus took him gently by the arm and helped him to his feet. More footsteps were approaching the street now, the Muggles had ventured out of the buildings and the underground again at last, and Alastor Moody came hobbling towards them. He took in what had happened within the blink of an eye.

"Get James back to the Hall," he said gruffly to Remus. "Sirius, you go with him. Take the _Knight Bus_, no apparating, you'll only end up splinching yourselves."

Remus glanced hesitantly at his uncle. Moody thumped his back and murmured, "Go on, lad, I'll bring him along. But as soon as you've got them both to the Hall and let Lily know, you'd better go and get your parents. He's going to need them, I think."

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**6 - Grief**

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Bridget's body lay on the bed in her mother's room. Lily and James sat on two chairs close together, she stroking his hair and holding his hand, knowing from her own experience that she could do little else for him at the moment. Sirius was standing by the window, staring out into the rain, one fist clenched so tightly on the curtain that his knuckles stood out white, his posture unnaturally stiff. Malcolm was sitting near the bed, clasping Bridget's hand, his face tear-stained and full of pain. It had taken a lot of persuading to get him to release the body at all, and to put on some dry clothes. John and Faith had had to see to that.

Remus had followed Moody's advice. After taking James and Sirius to Gryffindor Hall, and thus finding himself in the horrible position of having to break the news to Bridget's father, he had called on Lily and informed her, too. She had called the Longbottoms by floo, and Remus had walked her and Harry back up to the Hall, where Frank and Alice had met them and taken little Harry off Lily's hands while she went to comfort James as best she could. Remus had gone home to his parents.

His mother had cried bitterly when he told them what had happened. His father had fallen into a stunned silence. They had arrived back at Gryffindor Hall about half an hour later, and their own grief had had to take a back seat to Malcolm's. They were both upstairs with him now.

Peter had turned up minutes after hearing the news, and now he and Remus were sitting in the drawing room with Frank and Alice while the children cheerfully crawled around the floor together, blissfully oblivious to the adults' distress. Neville eventually crawled over to Frank and pulled himself into a standing position. Frank picked him up, and Harry gave a discontented gurgle. Remus pulled out the locket his parents had given him on his first day of school and dangled it just out of Harry's reach. This distracted him immediately. Playing with anything small and shiny was something of a hobby of Harry's, and Uncle Moony's locket had been a favourite toy of his for some time.

No one spoke, and all was quiet for rather a long time. Then they suddenly heard a loud crash upstairs, followed by a roar of rage, another crash, and then the sound of something heavy bouncing down the stairs and smashing on the floor. Remus and Peter hurried out into the hall to see what was happening. Frank and Alice followed, each of them carrying one of the children. They looked up to the gallery. Sirius was charging along it in a temper, grabbing hold of any ornaments he could and flinging them from him violently.

Faith came hurrying after him from the direction of the room where Bridget lay. She approached him cautiously from behind.

"Sirius ..." She reached for his shoulder from behind, but he knocked her hand away so brusquely that she stumbled.

Remus took a step towards the stairs, but Alice held him back. Sirius was staring at Faith. Suddenly he turned away again and leaned against the wall, banging it with his fist. Faith ventured closer again, and this time he allowed her to put her arms around him, he even seemed to welcome it.

"Come," Alice said softly, "let's go back in here."

The others followed her back into the drawing room. Up on the gallery, Faith whispered,

"I'm so sorry, Sirius. I know you were very fond of Bridget ..."

"I loved her," Sirius sobbed. "I loved her ... so much ..."

"I know."

"I never told her. I thought ... it's not the kind of thing you say ..."

Faith rubbed his back gently.

"You didn't have to say it."

"But I should have, I ... I wish I had."

"You showed her, Sirius. That matters more than words."

"You think so?"

Faith nodded. "Bridget knew how much you cared about her, I know she did. And I also know she cared just as strongly about you."

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In all of this, once person was conspicuous by his absence. Gordon had received the news of his daughter's death without a word, but he had not been seen since. The rain was easing up now, and John decided that, as the old man did not seem to be anywhere in the house - the house elves had been looking for him in vain - he would go and search the grounds. It took him a long while to find Gordon. Bridget's father was standing by the lake, watching the last of the rain drops as they cast ripples in the water, shifting the stars reflected in its surface.

John said quietly, "I'm very sorry for your loss. I can only imagine how you must feel ..."

"No, you cannot imagine it," the old wizard contradicted him, "The loss of my wife came as a shock - she was still young, more than twenty years my junior, and I loved her dearly. Bridget was younger still and ... and the loss of a child is ... painful in a way that nothing else can be. I hope you never learn how that feels."

Silence fell between them, a silence in which John nevertheless tried to understand, but gave up after a few moments, because even the possibility was too painful to ponder. Then Gordon made an unexpected pronouncement.

"I owe you an apology, John."

"An apology?" John queried, puzzled. "Whatever for?"

Gordon took a moment to collect his thoughts, then went on, "Because although I have always liked you, it has been grudgingly, in spite of myself. I did not want to like you, and if I have seemed a little distant to you at times, then that is the reason. My conduct was wrong, but I ... resented you."

"Resented me? I don't understand. If I ever offended you ..."

"It isn't that. It is not that you did anything wrong - on the contrary. It is I who acted badly, but rather than blame myself for the rift I caused between my daughter and myself, when we finally were reunited I preferred to resent you for holding a place in her life - in her heart - that I felt should have been reserved for me. When she was anxious, afraid, when she needed help or simply comfort, she would turn to you. I could not blame her for that. You had been there when I had not, it was natural that she should seek your advice, your comfort ... but I could not help but resent that. It was very wrong of me. I should have been grateful - I _am_ grateful - that she had such a good friend when I was not there to protect her. Nevertheless, I ... I resented the love she bore you. That too was wrong of me. I should have tried harder to befriend the people she loved, and I know that she loved you very much."

"Did she?" John murmured, his voice becoming suddenly constricted.

"Undoubtedly. I never meant to tell you this, to explain myself to you, but ... you will remember the night we set out to rescue Malcolm?"

"Of course."

"And my choice to sacrifice Miss Dulac's life for yours, which angered you so much?"

"Yes," John replied stiffly.

"It was not entirely my choice. It was Bridget who asked me, before we left, to keep an eye on you, and bring you back safely. She was very much in love with Malcolm, she wanted him to be rescued, but she would much rather you had not been part of the rescue party. She feared for you very much, and she asked me to keep you safe."

John gaped at him. The lump in his throat seemed to be growing larger with every heartbeat.

Gordon continued, "I knew then how much you meant to her. That she loved Malcolm, that she wanted him to be safely returned to her, I could understand, and I wanted her to have him, if that was what she desired. But that she cared more for your safety than mine ... that I resented."

John recalled the day he had entered Mrs. Shaw's bookshop to tell Bridget all was well, that they had returned safely. He could picture her as clearly as if it had been yesterday, her wide brown eyes full of relief, the vehemence with which she had thrown her arms around him, and how she had sobbed while he held her. He remembered many times since then when she had come to ask him his opinion and the way she had always greeted him with one of her warmest smiles and a kiss on the cheek. Why should it surprise him so now to hear that she had loved him? Especially considering how much he had loved her.

The grief that had been lingering since Remus had brought the news of her death now welled up inside John, threatening to overwhelm him. He saw it mirrored in the eyes of the old man by his side. As far as he could tell, Gordon had not wept for his daughter, but he was clearly as close to it now as a man of his generation, of his upbringing and his position in wizarding society would ever allow himself to come in the presence of another. John withdrew back towards the house, not entirely out of tact. His vision was obscured by tears by the time he re-entered the house, and he went immediately in search of Faith. It was better, he thought, to cry together than alone.

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**7 - Consequences**

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"My Lord, I bring good news," said Vindictus Lothian, bowing low under the watchful eyes of the other Death Eaters present - the Lestranges, Mulciber and Severus Snape.

"What news?" Voldemort enquired.

"My wife is dead."

Lord Voldemort looked surprised, mildly impressed, and very pleased. "You are sure?"

"Positive, my Lord. I killed her myself."

"Then the old man - your father-in-law - is now the last of the Gryffindor blood line?"

"Indeed, my Lord. Bridget entered a bigamous marriage two years ago, but she and Marley had no children."

"Marley?" Mrs. Lestrange questioned sharply. "The same Marley who was imprisoned here?"

"The very same. They appear to have married shortly after his escape."

"Then you have made a powerful enemy," Voldemort remarked.

Lothian inclined his head in acknowledgement of that statement. Little did the Dark Lord know that he was, at this very moment, making a much more powerful enemy than Malcolm Marley by withholding the secret he had discovered. Gordon Gryffindor was not the last of his line, he had a grandson - and that grandson was Vindictus Lothian's own child.

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Malcolm's footsteps were heavy as he entered the dark and empty flat. John came up behind him and took the keys from his hand, locking the door behind them.

"Shall I turn on the lights?"

"No, not yet." Malcolm groped his way forward in the dark. "I can smell her perfume," he whispered. "It almost makes it seem as if none of this is real, as if she's here, waiting for us, and what happened this afternoon was just a bad dream. God, I wish it was a dream ..."

John switched on the lights. Malcolm flinched visibly, and John could understand it. The light seemed much colder than the dark, and it dispelled the illusion the perfume had conjured. At the same time, it fell on so many more things to remind them both of Bridget - a coat on its hanger, a pair of sandals on the floor, a lipstick on the little cabinet in front of the hall mirror.

"Are you sure you don't want to come back to our place?" John asked, watching Malcolm's pained expression anxiously.

Malcolm shook his head and said, "I know you mean well, but it wouldn't do any earthly good. Your place is just as full of memories."

He went slowly to the bedroom door, and John followed. There was a very long silence, then John said,

"We should get ready for bed."

"We?" Malcolm echoed.

John gave the faintest of smiles. "You didn't think I'd leave you on your own, did you? I'll be on the sofa if you need me."

Malcolm turned to him gratefully. "Thank you, John."

It was not entirely comfortable on the sofa, but that didn't really matter tonight. John did not expect to sleep anyway. He turned off the lights but lay with his eyes open, staring into space, hearing Bridget's voice over and over again, seeing her face. He wiped fresh tears from his eyes and thought of Faith. He wished he could be with her now, but they had agreed that if Malcolm insisted on staying in his own place, he should have company, and so Faith had gone home with Remus and John had come here. He worried about Faith, knowing that she too was upset, but he knew Remus would take care of her, and he might be needed here.

In fact, even as he thought it, he heard a movement in the hall. He sat up and called quietly,

"Malcolm?"

"Yes," came Malcolm's voice from the doorway. "I hope I didn't wake you."

"No. What is it?"

"I ..." Malcolm hesitated, then he came into the room and sank into an armchair. "I can't sleep. I just lie awake, thinking of her. Missing her breathing next to mine."

"I see."

Malcolm's voice broke. "I don't know how to do this, John. I don't know how to go on without her."

"But you will, Malcolm. Given time, the pain won't be as bad."

"I don't see how. Nothing makes sense any more, there's no point to anything, I ... I've nothing to go on for now."

"Don't say that," John said sharply. "Malcolm, I know you loved Bridget, but you mustn't even begin to think like that. Remember you started to fight Voldemort before you even knew Bridget. It's different for me, I only joined the Order to protect Faith. Bridget did it for James. But you - you joined because you believed, Malcolm. And whatever feelings came into play later on, that hasn't changed. You were an Auror when this began, and I believe you still are, at heart. Bridget would not want you to give in, she loved you for your determination as much as your bravery and your good heart. And you can still fight for Bridget, even now. Or maybe now more than ever, because she can no longer fight for herself. And whatever you do, don't look for revenge," John added, forestalling Malcolm's next words. "We must stop this madness so other people don't get hurt like Bridget did, not because we want to avenge her. Believe me, I have those feelings too - I too loved Bridget. But revenge will get us nowhere."

"So you're saying her killer should get off scot-free?"

"I'm saying he should be prevented from killing again, but we mustn't seek to do to him what he did to her."

Malcolm sighed. "You're too good for this world, John. I've always said that."

John said quietly, "I'm no better than you are, really. You're a good man, Malcolm. Bridget loved you for that."

"I'll never love anyone the way I loved her," Malcolm pronounced. "I'll go on, like you said, and I won't look for revenge. But I'll never forget Bridget. I'll never stop loving her."

"Nor will I."

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The funeral took place a few days later. Bridget was buried in the family crypt on the cemetery at Godric's Hollow, but under the name of Bridget Marley, as it was thought she would have wanted it. To James's distress, no inscription could be made on her tomb that referred to her having had a child.

"That's ridiculous!" Sirius had protested against this arrangement. "Lothian saw James the day she died, James's existence isn't a secret any more anyway!"

"Not to his father," Dumbledore had said mildly. "But I understand he did not reveal this information to Lord Voldemort."

"You understand ... how? How do you know?"

"Sirius," John had said warningly, "it is better that some things not be widely known."

And so, when Bridget was buried, James and Sirius stood back from the tomb, with the rest of the attending friends, while Malcolm and Gordon stood near to her coffin. Nevertheless, as Sirius approached to pay his last respects Faith, who was nearest, heard him whisper, very quietly,

"Goodbye, Bridget. I - I love you ... Mum."


	43. Part 43: Beyond Redemption

_Author's Note: This may well be the last chapter I post before _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_ comes out - not long now, and I'm very excited. Thank you to everyone who has been reading and reviewing so far. The story will continue as soon as I have finished with JK's new masterpiece :)_

**Prequel, Part 43: Beyond Redemption**

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**1 - Divided Loyalty**

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Everyone showed the strain in the weeks following Bridget's death. James was noticeably graver than before, more determined when he fought, and fiercer in his loyalties and affection. In that, he and Lily were very much alike - neither of them would tolerate much argument between their friends these days, and both insisted that any discord be settled before ways were parted.

"We never know," Lily said when Sirius commented impatiently on this one day, "what word we say to one another might be the last. We've no way of knowing how much time we have left - let's not waste it on trivial arguments. There are far more important things. I would hate it if anything happened to any of you, and the last word we exchanged had been spoken in anger."

The possibility of death seemed to have been brought home to them all by the recent losses. There had been a time when everyone had been aware that this conflict might claim their lives, but no one had really supposed that it would, no one had really expected to die. Now the general mood was a different one - one of waiting for the next tragedy to strike the Order and rob it of one more life, and a little more spirit.

Two of the Order's members, however, did not seem to find that prospect wholly unwelcome. Gordon Gryffindor seemed finally to have succumbed to old age since his daughter's untimely death. He appeared weary, sometimes even frail, and was often distant when spoken to. Cronky the house elf had approached James about the change that had come over his master, revealing that the old wizard was eating far less than was good for him, and had taken to spending hour upon hour gazing into the Mirror of Erised again. He would not listen to reason when James confronted him on the subject, and so James arranged for the Mirror to be taken away secretly, and gave it to Dumbledore for safekeeping.

Malcolm, meanwhile, often gave the impression that he was carrying his own Mirror of Erised around with him in his soul, and peering into it longingly when his focus was needed elsewhere, or else that he had his own private Dementor that trailed him like a shadow and refused to let happiness shine through. He had begun to take extreme, sometimes reckless risks whenever he came up against Voldemort's followers, and John had lectured him many times that this was not what Bridget would have wanted for him, and that besides, his apparent disregard for his own safety, arising from his love for a woman who was dead, was causing pain to those people still living who loved him - in particular, of course, his sister.

Malcolm had apologised time and again for worrying Faith, for worrying John, for worrying all his friends. But he did not seem quite able to cast off his current depression just yet, and it was all Faith could do to persuade him to let her trim his hair and beard before he started to look like Methuselah, as she put it.

Peter Pettigrew watched all of this with ever-growing discomfort. He felt that he had so far been sitting on a fence, unsure which garden to step in, which side had the greener grass. He was sadly beginning to realise that the Order's garden appeared to be withering, while the Death Eaters' seemed to grow more fertile by the day. Dumbledore could insist all he wanted that the Order was not done yet, that they would go on fighting for as long as there was a breath left in them, that they would make a stand ... but Peter was becoming increasingly certain that it would be a _last_ stand. He didn't like it. Whatever he had done for the Dark Lord, he had done out of fear, and while he also feared his friends finding out about it, there was a small part of him that almost wished they would, that they would discover his crime, give him a chance to explain, forgive him, help him ... But now he was beginning to wonder if there would be anyone left to help him before long. The time had come to choose a side, and preferably one that would keep him alive. It made him feel sick to admit it, but there seemed much less than a fifty-fifty chance by now which side that would be.

And so, when Lord Voldemort, as confident and sure of his victory as the Order was currently shaken and insecure, began asking him for additional information, for more than names and addresses, for details, for times and places, Peter provided him with all he wanted, hating himself for doing so, but seeing no way out unless things changed dramatically by some miracle. How he wished for such a miracle, for a turn of the tide, or for the courage his friends had, courage enough to stand against the inevitable and face it with defiance.

"Peter?"

Lily placed a gentle hand on his arm, and he flinched. The Order meeting was over, and everyone was making their way back downstairs. Peter had moved along with the others as if in a dream, and hadn't been aware of Lily coming up beside him.

"Yes?" he muttered, flustered.

"Are you all right?" she asked with concern.

He nodded. "Just thinking about what was said in there," he lied, jerking his head back towards the room they had just left. "Wondering if it will do any good, changing our passwords once a week."

"It's better than keeping the same ones forever and a day, I suppose," Lily replied. "But you're right, of course. The Death Eaters can always catch us out of doors, they don't need to bother with passwords - except for a place like this, or Hogwarts, which is pretty much secure otherwise." She shook her head. "But let's not keep worrying ourselves about that. Will you be very busy this week?"

"Yes, unfortunately. They like to keep us occupied at the Ministry these days."

"You'll come on Friday though, won't you?"

"Friday?"

"Yes. Sirius has suggested a barbecue, if the weather holds. At our place. The Longbottoms are coming, and Remus, and I dare say Sirius will invite one or two other people on the spur of the moment. John's already said he's going to have to work late on Friday, so he and Faith won't be coming, and we're not sure if we'll be able to persuade Malcolm or Gordon, but we're going to keep trying. Will you be able to come?"

"I'll try. What time?"

"Oh, about seven o'clock, I think."

"All right," Peter said as they reached the front door. "See you then."

He let Lily hug him goodbye, and took his leave of the others as well, all the while going over the information she had given him in his mind, memorising it ready for passing it on ... but only if he was asked, he would not volunteer information if he did not have to. But if he did have to, he would have it ready, as much of it as possible, or the Dark Lord would be displeased, and his displeasure was ... not something Peter enjoyed.

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Vindictus Lothian had become a cautious man. Ever since the night he had killed his wife, his situation had been delicate. He supposed it was greatly to his advantage that Tom Riddle had known him since school and trusted him implicitly - or rather, as much as he trusted anyone. Enough to keep him from invading Lothian's mind, anyway, which was enough to allow him to conceal the existence of his son, the son he had not known about until that day, and whom he had already alienated by murdering his mother in front of his eyes.

It was a precarious position, whichever way you looked at it. And there was the problem of Peter Pettigrew. The young man was, as Lothian now knew, one of his son's closest friends. He also knew that Pettigrew was a traitor in the service of Lord Voldemort. Lothian was a Death Eater by choice, he believed in the cause, he wanted a world ruled by wizard kind - pure-blood wizard kind - where muggles and squibs and mudbloods were put in their proper places, serving those who were purer than they.

But he was also a man who had a son, and that meant more to him than he had ever suspected it might, given the circumstances. He did not want his son to come to harm. As yet, Pettigrew had not revealed the true identity of his friend James Potter to the Dark Lord, and Lothian intended to keep it that way. He had taken the opportunity to warn Pettigrew that, should he think of telling Voldemort the truth about James, the Order would learn the truth about him. But this arrangement, while effective so far, did not entirely satisfy Vindictus Lothian. His son was harbouring a spy close to him, and Lothian felt that he ought to be warned ... somehow.

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**2 - Warning**

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Friday turned out to be the ideal day for a barbecue, just the kind of day one expected of June, and not at all the kind of day that seemed destined for disaster. Gordon had proved impossible to persuade to join the party, even when Sirius had insisted that it was partly in memory of Bridget that he had organised it, because she had loved having all her friends around her, and she would have wanted many more such events, if she had lived. That argument had, however, worked reasonably well on Malcolm. That and his sister's nagging.

The only "extra" Sirius had brought along this time was Mary Crimple, who seemed to have made an effort to look even more fetching than ever in her light summery frock, her fair curls tied back into a ponytail, her lips and nails a matching shade of pale pink. It was hard to imagine that this "walking, talking china doll", as Sirius called her, could hold her own against a Death Eater with the best of them, and had done several times. It also came as rather a surprise to some of the party that, rather than exerting her considerable charms on Sirius, she had withdrawn into a corner and played with Harry and Neville for quite a while, until they both exhibited signs of tiredness, and were put to bed by their mothers.

It was then that Remus, sitting quietly on a bench with a glass of pumpkin juice for company, was surprised to be asked whether he minded if she sat with him for a while. He said that he did not, and Mary sat down. She held a glass of red wine in her hand, and turned it thoughtfully round and round, staring at the contents while Remus continued to watch Sirius struggling to get a smile out of his uncle. Finally Mary sighed, and he turned his attention to her. Only now did he notice that, beneath the makeup and the rosy cheeks, she looked quite depressed herself.

"What's the matter?" he asked politely. "Haven't you been enjoying yourself?"

"Oh, it isn't that," she replied. "I have been enjoying myself. Those two little boys are so cute."

"You like children?"

She shrugged. "I never used to be bothered about them, to tell you the truth. But lately ... I don't know, I suppose it's our age."

He gave a small laugh and she looked up quickly from her glass. The surprised look on her face, in turn, surprised him.

"What?" he asked.

"What?" she asked back.

"I just ..." He took a breath and started again, with a twinkle. "You make it sound like we're pushing sixty."

"Well, not that, but ... Time seems so much more important now, and ... when I see other people my age settling down ... with children ... It scares me a bit sometimes. Because I'm ... well ..."

"Alone?"

Mary nodded.

"I'm sure you needn't be if you wanted to."

She gave him a shy smile. "Do I detect a hidden compliment?"

He smiled back. "I suppose so."

"Well, then I don't mind returning it."

Remus's smile faded and he looked away again.

"I'm sorry," Mary said quickly. "I just ... I was only trying to be nice, I wasn't suggesting ..."

"It's all right."

"I'm sorry," she repeated.

"It doesn't matter."

"I ... oh ..."

She got up abruptly and hurried across the lawn, leaving her wine glass on the garden table as she passed. A moment later, Lily emerged from the house, looking troubled. She came straight over to Remus and sat down.

"Did you say something to Mary?" she asked.

"Not much," he answered truthfully.

"You must have said something to her. She passed me in the hall, crying."

"Crying?" he exclaimed. "I'm sure I didn't say anything as bad as that!"

"Well, it was your name I discerned between sobs. What did you say to her?"

"She didn't actually get up and leave until I _stopped_ talking, to be honest."

Lily searched his face, but he wasn't forthcoming. She said at last, "I suppose I can guess, to a certain extent. Remus, Mary's in a pretty delicate state, emotionally, at the moment. It isn't all that long ago since Florence was killed, and they were close friends. She's seen a lot. We all have, of course, but without Florence, she's not left with many people to turn to. Neither Alice nor I know her that well, and Sirius has never been all that good a listener."

"I hardly know her at all," Remus pointed out.

"No, but ..." Lily sighed. "She likes you."

"I can't see why she should, I'm hardly her type. She used to like James, at one time."

Lily gave a small grin. "She has good taste. Won't you talk to her, Remus?"

"I wouldn't know what to say."

"You'll find something to say, I'm sure. I'm not asking you to ask her out, just be nice to her. Lend a sympathetic ear. Do me a favour?"

He looked at her, and couldn't help but smile. "All right," he said resignedly. "Where did she go?"

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"I must talk to the headmaster," Severus Snape announced without preamble, entering Dumbledore's office briskly.

Dumbledore peered at him over the top of his half-moon spectacles. A few of the portraits of past headmasters adorning the walls made sounds of disapprobation. John turned slightly in his seat, then rose.

"We can talk about this on Monday," he said. "I've still got some packing to do, anyway."

He gave his younger colleague a smile as he passed, which Severus returned with a cold stare. He waited for the door to close, then approached the desk slowly.

"I gather you have urgent news," Dumbledore guessed. "What has happened, Severus?"

"Nothing yet, but I happened to overhear that something is going to happen. Tonight."

"Do you know what and where?"

"It's some ridiculous anniversary. Rabastan Lestrange's thirtieth muggle killed, or something equally idiotic. They have decided to celebrate it with a little drink and ... entertainment at the Bouncing Banshee."

Dumbledore sighed. "And they are bound to find a fair number of innocent victims there on a Friday night. Very well, I will arrange for some of our friends to be there. I believe there is a small gathering at the Potters' tonight - it looks like their evening's entertainment is about to be cut short. Thank you, Severus."

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"Mary?"

The young Auror wiped her eyes hastily on the back of her hand.

"I'm all right," she said between sniffs. "Really, Remus, I ... I'll be back out in a moment."

He closed the kitchen door behind him.

"I'm sorry, Mary. There was no harm in what you said, of course ..."

"You just didn't want me to get my hopes up. I understand that. I appreciate it. But I wasn't really going ... that far. I just wanted a bit of fun. Sometimes it feels good to be admired."

"But you are admired, Mary," he said, puzzled. "Everyone thinks a lot of you."

She laughed humourlessly. "Oh yes, everyone thinks I'm pretty, and clever, and utterly uninteresting." She wiped at another tear. "Except I'm probably not even pretty any more right now. Puffy eyes don't do well for the complexion. I've cried too much lately."

"You've had a lot to cry about, I suppose. Losing your friend ..."

Fresh tears welled up in her eyes. Remus reached inside his pocket and handed her a handkerchief. She took it, dabbed at her eyes, and murmured a thank you.

"I've felt very lonely since Flossie died," she confessed. "She was practically the only friend I had left. I dream about her sometimes. And about Gemma. Only those aren't nice dreams, because I keep seeing her how she looked when I found her, and I wonder what did that to her, and what can have happened to her brother ..."

"Jeremy?"

"Yes." She looked up. "I ... I didn't know you knew him."

Remus shrugged in what he hoped was a dismissive fashion. "I know of him." He hesitated, then added slowly, "I ... know that he's ... dead."

"Dead? H-how? Why?"

"He was kidnapped by Fenrir Greyback."

Mary drew her breath in sharply. "That monster?" she gasped. "The one who was responsible for what happened at Fencombe?" When Remus nodded, she asked, "Did he ... bite Jeremy?"

"I'm afraid so."

She shook her fair head sadly. "Then I suppose ... he's better off dead. Poor child ..."

"Better off dead?" Remus echoed in an oddly constricted tone that startled her slightly. He swallowed and went on, "He hardly deserved to die. He was just a child."

"He deserved the alternative even less. It's one thing for a man like Greyback, who revels in his blood lust, but for an innocent child ... He'd have lived his life by the moon, he'd never have been free of it, never able to be like other children. Can't you imagine what a life he would have led?"

Remus could not remember his mouth ever having been so dry. He tried to think of something to say, but hadn't any words. Mary seemed genuinely sorry for the boy Jeremy's fate, but her words had hurt him, all the same. She couldn't know that, of course. She was saying what she believed to be true, and after all, he couldn't deny that he had thought it himself, at times, particularly in the throes of transformation, when the pain was worst, when he began to feel himself lose control of his own body, his precious mind.

Mary, oblivious to the turmoil she had just evoked with her honest and innocent words, pressed the handkerchief to her eyes again and, to Remus's added discomfort and shock, groped for something to hold onto, and found his arm. She leaned against him and he found himself with no choice but to hold her. After a while, she calmed down and looked up at him, blushing with embarrassment.

She said shyly, "You ... really are very comforting to talk to, Remus. I ..."

But at that very moment, when her blue eyes boring into his were making him feel more uncomfortable than he could remember feeling in his entire life, the fireplace suddenly stuttered and sparked into life, and they jumped apart as their old headmaster's head made an appearance amid the flames.

"Professor!" Remus exclaimed, somewhat flustered.

"Remus, I am glad to catch you so promptly. I'm afraid I have bad news." The headmaster related what Severus had told him, though he left out any mention of his source. "I would like you to tell the others and set out immediately."

"Of course, sir. We'll be there momentarily."

Dumbledore nodded, and vanished. Remus glanced awkwardly at Mary.

She said, "It looks like we'll have to continue this ... conversation ... some other time."

He shook his head. "There won't be another time, Mary. I'm sorry, but it's better this way. You'd be better of trying Sirius, or Peter, or anyone ... not me. And now you had better go home. The party's over."

She gulped, but the hurt in her eyes slowly gave way to a hardened determination.

"I'm an Auror, Remus. I'm not going home, I'm coming along."

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**3 - Knock Knock**

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The lift at the Bouncing Banshee was in motion. It was rather crowded. Remus stood at the back, studying the people around him - Uncle Malcolm, grim as ever; James and Sirius nearest the door, looking determined; Peter glancing this way and that, clearly nervous; Frank sliding his hand into his pocket, presumably gripping his wand; Lily, who had won the coin toss against Alice to determine which of them would be allowed to come, and which would stay at home with the children, and whose eyes Remus avoided so he would not have to explain anything; Mary Crimple, leaning against the wall, looking put out.

The lift came stopped with a shudder, and the doors opened to allow them into the ivy-covered courtyard. They passed through among the trees that served as pillars down here, paying little attention to the atmospheric sparkle of myriad twinkling lights. Like the first time they had ever come here, Sirius led the way, tapping the great wooden entrance with his wand. The door swung open to the wail of the banshee.

"Yes?" croaked the voice of the goblin who guarded the door on the other side.

"Here we go again," Sirius sighed, remembering the problems he always had communicating with the creature. He motioned to Remus. "Would you mind, Moony?"

Remus stiffened slightly. Mary frowned at him, and he stepped past her rather quickly. Crouching down in front of the blind old goblin, he asked in a loud voice, "Mr. Bramley? We're here to visit the Bouncing Banshee. Is everything ... all right inside?"

"No, you can't spend all night inside," said Bobbin Bramley. "We close at midnight." He bowed low and let them pass, wishing them a pleasant evening.

They crossed the age line and passed through the bead curtain into the vaulted chamber of the night club. The music was deafening as ever, but the place was nowhere near as crowded as it had once been. Nevertheless, there were a good few people about, though they mostly seemed to move about in small, tight groups. They scanned the cave with their eyes.

"Everything looks peaceful so far," Frank remarked.

"Hm. We'd better split up," said Sirius. "What do you reckon, Malcolm?"

Malcolm, his eyes still on the move as he spoke, said, "Yes, that's the best bet. Try to blend with the crowd, such as it is. James, Lily ..."

"Yes?"

"I suggest you have a dance. Frank and Peter, take up positions near the bar."

"All right."

Malcolm glanced at the other three. There was an awkward moment when no one said anything, then Sirius took Mary by the hand.

"Come on, we'll join James and Lily."

This left Remus standing alone with his uncle, but not for long. A tall young man came purposefully towards them, a cheery smile on his face.

"Hello, Lupin!" he exclaimed, shaking Remus by the hand. "Haven't seen you around for a while, how are you?"

He glanced at the man by Remus's side, and Remus hastily made the introduction.

"Hello, Belby," he said. "This is my uncle, Malcolm Marley. Uncle Malcolm - Damocles Belby. We worked together at the Ministry."

"I see," said Malcolm, shaking the young man's hand and studying him somewhat warily.

"Not very busy here tonight, is it?" Belby commented, looking around. "Still, I suppose it could be worse. I went to the Leaky Cauldron yesterday, it was practically empty ... Oh, nice girl!"

Remus glanced in the direction Belby was looking, and gave a start. The girl Belby had spotted had her back to him at the moment, but Remus would have recognised that brown curly head anywhere. He sighed. Hadn't he had enough problems for one evening? Just then, Heather Woodcock turned around and spotted him. She waved. Remus waved back. Belby turned round and stared at him.

"You _know_ her?"

Malcolm began to move discreetly away, while Heather now came towards them.

"Hello, Remus," she said, then turned to look questioningly at his companion.

Remus made another introduction. He felt very uncomfortable. Why people couldn't leave him alone ... Heather was hardly paying any attention to Belby, who seemed very eager to get to know her better, and he could feel Mary's eyes boring into him from the direction of the dance floor, not to mention reproachful glances from Lily. Honestly, there were times when he thought the world could be so much more peaceful if there weren't girls everywhere you looked. He almost wished the Death Eaters would hurry up and interrupt the peace of the evening ... until they did.

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Faith glanced at the clock on the bedside cabinet. Nine o'clock. It would be a while yet before John got home, he had warned her that he would be late this week. Well, it didn't matter. She would wait for him, all night if she had to. She smiled to herself. Funny how she still loved him so much, after all these years, how she still missed him the minute he was gone, and waited for his return like a schoolgirl excited about her first Valentine's Day date.

Like the schoolgirl she had been on that memorable day in summer when she had run crying up the hill in Hogsmeade after the boy she had half-heartedly been going out with had tried to kiss her, only to find John standing there, almost as though he had been waiting for her, except that he had been as surprised to see her there as she was to see him. He had come there, he explained, because he wanted peace and quiet and a place to think. She had come there because she had met him there often during the past months, whenever he could make it on Hogsmeade weekends, to talk about home and his worry about his father's health.

She remembered his concern at the sight of her tears, and how she had turned away from him while she confessed what had made her cry, so that he would not see in her eyes that what really pained her was not that boy's fault at all, but her feelings for John himself. She also remembered him coming up behind her, the warmth of his hands on her shoulders as he turned her around, and her amazement when he had suddenly bent his head to hers and brushed her lips with his in a first, tender kiss. It still made her blush to think of it.

She glanced at the clock again. Ten past nine. With a sigh, she propped her book up a little higher and searched the page to find the spot she had got up to before pleasant memories had intervened. The candle beside her flickered and caused a shadow to flit momentarily across the opposite wall. Faith caught her breath. For the briefest instant, that shadow had looked like a figure, the figure of a woman holding out her hand ... But that was fanciful. It was only the shadow of the hangings around the four-poster bed, that was all. It was foolish to interpret things into it, and to let her mind play tricks on her, it was her memory that conjured up the whisper of a familiar voice in hear head now, a voice she recognised, although she could hear no words. Memory, imagination, fancy, and wishful thinking. Bridget was gone, it was silly to imagine feeling her presence in the empty house - silly, but oddly comforting, in a way.

Faith shook herself and tried to go back to her book, but she couldn't concentrate. She decided to go downstairs and make herself a cup of tea. Getting out of bed, she pulled her dressing gown on over her night dress and went out into the hall. The sudden impatient knocking on the front door made her jump. Surely it couldn't be John, not yet.

She approached the door and called out, "Who is it?"

The knocking stopped. "Faith, it's me, Sirius. Quick, open the door!"

"Sirius?" she exclaimed, surprised. What was Sirius doing here at this hour, when he was supposed to be at the barbecue in Godric's Hollow? And why did he sound so rushed?

"Get a move on, Faith," he called through the wood, "we haven't got much time. Ask me the question."

"Oh ... who is most on your mind?"

"Bridget," he answered sombrely.

Faith opened the door. Sirius looked dishevelled, his hair was in a tangle and his robes torn in several places. There was a cut above his left eyebrow that was bleeding.

"Good lord!" Faith exclaimed, taking a step back. "What's happened? I thought you were at Lily and James's ..."

"We were," he replied grimly, stepping into the hall.

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Severus Snape was hurrying along the corridor to the headmaster's office for the second time that day.

"Jelly slugs," he spat at the gargoyle, which leapt aside and allowed him onto the moving spiral staircase.

He rapped at the door impatiently, and entered almost before Dumbledore had asked him to.

"Headmaster," he announced, "I have made a mistake."

The blue eyes studied him sharply. "What do you mean?"

"What I warned you about earlier ... The Dark Lord wanted it to reach your ears, though not so soon. He wanted you to find out about it now, so that you would do exactly what you have already done."

"He wanted me to send the others to the Bouncing Banshee? Why?"

"To keep them distracted while his other plan is carried out. 'One by one', headmaster ... I did warn you ..."

Dumbledore gripped the arms of his chair. "Who?"

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Faith was staring at Sirius, her anxiety growing with every breath.

"What went wrong?" she asked. "Where are the others? Where ... where's Remus?"

Looking pained, he took her by the elbow and turned her towards the stairs. "You'd better go and get dressed," he said quietly.

Faith gave a small cry and turned to look back at him, but what she saw made the questions she wanted to ask stick in her throat. Sirius had left the front door open behind him, and other shapes were moving towards it on the outside, silhouettes blotting out the moonlight.

"Sirius," she breathed, "wha..."

She looked up at him, at the same time trying to free her arm from his grip, but his fingers had closed more tightly by now, and his expression was no longer heavy and sorry, but superior and triumphant. He looked back over his shoulder.

"In you come!" he called.

The shapes that had been waiting outside stepped into the hall. There were three of them, all wearing black hooded robes and masks over their faces that revealed only their eyes.

"Well done, lad," said the first one, the tallest of the three. "You had better leave us now, before anyone notices you're missing."

Sirius gave a nod and let go of Faith's arm. He stepped towards the door.

"W-what?" she stammered. "No, wait! S-Sirius? Don't go - Sirius!"

"Shut up!" spat the second Death Eater, a burly man carrying a large sack, and brought his wand up in her face.

Faith shrank back. The door closed behind the figure of Sirius Black, leaving her alone with these three strangers. Her heart raced with fear.

"What do you want?" she asked timidly.

"When will your husband be home?" the first man asked.

"John?" she gasped, wide-eyed. "That's why you're here?" She shook her head frantically, backing away even further in horror. "No. No, please ..."

"When will he be home?" the second Death Eater repeated, waving his wand menacingly.

But Faith's voice seemed unable to get past the lump that had formed in her throat.

"_Crucio_!" the man bellowed, and Faith felt pain erupt in her every nerve, and found her voice again, but only to scream in agony.

"Stop that!" snapped the first Death Eater, and the pain subsided as quickly as it had begun. "Fool," he shot at his companion. "If we don't know when he'll be here, we have to count on him turning up at any moment. The idea is to catch him unawares, remember? We don't want her screams warning him. Now, take her upstairs and have a look around. We'll see what's down here. And take that thing" - he indicated the sack - "with you."

With a grunt, the thickset Death Eater did as he was told. He followed Faith back upstairs and peered into every room, before nodding towards the bedroom.

"This where you were when we arrived?" he demanded, his eyes travelling over her dressing gown.

Faith nodded.

"Then get back in there," he ordered, prodding her with his wand.

She moved slowly - too slowly for his liking, apparently, because he suddenly gave her a shove that sent her sprawling backwards onto the bed. She shrieked.

"Keep it down, up there!" yelled a voice from downstairs.

"Spoilsport," the Death Eater in the bedroom grumbled. He dropped his sack on the floor and said, "You stay up here and keep your mouth shut. Make one murmur or false move, and he'll see to it you never do either again." He pointed at the sack, which to Faith's horror had begun moving. "He's been trained well by the Dark Lord himself to keep guard and not attack, but he hasn't had his dinner yet, so I'd keep really still, if I were you," the man added, then he stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind him.

Faith stared at the writhing sack. The cord that tied it was loose. For a second she thought if she was quick enough, she could hurry over and tie it up - but it was already too late. A flat, orange head with black stripes and slit-like eyes was rising up, a tongue shooting out of its mouth for split seconds every now and then, and soon after it was followed by a second head of the same colour, and then a third, which at once began to hiss continuously. The creature uncoiled its long, black and orange body bit by bit, and the eyes of the left head, the one that had appeared first, fixed on Faith where she lay trembling on the bed. She had never seen anything like this in real life before, but she had heard and read enough about it to recognise it for what it was - a Runespoor. She tried to remember more about the creature, but _Care of Magical Creatures_ had never been her strong point. Now, if John were here ...

A cold shiver ran down her spine at the thought. John would be coming home tonight, and there were three Death Eaters in the house, waiting for him. She couldn't let him walk into the trap unawares, she had to do something. If only she had even an ounce of Bridget's courage and ingenuity.

"Of course," she breathed, as an idea struck her suddenly. "Bridget ..."

She turned her head as far as she could while still keeping an eye on the three heads by the door. The candle was still flickering on the bedside table, she hadn't bothered to extinguish it earlier. If she could get a hold of it, she would at least have a weapon against this beast. The trouble was that she couldn't remember which head was the really dangerous one, the one that held the venom. She was pretty sure it was one of the outside heads, but which one? Well, there was little point in worrying about that now.

Thinking of John, Faith summoned what courage she had and began inching closer to the bedside table. The Runespoor hissed more loudly, and she froze for a second. When its hissing returned to the usual irritating monotone, she extended her hand for the candle. Bit by bit, her fingers came closer to it. At last, they closed around the brass handle. She suppressed a sigh of relief, and brought the candle closer to her just as slowly.

But what to do now?

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**4 - In Motion**

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Alice was breathless. She hadn't had a chance to catch her breath since Dumbledore had called by floo. He had been urgent and visibly upset, particularly as, so he had quickly explained, his phoenix had just had a burning day and was therefore no earthly use as a beast of burden to bear him to the rescue tonight. Alice had assured him that she would pass the message on as quickly as she could. She had picked up both children and taken them quickly to her in-laws, wasting no time on explanations, merely shoving them both into Richard Longbottom's arms with a promise that he would hear all about it later, and then she had disapparated again, to London.

She was now sprinting across the age line at the Bouncing Banshee, and stepping into the middle of the fight that was going on there, only just ducking in time to evade a hex sent hurling her way. From off to her left, a flash of light flew past her and caught the Death Eater who had aimed at her between the eyes, disorienting him for a few seconds. Remus came up beside her.

"Alice," he panted, "what are you doing here?"

"I've got a message from Dumbledore," she explained hurriedly. "You've got to come, quickly."

"What? Where?"

They dodged another hex, fired back, and saw the Death Eater turn tail and run. Others seemed to be doing the same. The other members of the Order of the Phoenix, as well as Mary, Heather and Belby, grouped around them.

"Where's Harry?" Lily demanded at once.

"Safe," said Alice quickly. "Listen, Dumbledore called to tell me all of this was mainly a diversion, to keep everyone distracted from what's really happening tonight."

"What's that?" Sirius asked breathlessly, sending another Death Eater running with a well-aimed jinx.

Alice turned gravely to Remus. "They're at your place."

He gaped at her disbelievingly. It was a good thing the Death Eaters were on the retreat already, because everyone was needing a moment to take in what she had just said. Frank was the first to turn practical again.

"Go," he said. "There's no time to lose. Alice and I can finish up here."

"I'll help you," Belby promised, gripping his wand more firmly and pulling Heather behind him.

"Me too," said Mary. "Go on!"

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Faith had made it all the way to the bedroom window at the back of the house, crawling across the bed little by little. There was a tree just outside, with a branch that ought to be just close enough for her to reach - not that she had ever been much good at tree-climbing, but it was her only chance. The latch was stuck. She set the candle down and fumbled with it, and finally it gave way. Faith pushed the window open with relief, reached down to move the candle out of her way ... and cried out in pain. The Runespoor's right head, no longer hissing, had shot up at just that moment, and its sharp fangs embedded themselves in her left wrist, sending incredible pain shooting up through her entire arm. Faith grabbed the candle with her right hand and jabbed it at the creature, aiming at the right head first. It lunged as though to bite her again, but missed this time. The candle's flame caught the Runespoor at the point where the three heads joined, and the creature hissed and spat loudly in agony, writhing as the flames took hold and engulfed it. A spark caught the curtains, and within seconds the entire window frame was on fire.

Faith backed away, cradling her arm, and fled into the hall, across it, and into Remus's room, where she tore open the window without really knowing where she expected to go from here. As it happened, she received no chance to go anywhere. Footsteps bounded up the stairs and in an instant, a strong pair of hands had grabbed her from behind and pulled her back.

"That was an incredibly foolish thing to do," the tall Death Eater hissed in her ear.

Seconds later, his burly ally appeared in the doorway, his shoulders heaving with rage. He started towards Faith, wand raised and fist balled, but the other stopped him.

"Have you put out the fire?"

"Yes," the man snarled.

"Then stay up here and keep watch."

"What about her?"

"I'll watch her," said the tall man.

He took Faith by the arm roughly and marched her downstairs. The third Death Eater approached from the direction of the kitchen.

"Vat has happened?" he asked in a foreign accent Faith could not place.

"She killed his pet," snapped the other. "Now stay in there and keep watch out the back. I don't want any more surprises."

He led Faith into the living room and sat her down on the sofa. He peered out of the living room window, towards the front of the house, then looked out into the hall. Finally he strode over to the sofa, extended a hand and pulled her left wrist towards him. It was sore and already swelling, the marks where the Runespoor's fangs had penetrated the skin a horrible black and blue mess. To Faith's surprise, the man glanced back over his shoulder, then waved his wand over the wound. It stung for a moment, then throbbed dully.

"That won't stop the poison spreading completely," he said quietly, "but it will slow it down."

He dropped her wrist and returned to the hall doorway. Faith drew back her aching arm.

"What's the point?" she asked through gritted teeth. "You're going to kill me anyway, aren't you?"

Slowly, he shook his head and said quickly, but quietly, "I don't want you dead. I want you to take a message to someone for me ... my son."

"Your ... son?" she echoed, then understood. "You're Vindictus Lothian!"

"Shhh!" he warned her. Then he said, "Yes, I am."

"You killed Bridget!"

"I said be quiet!"

She whispered, "Bridget was my friend, as well as my sister-in-law. You murdered her. Broke my brother's heart ..."

"Never mind that now," he urged. "We haven't got much time. I want you to tell my son that I have kept his existence a secret from the Dark Lord, and intend to continue doing so. Also tell him to be careful - there is a spy in the Order of the Phoenix, the last person he would suspect ..."

"So I gather," Faith remarked bitterly.

"You gather _nothing_," he hissed, then broke off at the sound of a movement across the hall. He waited until all was quiet once more, then said, "Promise to do this for me, and I'll try to make sure you escape tonight."

"What about John?" she asked fearfully.

He shook his head. "Nothing will save him now."

"You could," Faith ploughed on, desperate. "You could stand beside him, help him ... and earn your son's trust much more than by sending him useless messages. If you help John ..."

"I can't," he said sharply, and turned away.

Faith closed her eyes for a second, partly because of the pain, partly because she needed to think. She opened them again, and as if by a miracle, a hint of a plan presented itself to her. Keeping close watch on Lothian's back, she carefully extended her right hand to reach inside her basket of needlework, which stood on the floor beside the sofa. John had often teased her that this was a strange place to keep a wand, but it was proving useful now. By the time Lothian turned around again, Faith was leaning back on the sofa, her wand tucked carefully up the left sleeve of her dressing gown.

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James made a futile turn on the spot.

"It's no use," he grumbled, "the Anti-Disapparition Jinx is still active."

Malcolm uttered a string of colourful swear words no one had ever heard him use before. They were already several blocks away from the Bouncing Banshee, and still they had not been able to find a spot from which they could disapparate to the Lupins' cottage. His desperation was evident.

"Well, there's no use hanging about," Lily said shakily. "We've got to keep moving, keep trying. Come on, Remus!"

He seemed as if he was miles away, just standing there looking completely dazed. Lily and James exchanged a glance, then each seized one of his sleeves and dragged him on. Sirius and Peter were running on ahead, Malcolm close behind. They had to get out of the Anti-Disapparition zone the Death Eaters had imposed before the attack, and fast.

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Lothian was pacing up and down. He stopped at the sound of footsteps pounding down the stairs. The burly Death Eater's head appeared in the doorway.

"He's here!" he declared triumphantly.

Faith had not known, until this moment, that one's heart was capable of leaping to the sky and sinking to the floor, both in the same instant. John was here. He was close to her at last, as she longed for him to be, but at the same time he was too close, because every step closer to her brought him nearer to these people who wanted to take him from her for good. She seized her opportunity, and the Death Eaters reacted just a split second too slow.

Outside on the apparition spot, John looked up sharply when he heard a shout.

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**5 - A Hard Choice**

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Dropping his suitcase and drawing his wand instinctively, John backed into the shadow of the trees. Everything was silent now, so silent that he almost began to doubt he had heard anything at all. He peered at the cottage closely through the gloom. There was a light on in the living room, which was not too unusual. What was unusual was that the window to Remus's bedroom had been left open. Faith never left a window open when she was alone in the house, it made her feel unsafe. Besides, if she was in the living room, as the light seemed to indicate, she would normally be waiting by the window, and he could see no movement there, no movement at all. His heart pounded at the thought of what that might mean.

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Faith was paying for her warning shout. The burly Death Eater, who was still enraged about the loss of his pet, anyway, had not hesitated to conjure a gag and ram it roughly into her mouth, and was now holding her back against the wall, making sure no shadow or movement would be seen behind the curtains from outside. The third Death Eater appeared in the doorway.

"Can you two not keep the voman quiet?" he complained in his accented voice.

"She'll be quiet now," Lothian said impatiently. "Get out into the hall and keep alert. If Lupin did hear that, he'll be forewarned, and he'll come through that door with his wand at the ready ..."

"If he comes through it at all," the other man grumbled. "He'd have to be a fool not to go for help first, if he suspects something's up."

Lothian looked at Faith and shook his head. "I don't think he'll risk it."

Faith struggled vainly against the strong arms that held her. Lothian, unfortunately, was right. Even if her warning had worked, if John had heard her, it was very doubtful that he would do the sensible thing and leave, go and find Malcolm, come back with support ... but she prayed that he would. Her arm was hurting her badly, she could barely breathe past the gag in her mouth, she was surrounded by enemies, but somehow none of that mattered, she wasn't even afraid of them, not for herself, only for John. If only she had not insisted on seeing him so often, if only he had not been coming home tonight, if he had stayed at Hogwarts like the other teachers did, he would have been safe. But he was out there, in the garden, and sooner or later he would enter the house, and then ... the thought alone frightened her more than anything ever had in her whole life, made her feel faint, but she could not afford to pass out now, she had to hold on somehow, hold on and pray ...

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John was circling the house. He kept to the trees around the edge of the clearing, and darted from one trunk to the other until he finally reached the back of the house. He looked up, and froze with shock. There was a gaping hole where the bedroom window had been, a hole that was blackened and charred and giving off faint wisps of black smoke. What on earth could have happened here?

But he didn't have time to think about that. What he was seeing convinced him that his worst fears were true, his worst nightmare had come to life. Faith was in danger. He realised what he was about to do was the height of folly, but he couldn't bear the thought of going back, of leaving her on her own. But he must send a message.

He stared at the tree that stood against the back of the house, and concentrated briefly on the message he needed to send. Then he recalled the day he had stood at the altar, with Faith by his side, and the happiness he had felt when they had walked out of the church as man and wife - the happiest memory he had, or would ever have.

"_Expecto Patronum_," he whispered, and a wisp of silvery smoke shot out of the end of his wand and formed into the shape of a cockerel, which hurried off through the forest in search of the person for whom his message was intended.

Then John turned his attention back to the tree, and began silently removing the protective anti-intruder charms he had put in place himself as he approached it.

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The grandfather clock in the hall was ticking. Faith could hear it, even in the living room. She had always found it a soothing sound until now, but today it seemed to mock her, as though reminding her of every second of their lives that was slipping past, bringing them closer to whatever lay in store tonight, leading them towards the inevitable, whatever that was. Tick, tock, tick, tock it went, and nothing happened. No other sound was heard. She began to think that maybe her prayer had worked, that John had chosen to be cautious after all, and had gone to get help. Then there was an odd sort of scuffling sound in the hall, a muffled murmur, and a dull thud.

Faith jumped. The Death Eaters exchanged glances. Silence fell again. Lothian stepped close to the hall door and glance out cautiously. He drew his head back in with an angry exclamation.

"What is it?" the burly man whispered.

"Antonin," Lothian replied. "He's out cold. Lupin must be in the house - must have got in upstairs somehow." He turned back towards the door. "Lupin!" he called.

There was no reply.

"Lupin," he repeated, "you may as well come out. We know you're there. There's no need to make this any harder on yourself than it has to be. We can finish this quickly."

Silence. Only the clock ticked on. Lothian glanced at his comrade, then at Faith. His eyes were cold, and she shivered with fright. The Death Eater jerked his head towards the door. He pulled the gag out of Faith's mouth, and the other gave her a rough shove that sent her stumbling into the hall.

"John!" she cried quickly. "Go! Don't try to ..."

Her words were cut short as the man who had been holding her back seconds ago raised his wand and barked, "_Crucio_!" for the second time that night.

The pain was no less terrible than the first time, if anything it was worse, because added to it was the knowledge of what this would be doing to John, but still she could not stop herself screaming.

Upstairs on the landing, hidden from view, John heard her screams of agony and fought with himself, pacing up and down and running his hands through his hair. Up here he had a vantage point, he had a chance ... but he couldn't bear to hear that hideous sound, couldn't bear to stand by and let her suffer, it was so much worse than anything they could make him endure ...

"Stop it!" he yelled, gripping the banisters convulsively. "For God's sake, stop it!"

"You can stop it, Lupin!" Lothian called out. "Come down and surrender your wand."

"No!" Faith managed between screams. "No ... don't ..."

But it was no use. John simply wasn't capable of turning away as she wanted him to, as he ought to if he had any sense. He hurried down the stairs and threw his wand at the Death Eaters' feet, then he bent down beside Faith and tried to hold her.

"Stop it!" he cried desperately as she writhed in his arms. "You've got me, there's no need for this!"

The curse was lifted. Faith jerked a few more times, then lay still, panting, clutching at John as he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

"My love," he whispered. "Are you all right?"

"I'm so sorry," she sobbed. "I didn't mean to let them in, I ... it was ..."

"Shhh," he soothed her, kissing her again and stroking her hair.

"Get up!" Lothian ordered.

John sighed heavily. Faith stopped crying and stared, terrified, into his face. He gave her a faint, sad smile, and helped her to her feet. Holding her against him, he looked Lothian in the eye while the other man went to revive their fallen comrade.

"All right," John said, struggling to keep his voice steady. "Here I am. I suppose I should have known it would be my turn soon. So what happens now? Do we duel, three against one? Or do you just kill me?"

Faith flinched against him, her fingers closing more tightly around the fabric of his robes, and he kissed the top of her head tenderly.

"Personally," Lothian said, "I prefer a decent duel. I imagine you and I would be quite well matched. But I'm afraid we don't have time for that tonight. You are rather late. Besides, your wife was so unfortunate as to anger my friend over there by burning his pet to a cinder. I trust you saw it upstairs?"

John nodded. He said, "Very well. I won't put up a fight, under one condition."

"You are hardly in a position to make conditions," the foreign Death Eater, the one called Antonin, pointed out angrily, getting unsteadily to his feet.

"Then call it a last request, if you will. Or don't you people believe in that kind of thing?"

"We might occasionally allow a condemned man a hearty meal," said Lothian. "But as I have pointed out, we are short of time ..."

"I won't hold you up," John replied. "Just ... promise me you'll let my wife go."

Faith looked up sharply, and shook her head. "No, John. No."

She slid her left hand into his, and looked into his eyes meaningfully as she allowed the wand to slip down her sleeve and touch his palm. He quickly concealed his surprise, but did not take the weapon she was offering him.

Instead he repeated, "Let my wife go, and I won't cause you any trouble."

"I'd say I'll do you a favour and not hand her over to your old pal, Greyback, when we're done with you," the burly Death Eater spat. "But it's too late for that already. She's dying anyway, there's no way either of you will get out of here alive. She may have killed the Runespoor, but it got her first," he finished triumphantly.

John's eyes filled with fear. He glanced anxiously down at Faith, and she gave the faintest of nods.

"When?" he mouthed.

"About half an hour ago," Lothian supplied.

John's eyes met the Death Eater's, then Faith's again. He had seen the charred remains of the Runespoor upstairs, and dreaded something like this, but she had seemed all right ... Half an hour. He made a quick calculation. There was still hope, if she could be sent on her way to St. Mungo's now, but the Death Eaters would never allow that, they would insist on keeping her here at least until the deed was done. There was only one thing he could do to try and save her. His right hand closed around Faith's wand, and he touched her cheek with his left and brought his lips close to hers.

"Get behind me," he whispered into the kiss.

"That's enough!" the Death Eater called Antonin bellowed.

He raised his wand, but John was quicker. Performing a shield charm with Faith's wand, he pulled her round behind him and backed towards the kitchen. The burly Death Eater fired a curse, but John blocked that, too, and the next instant Faith had pulled him into the kitchen after her, and he slammed the door and protected it with a quick series of charms, then rammed a chair under the handle and shoved the table up against it for good measure.

"John!" Faith cried.

He quickly covered the distance between them and clutched her to him once more. She was trembling all over, but then so was he, and his voice shook as he said in a hollow tone that she had never heard him use before,

"Please, God, tell me this is a nightmare!"

Faith looked up at him in alarm. His desperate expression startled her.

"John?" she whispered. "What ...?"

He avoided her eyes, and examined her arm quickly. "The poison's been slowed," he said in wonder.

"That was Lothian," she told him. "He's the tall one. He said he didn't want me dead, that he wants me to give James a message from him ..."

Hope was rekindled in her husband's blue eyes. "Then he'll help you get away."

She shook her head. "He said he wouldn't help you ..."

"That's not important, as long as you're safe."

"John ..."

"Shhh."

There was a murmur of voices on the other side of the door, which shone in many different colours as the Death Eaters worked to weaken the charms protecting it.

"I'll go round the back," said one voice.

"Was that Lothian?" John asked eagerly.

"I - I don't know."

John glanced from the hall door to the back door, and began guiding her towards the latter.

"Let's hope it is. Go out the back way, then go round to the apparition spot. Go straight to St. Mungo's and don't let them hold you up at reception, go up to the first floor and show them your arm."

"But ... John ..."

She extricated herself from his firm hand that was propelling her towards the way out, and turned back to stare at him. Behind John, the door into the hall was beginning to splinter and give way. His eyes were incredibly tender and over bright.

"Don't look back, my love," he said in a choked voice, stroking a strand of hair behind her ear.

Faith shook her head frantically. "No. No, John, I won't go. I can't, not without you."

She clutched at his sleeve. He took her hand and gently peeled her fingers off the fabric, then pressed it to his lips.

"I swore I would die before I let any harm come to you," John said softly. "I meant that."

"But I don't want you to die for me," Faith said miserably. "I never wanted that."

She stared at him, wide-eyed and horrified.

He gasped, "For God's sake, Faith, don't look at me like that. It breaks my heart!"

"What about mine, John?"

He held her to him once more at that, and kissed her more tenderly than ever. Then, reluctantly, he drew back and turned her around so she wouldn't see his face.

"Don't look back," he repeated. "Take care, my love."

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**6 - Making a Stand**

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Behind her, Faith heard the kitchen door give way with one final crash. She heard John as he flung himself through it, and she heard shouts and incantations, furniture crashing, and flashes of coloured light appeared at the edge of her vision, blurred by tears. She took a first, unsteady step towards the back door, and quickly forced herself to take another. Her legs felt leaden, and her chest burned as if it was on fire. She had no idea whether these were effects of the poison, or her grief and terror. And then there was a flash of purple, and she heard John scream with pain. She flinched as if someone had struck her. The back door opened and Lothian stepped in. His eyes stared at her from behind the mask for a second, then he stood aside, leaving the doorway open for her.

Faith bit her lip. She thought how this was what John wanted, for her to escape. But just as she was getting ready to walk on, he screamed again, and she could stand it no longer. She whirled round, even as Lothian lunged to grab her arm and hold her back, and flew across the kitchen and into the hall. She was just in time to see John stumble, and to lodge her shoulder under his arm as he sank to his knees. Her wand fell from his hand with a clutter, and Faith stared at him in horror. He was bleeding. The Death Eater who faced him, the one called Antonin, raised his wand arm high.

"Stop!" Faith screamed desperately. "Can't you see you've done enough?!"

Lothian reached the hall behind her and assessed the situation quickly. The burly Death Eater was struggling to stand, propped up against the wall, bent over and holding his leg. Antonin was bleeding from the shoulder and seemed shaky on his feet, his wand hand wavering.

"Let's go," Lothian said. "Time's running short."

"They're ... not dead ... yet," the burly Death Eater panted.

"As good as," Lothian insisted. "Come on."

With a shrug, Antonin bent to pick up Faith's wand where John had dropped it. He snapped it in half and threw it back on the ground, then he and his burly fellow turned and followed Lothian out through the kitchen. Faith heard one of them utter an incantation she had not heard before, and a moment later they walked away, and were soon gone. All went quiet. All except the beating of her heart, and John's horribly ragged breathing.

"John, I'm sorry," she whispered. "I tried to do what you wanted, but I couldn't, I couldn't ..."

Shaking his head, John said weakly, "I'm ... glad you're here."

He raised his eyes to her face, and painfully lifted his free hand to wipe a tear off her cheek, though it left a smear of blood. Then he doubled over suddenly, and she helped him to lie down.

"I - I'll get some bandages."

"No," he objected. "No, my love. You really must go now ... to St. Mungo's."

She nodded. "I'll go," she said, stroking his cheek. "I'll go and get help."

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John's Patronus reached Malcolm just as Sirius announced that he thought they must be far enough from the Banshee to disapparate now. They tried it, and found he was correct. They apparated to the cottage, but once there, all six of them froze at the sight that met their eyes. Malcolm gasped. Lily clutched James's arm, and glanced sideways at Remus. He was very pale and quiet, staring unblinkingly at the Dark Mark where it hovered just above his home. As they watched, still too stunned to move, the front door was opened from the inside and a figure staggered out, stumbling against the door frame.

"It's Faith - come on!" yelled Sirius, the first to recover and start moving again.

The others followed his example, and Malcolm reached his sister first. She practically fell into his arms.

"Oh, thank God!" she exclaimed, clinging onto him.

"Faith, what ...?" Malcolm began, looking down at the blood that covered her hands and arms, now being smeared onto his sleeves. "You're bleeding!"

"No. It's not mine," she said tearfully, and looked back over her shoulder.

For a second, Malcolm stared at her. Then he pushed her towards Remus, shoved everyone out of his way and burst into the hall. A cry of horror gave the others a hint of what he must have found. They followed him in warily, to find him kneeling on the floor beside John, desperately running his wand tip over his friend's wounds, trying to heal them as best he could, but clearly losing the battle. John's hand closed over his wrist.

"Malcolm," he said gently. "Stop. It's ... too late ..."

"No," Malcolm said with a half-sob, clutching the hand that held his wrist.

Remus helped his mother down beside Malcolm, and knelt next to her himself, one arm still supporting her. His father's face turned towards them both, and he held out his other hand. Remus clasped it.

"Remus," John whispered, as though preparing to say something, give him some message. "Remus ..." He winced and broke off.

Remus just squeezed the hand he held, he didn't seem able to say anything. John's head turned, and he looked at his wife. The faintest smile appeared on his face.

"Faith ..."

He seemed to be straining, to try to lift his head. She bent towards him, but at that very moment, he stiffened with a grunt, then relaxed, his head rolling gently against Malcolm's knee.

"John," Faith cried brokenly. "John! No ..." Her voice rose to an almost hysterical wail. "Nooo!"

Remus dropped his father's hand abruptly, and sat back, just staring. James and Lily crouched on either side of Faith and got her to her feet slowly, trying to calm her down. Suddenly she gave a huge gasp and writhed alarmingly between them, before suddenly falling against James, unconscious. Malcolm's head snapped up.

"What is it?"

He was on his feet in a second, and took Faith from James, picking her up in his arms. Sirius was first to spot the hideous mark on her arm.

"Oh hell!" he exclaimed, pointing. "What's that?!"

Malcolm looked down. He swore under his breath. "It's a Runespoor bite," he said. "I've got to get her to St. Mungo's."

He ran with Faith in his arms back out to the apparition spot. A second later, he was gone. The others stood in the hall, none of them saying a word, no one moving, for rather a long time.

Then Remus said in a dry, strangely calm voice, "That Runespoor could still be about here somewhere. I'll check the bedrooms."

His friends exchanged glances. James excused himself quietly, and followed Remus up the stairs. Peter, who had been leaning heavily against the wall, straightened up. His hand over his mouth, looking distinctly sick, he edged through the shattered remains of the kitchen door. Lily turned her gaze back to John. She crouched down next to him and gently, her hand shaking, she closed his eyes. She stood again, slowly, and backed away.

"Poor Faith," she murmured. "I ... I don't think I've ever heard anything so heart-rending."

"You weren't there when Bridget ... when Malcolm found her ... dead, he ..." Sirius broke off.

Lily shuddered. "I don't think I could bear it. If anything happened to James, and I had to see it ..."

She gave a sudden sob. Sirius came forward and put his arm around her, and she shed a few tears on his shoulder.

After a while he said, "We ought to clean up here a bit, before Remus comes back down." He shook his head heavily. "You wonder sometimes, don't you, why something as terrible as this happens to people as decent as he was."

"This shouldn't happen to anyone," Lily said quietly, "whoever they are."

Upstairs, Remus and James had long since found the dead Runespoor on the floor by the window. Remus had then dropped down on the end of the bed and stared silently at the floorboards. James came to sit beside him. He hesitated, then put one hand on his friend's shoulder. Neither of them spoke at all. James felt it would be out of place for him to be the one to break the silence, and Remus did not seem inclined to say anything. In fact, he was so still that James grew worried, and was relieved when Lily and Sirius joined them at last.

"We've sent Peter to let the others know what's happened," Sirius told them.

Lily added, "We thought it would be better if he didn't linger here, he's badly shaken. Frank and Alice will take care of him when he gets back to the Banshee. Hadn't we better go to St. Mungo's?"

Remus looked at her blankly.

"We should go and find out how your mother is," Lily said gently, taking his hand.

He took a deep breath.

"Yes," he said hoarsely. "Yes, of course."

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Malcolm had apparated straight to St. Mungo's hospital. It was a mark of the times that no one was shocked, or even particularly surprised by the sudden appearance of a man with blood-stained hands, carrying an unconscious woman in his arms. He had made straight for the stairs without pausing to join the queue at the reception desk, and hurried up to the first floor as fast as he could. Bursting into the ward, he walked up to two Healers who were sipping coffee and chattering animatedly to one another.

"Hey," he snapped breathlessly, "you two - I need your help here!"

"Excuse me," one of them, the older Healer, a short and plump woman with her hair in a black bun retorted, turning round with one hand on her hip. "If you don't mind, we're talking here. Politeness costs no..."

"I could cost a life!" Malcolm yelled. "I've brought you a patient here, bitten by a Runespoor, and if you two don't get your act together and do something about it ..."

"Well, I ..."

"If she dies, I swear you'll wish you'd run into Lord Voldemort himself by the time I'm done with you!" he roared. "MOVE!"

The older Healer stared at him incredulously. Clearly, she was not accustomed to being shouted at like this. The other Healer, a freckle-faced trainee, became flustered, but nonetheless led Malcolm to a bed where he deposited Faith gently. Her colleague, meanwhile, had regained a little of her composure and began summoning assistance.

"When was your ... err ..."

"Sister," Malcolm provided.

"That's right. When exactly was she bitten?" the Trainee Healer asked.

He shook his head distractedly. "I'm not sure."

The older Healer sighed, as if commiserating the lack of sensible information one received from distraught relations these days.

"Well, do you at least know when she passed out?"

"About five minutes ago," he supplied, "at the most. I - I brought her straight here. Will she ..." - he gulped - "will she be all right?"

"That remains to be seen," said the Healer.

The Trainee Healer said more kindly, "We'll be sure to do our best, sir."

Malcolm nodded. "O-of course. Thank you, I ... I'll wait outside."

He stumbled out of the ward. A stitch in his side was only just starting to cause him pain, and he only now began to feel the stinging of a cut on his chin which he had sustained during the fight at the Banshee. He was short of breath, and his heart was thumping like a great drum. Once outside, he leaned against the wall, throwing his head back. Then he slowly slid down it until he was sitting on the ground, and let out a cry. He drew his knees up in front of him and wrapped his arms around them, sobbing and not caring who saw or heard him. In fact, no one seemed to notice him at all. Healers rushed past him in both directions, some almost tripping over him, but no one offered any kind of comfort or assistance.

By the time the other four joined him, however, he seemed to have cried himself dry for the present.

"How's Mum?" Remus asked.

"I don't know," Malcolm replied distractedly. "I - I haven't been back in since the Healers took over."

Just then, the older Healer made an appearance. She eyed the newcomers questioningly.

"My nephew," Malcolm explained. "And his friends. H-how ...?"

"I'm sorry to say the poison has spread quite far."

"Can't you just shove a bezoar down her throat, or something?" Sirius suggested. "That's supposed to cure anything."

The Healer gave him a reproachful look. "We do know what we're doing, young man. However, a bezoar happens to be precisely what we are considering."

"Considering?" Sirius echoed. "If you think it'll help, get on with it."

"It's not that simple. In her present condition, Mrs. ... err ..."

"Lupin," said James.

"Mrs. Lupin's whole body is tense," the Healer went on. "She could choke on the bezoar, and even if she doesn't, I'm afraid the effects of the Runespoor poison will not be wholly negated."

"And if you don't try with the bezoar?" Remus asked quietly.

The Healer looked uncomfortable. "She would have another hour, two at most. She probably wouldn't even regain consciousness."

"Then what are you hanging about for? Give it to her!" Sirius said heatedly.

But the Healer seemed to be waiting for Remus to say something. When he did not, Malcolm spoke up.

"I brought my sister here to be saved, not so you could stand around debating the odds of some rock saving her life or finishing her off!"

"It is your nephew's consent we need."

"Consent? To save her life?"

"To attempt a remedy that might only kill her faster, and will almost certainly not effect a complete cure."

Everyone looked at Remus, expecting him to agree at once, but to their amazement, he hesitated. He opened his mouth once as though to speak, then closed it again, shook his head, and paced up and down.

"Remus," Malcolm said urgently, "what are you waiting for?"

"For God's sake, Moony," Sirius chimed in. "She's your mother!"

Remus closed his eyes for a second, then nodded slowly. "Go ahead," he said quietly.

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**7 - No Return**

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Faith woke to find her left arm throbbing painfully, and the lights painfully bright when she opened her eyes. She felt a hand touch hers and turned her head to look up at her brother's anxious face.

"M-Malcolm," she stammered faintly. Then added tremulously, "Where's John?"

He swallowed and glanced over his shoulder. Remus came up beside him. He sat on his mother's bedside and said very gently,

"Dad's ... dead, Mum. Don't you remember?"

Her eyes filled with tears. She murmured, "I thought he ... I ... I remembered ... but I did so hope it was just a bad dream."

"I'm afraid not."

She started to cry, and Remus quickly pulled her into his arms to comfort her. Malcolm dropped back onto his chair. When Faith had quietened down a little, James asked her,

"Can you tell us what happened? I mean, the house was protected, how could they get in?"

Faith sat back and looked his way, and suddenly stiffened.

"You?" she exclaimed. "W-what are you doing here? How - how _dare _you show your face after what you've done, you ..."

"Mum," Remus said, taking her hand in an attempt to calm her. "What is it, what are you talking about?"

"Ask him!" she cried, pointing past James. "He knows what happened."

Remus turned his head, as did Malcolm, Lily and James. Sirius was staring back at Faith blankly.

"Me?" he said incredulously. "What's it got to do with me?"

Faith turned to Remus. "He let them in," she said urgently. "He knocked on the door and gave me his password and everything, he made me think something had happened to you, and then he let them in!"

"What?! No, I never ..." Sirius protested, but James cut across him.

Endeavouring to keep his voice mild and calm, he said reasonably, "Faith, it can't have been Sirius, he was with us the whole evening. Ask anyone. Ask Remus, Sirius was never out of our sight."

Remus thought for a moment, as though trying to remember, then he nodded. "It's true," he said, puzzled. "Sirius was with us the whole time."

His mother shook her head frantically. "It was Sirius I let in, I'm sure of it." She turned to James. "Your father confirmed it. Vindictus Lothian. He wanted me to tell you to be careful. He said someone in the Order is a spy, and he said it was the last person you'd suspect."

"If someone posed as me to get to you, and through you to John," Sirius said grimly, "then it's true, there must be a traitor among us. But I swear it wasn't me you saw tonight, Faith. I'll swear it on anything you like."

"Polyjuice Potion?" Lily guessed. "Did someone use Polyjuice Potion, do you think? Yes, that must be it. But who would do such a thing? John was ... he was liked. I can't think of anyone who would want to hurt him."

"If there is a traitor in the Order," Malcolm said slowly, "and it looks like there must be, then it doesn't matter who their treason hurts, not individually. To whoever betrayed him, John was just another enemy. But by God, if I ever find out who did this to him ..."

"Dad didn't believe in revenge," Remus reminded him.

His uncle looked up, amazed. "Is ... is that all you can say? Your father was betrayed, Remus, by someone he trusted! Someone he considered a friend, someone he would willingly have given his life to protect! You can't tell me that person doesn't deserve the worst punishment imaginable!"

"Do any of us get what we deserve - or deserve what we get?"

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Peter knew that he was green in the face. He had been sick, several times over. First in the Lupins' kitchen, and then again, later on, when he had got home. He walked into the Dark Lord's presence and did not even have the energy to bow. Lord Voldemort smiled contentedly.

"You have done well, Peter," he said appreciatively. "You have proved your allegiance to me properly at last. The information you provided was accurate, and with the help of the sample of Sirius Black's hair, our young comrade was able to hoodwink Mrs. Lupin into believing she was admitting a friend. I am a little disappointed that the Runespoor's bite did not kill her, but still - she will be protesting to everyone that it was Sirius Black who betrayed her husband to his death, and that is all to our advantage. Now, next, I want you to ..."

"I won't," Peter found himself saying.

Voldemort looked up sharply. "I beg your pardon?"

"I said I - I won't," the young man spoke up, starting to stammer as tears began to flood down his face. "I won't do it. Never again. I - I don't care what you do to me. J-John Lupin was ... He was a good man. He was a-always friendly, always k-kind to me. He n-never hurt anyone and y-you ... you killed him!"

The Dark Lord's smile broadened. "No," he said in barely more than a whisper. "Oh no, Peter. I did not kill him. I couldn't have killed him ... if it hadn't been for you. He was safe at Hogwarts, safe in his home, but you ... you made it unsafe. You betrayed him, you gave us the key, and you are responsible for his death. What will you do if you no longer wish to serve me, Peter? Will you go to your friends and confess? Rely on their big hearts? Do you really think they'll forgive you? Your friend Sirius Black ... will he forgive you for using him like that? And what about Remus Lupin? Do you think it likely that he will pat you on the back and say all is well, when your treason has so recently caused the death of his so kind, so friendly, so _good_ father? I think not."

Peter gulped. Voldemort was right. He had betrayed John Lupin to his death. He, and only he, had made it possible for the Death Eaters to proceed as they had done, to force their way into his home, threaten and injure his wife, and murder him in that brutal way. He had killed John, and the others would never forgive him for that. He had reached the point where there was no more sitting on the fence, no more hope of going back. He had become, once and for all, a Death Eater.


	44. Part 44: Last of the Bloodline

**Prequel, Part 44: Last of the Bloodline**

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**1 - Homecoming**

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Remus was dreaming. He had had the same dream three nights in a row. In it he was kneeling in the dim hall of the cottage, with the debris from a terrific fight scattered all around him, with wallpaper hanging off the walls and plaster crumbling from the ceiling, and in front of him, on the floor, lay the dying figure of his father. Remus was clutching his hand, and it felt limp and clammy. His father tried to say something to him, but Remus couldn't hear what it was, couldn't hear anything at all, because all he could think about was that he mustn't lose control, that he mustn't show the panic that was rising inside him. But the tears that streaked his face would not be stopped, they fell relentlessly, staining his cheeks, their salty taste wetting his lips, and finally dripping to the floor.

_Dad is dead_, he thought, and to his own mind his voice sounded like that of a frightened child. _He's dead, he's dead, he's ..._

A sob escaped him so suddenly that he woke up, to find himself lying on a camp bed in an unfamiliar room - Harry's room, he reminded himself - the pillow beneath his head wet with the real tears that had leaked from his eyes while he slept. Remus took a few long, gasping breaths and ran his hand over his face to dry it. In the pale moonlight, the shadow of a teddy bear seemed to loom over him menacingly. Everything seemed threatening in this new, cold world, the world he had been living in since Friday night. Since his father had died.

There were moments when it still didn't seem real, when he thought it couldn't possibly have happened. And then there were moments when he sat by his mother's bedside at St. Mungo's, pleading with her to eat and holding her every time she broke into a renewed fit of sobbing, feeling her cling to him as if her life depended on it, wishing he could allow himself to fall apart like she was, but knowing if he did, she would have no one, nothing to hold onto. His father would not have wanted him to succumb to grief. He would have wanted him to support his mother, and to go on fighting as before.

The strange thing was that, in his waking moments, Remus didn't find it all that hard not to cry. He had actually tried to, that night, when he had gone upstairs to hunt for the Runespoor. He had sat down on the end of his parents' bed, his heart beating wildly in his chest, his body as cold as ice and yet feeling as though every nerve were on fire, his breath coming hard and fast, and waited for the tears to come, but they hadn't. He had told himself over and over again that his father was dead, and yet he hadn't been able to cry. Perhaps it was better that way. What use were tears, anyway?

Remus turned the pillow dry side up, and settled his head on it once more. But he did not close his eyes. Whenever he did, he invariably travelled back to that darkened corridor, he saw the blood and heard his mother's heart-broken scream. It was better not to sleep at all than to keep going through that. Better to wait for morning.

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Surprisingly, however, Remus fell into a dreamless sleep after that, and the morning was quite far advanced by the time he was dressed and went downstairs for breakfast. The voices coming through the half open kitchen door told him he was not the only guest in the house today. He could hear both Sirius and Peter's voices every now and then.

"... not _suggesting_ anything," Sirius was saying. "I'm just telling you I don't understand it."

He was answered by a not quite distinguishable murmur, that is to say, Remus realised it was James's voice, but he couldn't hear the words.

Sirius replied, "I know, but ... just think how you'd have reacted, if it had been Bridget."

"We're not all the same, Sirius," Lily retorted. "And may I remind you that any disagreements you've had in the past have never exactly ended with you covering yourself with glory."

"Oh course," Sirius said a trifle haughtily, "if you two have been having a heart-to-heart again that I don't know about ..."

At this point, Remus reached the kitchen door, and cleared his throat. Five faces turned towards him, and only one of them - Harry's - looked entirely pleased to see him.

"Good morning," Remus said.

"Morning, Moony," Peter answered quickly. "Sleep all right? Do you want some tea, there's still some in the pot ..."

"I'll get it myself, thanks."

Peter sat back down again. Remus crossed the room to where the tea pot stood, poured himself a cup of tea, added milk and sugar and stirred it slowly. At last, tea cup in hand, he sat down next to Peter and looked across the table at Sirius. He opened his mouth to speak, but what he said simply astounded everyone present.

"Could you pass the butter, please, Sirius?"

There was a slightly awkward pause, then James leaned across the table to where the butter stood, picked it up, and handed it to Remus, who took it with a word of thanks and began to spread it on a slice of toast. He took a bite, chewed and swallowed and washed it down with a sip of tea before he spoke again. Then he pulled a face.

"Don't tell me - you let Wormtail make the tea?"

"I used half a spoonful of tea per person, like you told me," Peter said defensively.

"One per person, Peter. And one for the pot, remember?"

"Blast. Sorry."

"Never mind."

Remus pushed the weak beverage aside and finally addressed Sirius.

"So," he said, "I take it you're worried about something?"

Sirius shrugged. "It's no secret I don't always get what goes on in your mind. I just wondered what made you hesitate about letting the Healers give your mum the bezoar, that's all."

"I see. I suppose it must have seemed rather strange."

"It's none of our business, really," Lily said with a frown, lifting Harry out of his high chair, where he was clearly getting bored. "You don't have to explain."

"No, I think I do. Under the circumstances, I think Sirius has a right to ask. I think we all have a right to question each other's behaviour, in view of what happened, and what Lothian said. Someone in the Order is a spy. It could be anyone, even one of us."

"Nonsense ..."

"I don't believe it either, James," Remus continued. "But we shouldn't take your father's warning too lightly. Remember we don't just have his word to go by that there really is a traitor. Someone arranged a diversion to keep us all busy Friday night, someone arranged for the whole area around the Banshee to be protected against disapparition, and someone knew that Mum would be on her own in the house - until Dad came home. Someone also told the Death Eaters Sirius's password and gave them something, a hair or something else, to use as an ingredient for Polyjuice Potion. That's evidence enough that the warning was true. We should all be careful who we trust."

"Oh please, don't let's start doubting each other," Lily protested. "We're all we've got."

"And we should be open with each other. Sirius is right," Remus said. "So ... You want to know why I didn't immediately jump at the chance that a bezoar might save my mother's life?"

"Well," Sirius murmured, a little taken aback, "I only wondered ..."

"It was a case," Remus interrupted him, "of choosing between what I wanted and what was best for her."

"She was going to die if she didn't get that bezoar!"

"Yes, and perhaps that would have been for the best."

Sirius gaped at him. James, however, looked thoughtful for a moment, and then nodded slowly.

"Yes, you're right. If she had been allowed to choose for herself, I think she might well have chosen differently. You wanted to do what you thought she'd want herself."

"Only I couldn't," Remus said heavily. "I tried, but I didn't have the courage. And now ... now she asks me why, why I couldn't just let her die, why she had to survive, when Dad ... when Dad is dead," he finished.

He took another sip of his tea and didn't even react to its weak taste this time. With Harry still in her arms, Lily sat down on the other side of him.

"If she wasn't meant to live," she said gently, "then she would have died, whatever you decided. But she didn't. She's still with us, and it's not up to us to know why. Maybe ... maybe it's because she's still needed. Maybe _you _still need her."

Remus shook his head. "When I see what this has done to her, I ... I almost wish I had let her die."

"But only almost," Lily said with a sad smile.

"And what about your dad?" Sirius asked.

Remus looked up. "What about him?"

"What about him?" Sirius echoed. "He's dead, damn it!"

There it was again, that hot and cold feeling, that pounding of the heart. But still no tears. With a gulp, Remus murmured, "Yes."

"What Sirius means," James said carefully, "is that you don't seem to have mourned him yet. We realise this has been a shock, and it can take a while for these things to sink in, but it's been a couple of days now. You do realise that it's not good for you, bottling things up?"

"I'm not bottling anything up, James. I'm doing what I think he would have wanted - supporting Mum as best I can, and getting on with things."

"It's not good for you," James repeated.

"It's all I can do at the moment. I'm not like you, James. Any of you. I've been practising control over my emotions for a very long time."

"And now you don't know how to stop?" Lily suggested.

"Perhaps," he confessed. "Or perhaps I just don't need to vent my emotions like other people do. Besides, I have Mum to think of."

"Your mum," James interrupted him quietly, "once taught me something very wise. She told me that I would be no use to anyone, if I didn't deal with my own grief before I tried to help others through theirs. I know the state she's in is every bit as bad as you say it is, but you're not helping her by trying to be strong for her sake. And I don't believe you're that different from the rest of us. It will come out some day, and it'll be the worse for having kept it inside for so long. Yes, Faith needs you to lean on, but she'll be relying on a support that's not as strong as she thinks, and it will be hard on her when you suddenly do break down. It's better to get it over with."

"You mean well, James, I know," Remus said. "But I'm not going to break down. You know better than anyone that I've learnt to keep myself under control."

"You've never dealt with anything like this before," James protested heatedly. "We have, remember? All of us. Peter lost his siter, Sirius and I lost Mum, Lily lost both her parents ... We've all been at the point where you are now, and we all know you can't keep it inside forever, no matter how good you are at controlling yourself. Something's got to give eventually."

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On Tuesday, Faith was allowed to leave St. Mungo's. Though Lily and James offered to have both her and Remus stay with them for a little while longer, Remus thanked them, but refused, saying that he thought the sooner they got back into their own home and found a new sort of normality, the better. His mother was visibly nervous about coming back, even though both Remus and Malcolm promised they would not leave her on her own in the house until she was ready to be. Standing in the clearing, she refused to go inside for a very long time.

Finally she asked in a small voice, "What's it like inside? Is everything ... the way it was?"

"No, we've cleaned it all up," Remus reassured her. "Come."

He offered her his arm, and she took it at last, allowing him to lead her up to the front door. Malcolm unlocked it, and with a wave of his wand turned on the lights - there were more of these now than there had been before. The walls and ceiling had been mended and painted and papered over. The grandfather clock showed signs of having been damaged, but was ticking away as always. A couple of smaller items of furniture were gone, and one or two of the photographs on the wall had been given new frames. The kitchen door was still missing, and had been replaced with a length of material like a curtain for the time being, and there was a rug on the floor that Frank and Alice Longbottom had brought round yesterday. Faith stood staring at it, remembering John lying there, tears starting into her eyes again at once.

"Would you like to lie down for a while first?" Remus asked her softly.

She nodded, but then said, "Oh, but I ... I don't think I can ... I mean, the bedroom ..."

"That's been repaired, too," he told her. "But if you prefer, you can have my room, and I'll sleep in there for a few nights."

She turned to him gratefully, and leaned against him.

Malcolm, trying hard not to stare at the floor himself, but keeping his eyes carefully averted, muttered, "I'll put the kettle on, shall I?"

Remus nodded, and started to lead his mother upstairs. Shortly after, all three of them were drinking tea in Remus's bedroom, Faith sitting up in his bed with a shawl around her shoulders, Malcolm staring out of the window at the forest in the afternoon sunlight, lost in his own thoughts.

After an age, he asked hoarsely, "Faith, do you have any idea who they were?"

"What?"

He turned away from the window.

"The Death Eaters," he said, and there was a new hardness and determination in his voice now. "The ones who came here. Apart from Lothian, who were they?"

"Oh. I - I don't know. They were all masked."

"I realise that, but they must have spoken, they might have dropped some clue."

Faith said shakily, "I wasn't looking for clues to their identity. I was ... terrified."

"But there's got to be something!"

His sudden roughness startled Faith, and brought tears to her eyes again.

"Drop it," Remus told his uncle sharply, sitting on the edge of the bed quickly and taking his mother's hand.

Malcolm took a few deep breaths. "I'm sorry, Faith. I just ... I wish I knew who was responsible. Why John ... who ..."

He turned away, hiding his face, running his fingers through his hair. His sister bit her lip. She closed her eyes, reflecting for a moment.

Then she said, remembering, "They were all men, I do know that. The one who had the Runespoor, he - he was a thickset sort of man. His eyes were grey. Cold. He obviously enjoyed frightening me. When John ..." She broke off for a moment and shuddered. Remus squeezed her hand, and she went on. "John asked them to let me go, and this man said ... he mentioned Greyback."

Malcolm turned back to face the other two. He and Remus exchanged a glance.

"Macnair?" Remus suggested quietly.

"Could be. You'd know that better than I would, I think."

"He takes pleasure in holding power over others. He's thickset, too, and he collects dangerous magical creatures. And he knows Greyback ..."

"Runespoors aren't all that dangerous as such," Malcolm pointed out, "if you leave them alone. But with Voldemort's influence and Macnair's ... What about the third man, sis? You said there were three of them?"

"He was some sort of foreigner," she said. Remembering suddenly, she exclaimed, "Lothian mentioned his name! His christian name, I mean. Something beginning with ... A, I think ..."

"Albert?" Malcolm suggested. "Augustus?"

"No, no, it was something foreign."

Malcolm thought again, then suddenly stiffened. "Antonin?" he asked heavily.

"Yes! That's right. Do you know him?"

He nodded grimly. "Antonin Dolohov. That fits. He enjoys making his victims suffer, he's cruel, he likes to draw blood ... I'm sorry," he added, as Faith made a horrified murmur. Then he repeated to himself, "Dolohov ... if he ever crosses my path again ..."

"Be careful, Malcolm," Faith begged. "For God's sake, be careful."

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**2 - An Unexpected Guest**

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The day of John Lupin's funeral was a mild one, the kind of day on which the sun shone in a clear blue sky, birds twittered and a gentle breeze spread the sweet fragrance of myriad flowers everywhere. It was hard to believe that anything bad could happen in such a beautiful world. And yet under the shade of the trees, people had gathered to commemorate a life cut short, and mourn a brutal death.

Faith Lupin stood beside her husband's grave, a shrunken, delicate figure clothed in black, a handkerchief held to her face beneath the fluttering black veil. Remus stood by her side, his black dress robes buttoned to the very top despite the warmth of the day, one arm draped comfortingly about her shoulder, his face impassive, almost mask-like. By contrast, his uncle stood facing the assembly, betraying his grief with every word as he spoke warmly of the man who had been his closest friend, practically his brother, since his earliest childhood.

The gathering was small, for although many people had read the news of John Lupin's death in the _Daily Prophet_, few had dared to attend. It was widely known by now why he had died, who had ordered his death, and fear had kept many away, despite the popularity he had once enjoyed among his fellow workers at the Ministry.

Malcolm ended his speech when his voice finally gave out, and walked slowly away from the grave, stopping at a distance with his face averted while the others took their turns paying their respects. He heard hesitant, uneven footsteps approach him.

"That was a beautiful speech," Laura Lovegood said softly. "I'm sure your brother-in-law would have been honoured to hear you speak of him as you did."

"Maybe. I only wish he could have heard it, that I had bothered to tell him while he was alive just how much he meant to me. "He was too good for this world, I've always said that. I just ..." - his voice cracked - "I didn't want him to leave it."

Laura hesitated, then reached up a hand and gently rubbed his shoulder. Without bothering to wipe his eyes, Malcolm turned around to look at her, but suddenly he froze with an exclamation of surprise. Laura turned her head, following the direction of his gaze. There was a woman walking towards the grave whom she had not noticed before, moving forward unnoticed by the mourners now moving in the opposite direction. There was a prim and haughty look about her, and she held herself very erect. She wore a black dress trimmed with lace and a matching black hat, under which her pure white hair was tucked up neatly.

"How dare she?" Malcolm breathed, his grief momentarily forgotten as it gave way to barely suppressed anger. He glanced from the old woman to where his sister now stood, being hugged by a rather tearful Lily Potter. Without another word to Laura, he strode over to his nephew.

"Remus," he hissed in the young man's ear. "Have you seen ...?"

Like Laura, Remus turned his head to discover what his uncle was looking at. For a moment he did not understand. Then comprehension dawned.

"Is that ...?"

Malcolm nodded. "Your grandmother, yes. Though what the hell she thinks she's doing here ... I'll deal with her, you get your mother home before she sees her."

But it was already too late. It was never long, these days, before Faith started searching for her son if he was ever out of her sight, and as she looked for him now, she spotted at once what had diverted his attention.

"Belvina?" she exclaimed.

The old woman heard her and looked up. She had a narrow, pointed face, severely lined, and there was little about her that resembled her son, except the colour of her eyes, which were of the same shade of clear blue as his had been. Her lips were pressed together tightly, even as Faith moved unsteadily towards her, Remus and Malcolm hovering close behind her. The other guests moved closer together, murmuring amongst each other. Harry began to gurgle in his pram, and Lily pushed it back and forth in a soothing motion to quiet him. Everyone waited for the old woman to say something, but she remained completely silent, and didn't even move. Faith reached her at last. She glanced sideways towards her husband's grave, then back at the woman in front of her.

"Belvina, I ... I'm so sorry."

"Don't, Faith," Malcolm said sharply. "Don't apologise to her, you owe her nothing." He stepped protectively in front of his sister and glared at the old woman, who was much shorter than he was. "What do you want?"

Her blue eyes returned the stare of his brown ones steadily. She spoke in a precise, slightly husky voice.

"I came to see my only son buried. I believed even your family would not begrudge me that, though I did have to learn the news of his death from the paper. Apparently I was wrong. Even after his death, you would keep me from him."

"That's not true," Faith said unhappily. "I never wanted to keep you from him, I didn't want to cause any division between you."

The look the old woman gave her was hard and cold.

"It wasn't her fault he threw you out," Malcolm backed his sister up. "It was your own. Just because you were jealous, and couldn't bear the thought of him loving anyone more than you!"

"Malcolm, don't," Faith begged him. "Please, don't rake up the past. Not now, not ... not here. John wouldn't ... He wouldn't have wanted us to quarrel. Belvina, please," she appealed to her mother-in-law, "don't be angry any more. Come back with us. Have some tea?"

For a long moment, the old woman showed no reaction at all. Then, however, she gave a sniff, relaxed a little, and said in a slightly less harsh voice, "Very well."

Under the puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks, Faith gave a very weak, watery smile.

"Someone will have to take you by side-along apparition." She glanced at Malcolm, but his expression was sour. Remus took half a step forward, but his grandmother's expression hardened again at once and he stopped abruptly. It was then that Dumbledore advanced, and tucking a large parcel that he was carrying under one arm, held out the other.

"I would be happy to escort Belvina back to the cottage," he said. "That is, if I am invited to a cup of tea myself."

Faith shot him a grateful look. "Of course you are. Thank you, Albus."

She took Remus's arm, and those of the attendees who were returning with them all followed the Hogwarts headmaster's example and disapparated from the little cemetery to the Lupins' cottage. Belvina cast a rather disapproving look over the overgrown front garden with its rickety wooden fence, and in particular the plain but sturdy little hut that stood where the greenhouse had once been. She glanced from it to Remus, as though she guessed what its purpose was, and he avoided her eyes by quickly guiding his mother towards the front door.

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**3 - Old Wounds**

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Professor Dumbledore and Belvina Lupin followed them into the house, and into the living room. There was an awkward moment when the old woman made a move towards the arm chair nearest the fireplace, the chair that she could not know had always been John's. James leapt into her path so suddenly that she stared at him in surprise.

"I ... err ... shouldn't sit there," he said, thinking up a quick excuse. "The springs are a bit dodgy ... you'd sink right down. I'm sure you'd prefer something a bit more solid?"

He caught Sirius's eye, and his friend joined in quickly.

"He's right, you sit down in that chair and you may never get up again, it's so low. I'll get you one from the kitchen, if you like," he offered gallantly, with one of his most charming smiles.

It worked. John's mother inclined her head. "That would be good of you, young man."

"No problem. We'll fetch a couple - Pete, come and give me a hand?"

They returned a few moments later with three of the less damaged chairs from the kitchen, and Gordon, Belvina Lupin and Dumbledore sat down on them. Lily pushed Harry's pram up beside the arm chair and secretly directed her wand at it, murmuring a charm under her breath. James saw what she was doing and smiled. He strode over to the arm chair himself, and lowered himself carefully - which was lucky, because he sank down even lower than he had expected. Straightening up again, Lily said that she would go and put the kettle on, and with a gesture indicated to Remus to leave it all to her, and stay by his mother.

Faith had removed her hat and veil, and was now sitting on the sofa. Malcolm sat down next to her. Remus remained at his mother's shoulder, Peter took the remaining arm chair and Sirius, after taking his godson out of the pram, squatted cross-legged on the floor. Lily, when she returned, sat on the arm of James's chair. For quite some time, no one spoke. Then Dumbledore, setting his tea cup down on its saucer and reaching for a custard cream from the plate Lily had brought in with her, said pleasantly,

"So, Belvina, do tell me, how is your garden these days? Do you still cultivate those magnificent self-fertilising shrubs you used to have? I was speaking to Pomona Sprout only the other day, and we agreed that we had never seen a finer shrubbery than yours ..."

He kept the conversation going along these nice, innocent lines for a remarkably long time, occasionally helped by Gordon, while little Harry provided a distraction for everyone else by gleefully discovering Faith's basket of needlework, and uttering his disappointment loud and clear when it was whisked out of his hands to prevent him playing with pointed objects, and all he was left with was a ball of bright scarlet wool. This he began unravelling, and then proceeded to wind it round and round his godfather's head, like a bandage. He then got gingerly to his feet and proudly managed to totter the couple of paces to Remus's legs, which he clung to at once. He plopped back into a sitting position, and continued his work by winding the red wool around Remus's right ankle.

Dumbledore was still talking, but Belvina, it seemed, was no longer hearing him. Sitting perfectly erect, her tea cup poised an inch above the saucer, she watched closely as her grandson set aside his own cup, crouched down and fruitlessly attempted to gently prise his trousers out of little Harry's grip, and free himself from the wool. Sirius looked up and spotted her, and he nudged Remus and jerked his head towards the old woman. Remus turned slightly, and his grandmother looked away. He stiffened, and straightened up. Harry, who had just remembered that one of his favourite toy's was always tucked safely in Uncle Moony's pocket and had been about to go looking for it, let out a wail of disappointment. Belvina's head snapped back, her expression startled.

"What did you do?" she demanded.

Everyone stared at her, everyone except Harry, who had pulled himself up on his feet again and was tugging at Remus's trousers now. There was an awkward silence that even Dumbledore did not endeavour to interrupt. Remus returned his grandmother's stare evenly. He reached very slowly into his pocket, and she watched apprehensively. Harry shrieked with joy as the gold locket came into view, and grabbed it hurriedly the moment it hung close enough to him.

"Sweetheart, don't snatch," Lily reprimanded him, leaving the arm of her husband's chair to pick up her son and scold him.

Faith stammered, "That ... that's a lovely brooch you're wearing, Belvina. An Augurey, is it?"

The older woman touched the brooch pinned to her chest.

"Yes. My mother left it to me." She paused, then added rather pointedly, "It's real silver."

She glanced at Remus. This time, he spoke.

"Did you think you'd need it for protection?" he asked.

To everyone who knew him, his tone of voice seemed very odd. He nearly always spoke quietly, but not as quietly as this, and there was something so carefully guarded in his speech that it was plain that he was holding something in. His grandmother looked at him for a little longer, then averted her eyes again and went on distantly,

"Yes, my mother's brooch. She left me many beautiful items of jewellery. You may remember the string of pearls ..."

"I'd appreciate it, on the whole, if you stopped ignoring me," said Remus suddenly, and sharply.

But still the old woman avoided looking at him. Instead, her eyes swept the room and came to rest on John's old violin. She got to her feet with an exclamation, and picked it up, stroking it fondly.

"Christopher's old violin," she said musingly. "Oh, I do miss hearing it play ..."

"Take it," Faith said quickly. "I ... it ought to be yours."

"No!"

The syllable practically exploded from her son's mouth, so suddenly and so violently that even Harry stopped his gurgling.

"Remus, dear, we neither of us play," his mother said. "She might as well have it."

"It plays by itself," he snapped. "Dad spent hours teaching it all his favourite tunes, and I won't have you giving it away because _she's_ come back, today of all days, and made you feel guilty for things that were never your fault to begin with."

Faith looked anxious, but Malcolm actually grinned for the first time in weeks. And then Belvina Lupin finally spoke to Remus.

"Not her fault? My son left me because of her ... because of you. You owe me something, both of you."

"We owe you? _We _owe _you_? For what? For turning against Mum when Dad decided to marry her, just because you were jealous? For trying to come between them, for making Mum feel guilty, feeling _she_ had come between you and Dad? For calling my mother a mudblood, or me a filthy half-breed? For which of those do we owe you?"

Belvina went red. "I never ..." she began, disconcerted for the first time, "I didn't ... when did I ever ...?"

"The last time you were in this house," Remus reminded her. "The night Dad told you to get out and stay out. Yes, I was a child, only four years old at the time. I suppose you thought I was out in the garden, or else that I wouldn't understand, but I was there, and I understood every word. I understood that you had turned to hating me for what I was, so much that you would walk out on your own son. I understood that you were the reason my mother was crying herself to sleep. Why did you come today? You turned your back on him so many years ago, why come back now? Just so you could make Mum feel guilty all over again? Or so you could get a good look at her half-breed son? So could study me like some animal, as if you can't quite believe I'm capable of human speech? Or did you come because you thought you could get a few things off of us, things like Dad's violin?"

"It was Christopher's, it was my husband's, and he left it to my son - _my son_," she emphasised.

"He was my father!" Remus roared, taking a step towards her so suddenly that she shrank back.

And then Harry started crying in earnest. Remus froze where he stood and stared at the child, huddled in Lily's arms. He caught a glimpse of Lily's face, and staggered backwards. Malcolm, his grin completely vanished, sprang to his feet, and so did James.

"Moony ..." he began, but Remus had already turned to make for the door. The wool that was still tied around his ankle caused him to stumble, and he pulled out his wand impatiently and severed the string with a blast that left a scorch mark on the rug, before storming hurriedly out of the room. Malcolm made to go after him, but Dumbledore stepped in at that moment and held him back.

"Let him go," he advised. "Leave him. Give him some time. And then let me talk to him." He smiled pleasantly around at the assembled company. "Belvina, you haven't finished your tea. Perhaps you would rather leave it. I'm sure Gordon will be only too happy to take you home, if you're ready."

"Certainly," said James's grandfather, rising stiffly. "I was just leaving, anyway."

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Remus had opened the back door in the kitchen and was leaning against the frame, staring out into the garden without seeing, and steadying himself with long, deep breaths. He was deeply shocked by what had just happened, particularly as he could not for the life of him explain it. He had never been aware of feeling such bitterness towards his grandmother, and he had certainly not known that he had it in him to lose his temper like that, it wasn't like him, it was more like something Sirius did. Where had that outburst come from? What had he been thinking, becoming so heated, so violent towards an old woman he hadn't even seen since his early childhood, and with so little provocation, really? How could he have acted like that in front of his friends? And Lily ... Lily had looked, for a moment, a little scared. He couldn't bear that, couldn't bear to see her look at him with fear in those green eyes from which he was accustomed to receiving affection and sympathy.

His precious self-control had let him down, and he felt utterly bewildered. The cold shivers were back, and so was the burning feeling. His heart was beating more rapidly than ever, his breathing was unsteady, he was sweating, he was trembling, and all these sensations frightened him. Behind him Dumbledore now pushed aside the curtain that served as a makeshift kitchen door and stepped into the room. For a long moment, the headmaster said nothing. When he did speak his voice was quiet and gentle.

"Do not interpret what has happened as something it is not, Remus. It was your grief that talked just now, not that part of your being that you spend so much of your time suppressing, if that is what you're thinking."

"It didn't feel like grief," Remus said without turning round.

"What did it feel like?"

"I don't know."

Behind him, Dumbledore set his parcel down on the kitchen table and opened it, taking out two items which he left there.

He said, "You cannot be expected to recognise a feeling you have never really experienced before."

"But I have experienced it. When Professor Darkhardt died ..."

"Ah, but that was a very mild form of grief, nothing compared to what you are going through now. I am sure you admired and respected Professor Darkhardt, but you cannot tell me that what you felt for him was anywhere near as strong as your feelings for your father. I saw you and him together many times. There was a very special bond between you, Remus. One that, when it was forcibly broken, tore a gaping rift in your life, and has left you standing with a far greater burden on your shoulders than you had ever reckoned on having to bear. Suddenly this house and everything it entails is yours. The responsibility is yours. People you used to turn to for guidance, whom you relied on to help you along, have suddenly proved much weaker than you thought them. Your uncle is still mourning his wife, not to mention the added blow of losing his childhood friend. He is a lonely man, greatly wrapped up in the torment of his own grief, seeking a relief from his pain that he thinks revenge will bring him, or possibly even death. Your mother is ill and frail and consumed by grief, and now turns to you rather than the other way around. And all of this because the one person you could always rely on, the one person who never let you down, who believed in you and helped you to believe in yourself, perhaps the only person who was really able to understand you, because he was so much like you himself ... has been taken from you in a manner more cruel and lamentable than any of us could ever have imagined. Is that something you have ever felt before?"

As the truth and weight of Dumbledore's words bore down on him, Remus slowly shook his head. His heartbeat was slowing down, but he was still trembling. "No," he said in a hollow voice.

"And how," Dumbledore asked kindly, "does it make you feel?"

Remus thought for a moment. Then he said, "Empty. Angry. Confused, betrayed, frustrated , I don't know ... I suppose ... scared," he finished shakily. He turned around suddenly. "I didn't expect to feel any of these things. I expected to feel just - well - sad. In my dreams, that's how I do feel. But when I'm awake, I ... I can't. I have too many other feelings to be able to feel sad, tearing me in so many different directions that if I don't hold them together ..."

"Then something will snap inside you, and something will happen like what happened just now, and perhaps next time the object of your outburst will be someone who means more to you, and you will regret even more that words cannot be taken back. Already you have shown those people whose opinion of you means most to you a side of yourself that you had hoped would never come to the surface."

Remus felt his jaw tighten, his fist clench. It seemed that Dumbledore knew more about his feelings than he knew himself.

"Then you do think that, for a moment there ... that I let ... I let the wolf take control."

"No, no, you misunderstand me, Remus. I was speaking of the raw emotions you fight so hard to conceal under a mask of placid imperturbability. Such a mask cannot last forever, Remus. I know you are afraid to let people see what you really feel, but sometimes it is unavoidable, indeed necessary, and these people will not think any the worse of you for it. You seem to believe that you must cope with this new situation, with this new burden, alone. That is not so. You have friends who care about you very much. They can help you, though only if you will let them. They can heal you. Let go of the past, but properly. Don't pretend to have done so and try to move on, when in your heart you are still clinging to the memory of what can no longer be. Take some time to think fondly of your father, and mourn him as you should. But then stop thinking in terms of what _he _would have done, stop trying to replace him. Look forward and be yourself, do what _you _feel to be right. And trust me, Remus ... you _will _be doing what he would have wanted."

Dumbledore smiled, and patted the articles he had put on the table. One was a leather pouch, the other a stone basin decorated with runes.

"I have brought something with me that your father asked me to keep for you. I should like the Pensieve back when you have finished with it. I have no wish to pressure you, but I would ask you not to keep it too long, for your own sake. Cherish what he has left you, but do not dwell on it. Look to the future, Remus."

With that, he swept back out again through the curtain. Remus approached the table slowly, and carefully opened up the pouch. It contained four vials, which in turn held something silvery and cloud-like. He recognised his father's handwriting on the labels stuck to each vial - it caused the contents of his stomach, such as they were, to give an unpleasant lurch. One vial had his name on it.

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**4 - Saying Goodbye**

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Remus gazed up at the moon. It was big and bright and full, and it cast a beautiful, silvery light on the castle grounds below, where the leaves of the Whomping Willow rustled peacefully in a light breeze.

"I wanted you to see this," said his father, standing by his side and breathing deeply of the night air. "Just once, to be able to look up and see the full moon through human eyes, as I see it. I always think of you on nights like this. I lie awake, watching the full moon and wondering how you are, wishing there were something - anything - I could do to ease the pain."

John Lupin sighed, and turned round. He walked away from the window and went to sit in the chair behind his desk in the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher's office at Hogwarts. Remus followed and stood opposite. He looked straight at his father and studied him closely, memorising every detail - the clear blue eyes, the greying hair, the faint lines around the eyes and mouth.

"After Edgar died last week," John was saying, "his sister Amelia came round to speak to Albus. I think she wanted him to let her join the Order, but he refused. He won't let anyone else join at the moment. I'm not sure why, but I have my suspicions. I think ..." he paused, looked around him, and lowered his voice. "I think it's possible there might be a spy in the Order, Remus. I don't know who it might be, but I can see no other reason for Albus's refusal to let Amelia join. And not just her, there have been others, too. He won't let any of them in, and I suspect it's because he no longer feels it's safe enough. Not that it was ever terribly safe, but now ... Well, all I can say is that I hope you will be careful. Look out for yourself and your friends, and don't trust anyone too much. But that wasn't what I really started out to say. Amelia Bones told me that she hadn't seen her brother for about a month before he died, and there were many things she would have liked to say to him, if only she had known she would never see him again. I didn't want that to happen to me - to us."

He smiled. "That's why I'm sitting here now, all alone in my office, talking to myself. So I can syphon off this memory and give it to Albus for safekeeping, to pass on to you, should anything happen to me. I am creating similar memories for your mother, for Malcolm, and for Bridget. I hope they're all well. Your mother will need taking care of, with me gone, I'm sure. It won't be easy for her. But I know I can rely on you to look after her. Because you're a good boy, Remus. Brave, honest, and caring. I couldn't be more proud of you. That's why I'm leaving this message, because I want you to know that. I want you to know that you mean the world to me, and I'm not just saying that because you're my son. I also want you to know that, if I die tomorrow, I will go with an easy mind, because I'll know that I have left everything in good hands."

He turned his head to look out of the window once more. Quietly, he went on,

"I am not insensitive to how heavily this may weight on you, but I want you to know that I trust you to do what is for the best. I'll always be on your side, my son, and I'll always be _at_ your side. I've told you I think of you whenever I look at the moon. In those moments, you're never really alone. I'm with you, wherever you are, and whatever the distance between us. That's never changed, and it never will. I'll always be close - much closer than you think. And now ..." He sighed, and leaned back a little in his chair, looking at a point just to the left of Remus. Remus shifted so his father's eyes seemed to be looking straight at him once more. "It's time to say goodbye, my boy," John said. "Good night, and God bless. I love you."

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Remus returned to the reality of his own kitchen with a dry feeling in his mouth, and a stinging sensation in his eyes. But he no longer felt cold, nor did he feel hot, nor was he sweating any more. He heard movement behind him.

"Remus?"

It was Lily's voice, cautious and gentle, but he did not respond to it.

"Sirius and Peter have gone home," James added quietly. "We just wanted to say goodbye."

"Goodbye?" Remus echoed faintly, shaking fingers tracing the edge of the Pensieve. "Yes. It's the only way to move on, isn't it? If you don't say goodbye, then there's no closure, everything just seems to be ... hanging ... waiting ..."

He looked round at them both and asked, "Will you do something for me?"

"Anything," James said quickly.

"Will you come back to the cemetery with me? I'd like to say goodbye, but ... I don't think I can make it alone."

Lily and James both smiled at him.

Half an hour later saw them back beside John's grave. They had left Harry back at the cottage with Faith and Malcolm. No one spoke. Remus stared down at his father's grave, and as he thought about the memory John had left him, and the many other memories they had shared over the years, the tears finally started to fall. Lily and James came up on either side of him. Lily slipped her arm through his and hugged it tightly, resting her head on his shoulder, while James's arm came to rest on his back. Remus bowed his head and brought one hand up to cover his face, the tears shaking his whole body and wrenching muffled cries from him until, eventually, there were no more tears left for now, and Lily and James took him home.

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The next morning, Faith came downstairs to find Remus, his eyes still distinctly bloodshot, just closing his father's suitcase.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"I've put a couple of things in here that I thought Grandmother might like to have."

"Such as the violin?" Faith asked.

He nodded. "That, and Dad's wand. The Death Eaters dropped it outside the back door after they conjured the Dark Mark. You don't mind?"

"If it makes you feel better ..."

"Not really, but I think a peace offering is indicated. I think it's what Dad would have ..." He caught himself, remembering Dumbledore's words. "I think it's the right thing to do," he amended.

Faith touched his cheek, and then hugged him tightly.

"I'm so sorry," she said tearfully. "I realised yesterday just how selfish I've been, and I'm sorry. It's just that I ... I loved your father so much, and I don't know how to cope."

"I know."

"But I shouldn't be burdening you like this, not when I know how upset you must be yourself ..."

"It's all right," he assured her, "really. I only hope I didn't frighten you yesterday."

"You could never frighten me, Remus," she replied, a tremor in her voice. "At the moment, you're all that makes me feel safe. Don't stay out long, will you?"

There was a knock at the door at that moment.

"That'll be Uncle Malcolm." Remus kissed his mother on the cheek. "I won't be long, I promise."

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The house where Belvina Lupin had been living for the past fifty-three years was not at all the sort of place Remus would have expected. He could not remember ever having been here before, although he supposed he must have, in the days when his grandfather was still alive and he himself had not yet been bitten. It was a comfortable, semi-detached house on an ordinary muggle street, with lace curtains at the windows and an electric doorbell underneath the brass door number. It felt strange standing on the doorstep of the house where his father had grown up, and where he and his uncle, and later his mother, had played together and formed a bond for life.

It was a couple of minutes before the door was opened, and Belvina Lupin herself stood staring at her grandson in surprise.

"Well, well," she said dryly. "I didn't expect to see you again."

"I've come to apologise", he replied quickly. "May I come in?"

The old lady hesitated, then stood aside to let him pass. She led him along the rose-papered hall and through a door at the end that led into an old-fashioned, but quite homely lounge. A couple of photographs in silver frames were lined up along the window ledge of the bay window overlooking the front garden. Remus recognised one of his father as a boy, and one of his grandfather. His grandmother stood facing him, waiting for him to speak. He picked his words with care.

"I owe you an apology," he said evenly, "for my outburst yesterday. I shouldn't have spoken to you the way I did. I'm sorry I lost my temper."

She did not answer him directly, but said, "My son was always very even-tempered. And I do not remember your mother ever shouting at anyone either. I suppose, then, that you must have inherited your uncle's temper - or else that it stems from your ... condition."

Her words stung, but Remus was determined not to make the same mistake two days running. He answered her guardedly.

"Neither is the case," he said. "I have been accused of being too placid, but never of having a hot temper before."

Her eyebrows rose. "Indeed? You surprise me."

There was an awkward pause, in which Remus looked once again at the photographs on the window ledge. His father's boyish face seemed to be looking straight at him, blue eyes shining, the lips parted in cheery laughter. Belvina followed his gaze.

"He was a handsome boy, wasn't he?" she said in a dreamy sort of voice. "And always such a good boy, too."

"He grew into an even better man," Remus could not help but say. "But you ..." He broke off abruptly.

"I wouldn't know? No, I wouldn't know, because I hadn't seen him for seventeen years. Because he chose you and your mother over me."

"He shouldn't have had to choose," Remus remarked.

To his surprise, the old lady nodded. "Perhaps you're right."

He hesitated, then asked her, "Why did you come yesterday? After all the years of not seeing Dad when he was alive, why did you come to the funeral?"

Belvina Lupin sank into a chair, and as she did so, Remus noticed for the first time that she seemed very weary, unsteady on her feet, and that her face was unnaturally pale.

"I had been meaning to visit my son for several weeks," she said, and her voice was suddenly much weaker, even slightly wheezy. "I thought about it day and night, but I kept putting it off, telling myself that there was still time, that I would know when it became too hard for me to go out, and that I could then make my one last visit before I died. I never dreamt that he had less time even than I did."

Remus put down the suitcase that he had been holding all this time, and pulled up a chair. He sat down and asked gently, "And how much time is that?"

"A month, perhaps. No more."

"I'm sorry."

She shook her head. "I am not. I only wish ... I wish that I had done what I planned, and called on John before it was too late. For seventeen years my pride prevented me from admitting my loneliness, and now ... Perhaps I shouldn't have come at all. Perhaps it would have been better to stay away."

"But you wanted to say goodbye to Dad?"

The old woman raised her head a little and studied him, for the first time, without contempt or haughtiness, simply with interest. There was confusion, even wonder in her voice as she replied,

"No, I ... I don't think that was it. I think I wanted to say goodbye ... to you."

"Me?" he exclaimed.

"Yes. The grandson I never knew. I never found out whether you were like my son ... like your father," she amended. "I spent years trying to believe that you would be no different from any other half-breed, that I had been right to distance myself from you, but when I realised that I had finally lost John for good, for the first time I started to hope that I might be wrong, that there might still be a piece of him left in this world."

"You must have been quite disappointed then. I'm afraid I'm nothing like Dad."

She cocked her head a little to one side. "It's true you don't look like him at first glance, you have your mother's colouring, but ... there was something about the way you moved when that little boy approached you that was terribly familiar, even after all this time. It was like watching John, as though he hadn't completely gone after all, but then ..."

"Then I lost my temper, and you thought you'd been right about me all along."

She nodded. "I did. I came back here, reassured that I had acted correctly after all. I didn't expect you to come today, to apologise."

"I am human most of the time," he pointed out. "I'm not a complete monster."

"No," she admitted grudgingly, "I can see that now."

Remus reached for the suitcase beside him and opened it. He took out the violin and his father's wand, and held them out to her.

"I brought you these," he said, "because I thought you might like them."

The old woman stared at him. He was startled to see that there were actually tears springing to her eyes. She shook her head.

"Keep them, Remus. I'm sure it's what your father would have wanted. And take this ..." - she reached up and unfastened the brooch she was wearing, the same one she had worn the previous day - "... and give it to your mother. Wait, I'll wrap it up ..."

"There's no need," he said quickly, as she fumbled for a handkerchief. He took the brooch from her outstretched hand. "Silver is no more harmful to my kind than it is to anyone else - I doubt that any mortal being could survive a shot or a stab to the heart, be it silver, gold or any other material."

The faintest smile tugged at the corners of his grandmother's mouth. Remus placed the brooch in the suitcase, together with the wand and the violin. He said hesitantly,

"I'm not going to pretend that I didn't mean some of the things I said yesterday, or that I don't still think them now, although I am truly sorry for the way I said them. But Dad taught me not to hold grudges against people for their fear of me, he said it was something deeply rooted in so many people's minds, that it would take generations to create a world where people were no longer governed by prejudice, if it were ever possible ..."

"Your father was a wiser man than I ever knew," said his grandmother quietly.

"Yes, he was. What I'm trying to say is that I can't promise I will ever entirely forget those words I overheard seventeen years ago - but I wouldn't like to think of you left all alone, now that ..."

"Now that I'm dying?" she finished for him. She sat up a little straighter, and with an abrupt return to a brusquer, prouder manner she said, "I've been alone for seventeen years, I can manage another month. I don't require your pity."

"There is a difference, I think, between pity and compassion."

She said with some surprise, "It would appear that you, too, are wiser than I thought possible. But honestly, Remus, I think that we have too little time left now to cover the distance that seventeen years have put between us."

"Perhaps. All the same - I want you to know that I'm there if you should find you need me after all."

"I ... well," muttered his grandmother, apparently completely taken aback. "Thank you ... my boy."

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**5 - The Key to the Hall**

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June came to a close, and July began. Remus was beginning to think that perhaps seventeen years had been too long, and started studying to obituaries in the _Daily Prophet_ more closely for news of his grandmother's death, when one day he received an unexpected summons from her. She was in St. Mungo's, it seemed, in the final stages of the unknown disease that was ending her life, and surprisingly enough, she requested Remus to visit her there. Despite his uncle's protests, he went as he had promised the old woman, and in the end she did not have to die alone after all. The small amount of money, however, that was all she had to bequeathe and that she left him in her will, Remus refused to touch, instead giving all of it to the hospital, even though it would have been a welcome windfall. He had not, so he explained to his friends, forgiven her as much as all that for the anguish she had caused his mother years ago.

Very soon even July had swept by. Harry's first birthday had come and gone, and henceforth he spent most of his time zooming around the living room on the toy broom Sirius had bought him.

Come August, Remus finally managed to persuade his mother to stay in the house on her own again, first for only an hour, then for longer and longer periods. It was necessary, because Malcolm had finally agreed to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts as from September, which meant that there would be no one to stay with her when Remus left the house, at least not permanently, for Lily popped in to see her as often as she could. Faith was very nervous about being alone at first, but in time she became more confident. She seemed a little stronger again, too, though it was clear that she still relied heavily on her son, but Remus did not seem to mind that.

October was cold and blustery, and Remus shivered as he locked himself up for the full moon, performing the charms from the inside of his little prison, as he called it, that his father had used to perform for him. He stepped on a footstool and placed his wand high up on a ledge. Then he wrapped a woolen blanket around him and waited for the moon to rise in the sky, thinking to himself that he must remember to ask his friends to help him close up the cracks that let in cold autumn draughts.

While he sat alone in the hut, the Potters, along with Sirius and Peter, were in the warm and snug drawing room at Gryffindor Hall. Sirius and James were playing with Harry on the hearth rug, taking it in turns to roll around the floor with him boisterously and let him use them as climbing frames. He giggled with glee as Sirius held him while he bounced up and down on his stomach, becoming happier the louder Sirius groaned, although the big grin on his face belied the pain he claimed to be in. As it was his turn to have a rest, James hauled himself closer to Lily's chair and rested his head on her knee.

"If this is what he's like when he's only just starting to walk," James panted, "I dread to think what he'll have us doing when he learns to run."

"You'll be running after him, I expect. And we'll all need eyes in the backs of our heads," Lily replied, stroking James's thick black hair.

"I think we need those already," Peter remarked, jumping up and snatching Harry off the ground behind Sirius, who was turning round in circles on all fours like a dog chasing its tail, looking for his godson.

James smiled. Then he glanced across at his grandfather. Gordon was staring into the fire Harry had just been heading for, but seemed very far away.

"Sickle for your thoughts, Grandfather," James said.

Gordon gave a start. He turned his head and said apologetically, "I'm sorry. I know it's rude to lose myself in thought when I have guests ..."

"I think of Mum, too," said his grandson, shrewdly guessing what thoughts were going through the old man's mind. "All the time. But I think she'd prefer us to think of her while we're enjoying ourselves, rather than brooding."

"Yes, I dare say you're right."

James persisted, "I spoke to Cronky earlier. He says you've not been watching the security around here like you ought to. How long has it been since you last changed the password to the secret entrance?"

"A few weeks, I expect."

"More like a few months, I think," Lily said gently. "James is right, it is time you changed it again."

"I don't see why, no one uses that entrance except James, only you two know the password anyway."

"But we agreed earlier this year that all passwords should be changed on a regular basis, otherwise someone might eventually figure out the right one, just by trying."

"Very well, I'll change it tomorrow," Gordon sighed. He bowed his head to Lily. "And I'll let you choose what it's to be."

She frowned, thinking. Her hand was still resting on James's head. She looked down and met his eyes, and she smiled.

"Prongs," she said.

Gordon's eyebrows rose, but he said, "Well, if you think so, that's what it will be."

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Peter was in a quandary. The information he had picked up at Gryffindor Hall was precious. He knew the Dark Lord would give much to know what he now knew, the password to a secret entrance no one but the old man and the Potters, and possibly Sirius, had known before. Voldemort would be exceptionally pleased with him if he could provide such valuable information. However, passing on a detail such as this at this time was bound to lead to his being found out. If security at the Hall were breached the night after he, Peter Pettigrew, had learned of the password, he doubted whether James's trust in him would outweigh the evidence against him. He would never suspect Sirius, he would know who was the spy. So Peter waited. Days passed. A week. Still he was waiting, biding his time. And then, on Saturday morning, Remus called on him at his father's apothecary, where Peter was helping out, to tell him about the previous evening's Order meeting, which Peter had missed.

He ended his visit by saying, "I'll see you tomorrow then, at the Hall? James said to use the back door. You know the password?"

"Yes," said Peter, and concealing his eagerness added, "do you?"

Remus nodded. "James told me yesterday at the meeting. Goodbye then, Peter. Mr. Pettigrew."

He shook hands with Peter's father, and then departed. Peter withdrew into the back room to think. At lunch time, he told his father he had something to take care of, and he slipped on his cloak and made sure his mask was in his pocket.

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**6 - Death in the Family**

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It was the evening of the twenty-fourth of October. Gordon Gryffindor sat in the drawing room while raindrops pattered against the window panes and thunder began to rumble in the distance. He was seated in an old high-backed chair facing the fireplace, and by his side stood a small mahogany table on which his wand lay, and an old oil lamp flickered softly. The old wizard stared deep into the glowing embers in the hearth. The fire was dying, there were no more flames, just a hint of red among the coals.

He took a sip of elf-made wine from the silver goblet in his hand, and raised his eyes to the photographs on the mantlepiece. There were two. Bridget's face smiled down at him from one of them, which showed her and Malcolm standing out by the lake on a sunny day last June. The other was a picture of James, Lily and little Harry, all smiling and waving at him. But neither photograph was able to bring a smile to his lips tonight. Tonight, he felt like the fire - wasted and weary, tired of the effort it took to crackle and burn. He took another sip. There was a rumble of thunder and a flash of lightning illuminated the sky, followed by another crash that sounded nearer at hand and ... different. Hardly like thunder at all, more like ... something exploding.

Gordon listened carefully for another sound, but there was none for a few moments, not until, with a loud crack, Cronky the house elf made an appearance right in front of him. His wrinkled old face was full of fear, and he announced with urgency,

"Master, there is strangers in the house. Bad people, sir. Death Eaters. They is coming in through the kitchen garden, sir, Cronky is telling the others to hold them up as long as possible, sir, while Cronky warns the master ..."

"Death Eaters?" Gordon echoed calmly. "How many?"

"Half a dozen, sir. They is killing Clammy and Chubb, sir, and maybe more since Cronky has come to warn you."

He twisted a corner of the scarlet tea towel he wore around one of his gnarled little fingers.

Gordon said, "Go up to the mistress's room, Cronky, and empty out some of her clothes. Give something to each of the house elves and take something yourself. Then leave. That is an order."

The old elf's eyes widened. "C-clothes, sir?" he questioned in an awed and sorry voice.

"Yes, Cronky. Clothes. I don't want any more of your family dying for me or any of mine. Do as I say."

"Y-yes, Master. If that is what Master wishes."

"I do."

Cronky bowed as low as his withered old frame would allow, and departed with a crack. Gordon finished his wine and placed the empty goblet on the table beside him. He reached slowly for his wand, and rose from his chair. He picked up both the pictures from the mantlepiece, and cast them into the hearth for the simmering ashes to destroy. Then he faced the door and prepared to face the intruders, and give them a fight they would remember before they killed him.

A few minutes passed and then, with another loud crack, Cronky reappeared. He had tied a blue silk scarf around his neck, but was still wearing the scarlet tea towel embroidered with a gold lion, and a determined expression.

"What are you still doing here?" Gordon asked. "I ordered you to leave."

"Begging your pardon, sir," said the elf, "but Cronky is free. Cronky may stay or go as he chooses, he does not take orders any more. Cronky chooses to stay."

The creature's words made Gordon smile at last.

"Very well," he said. "Be a fool, if you must."

Cronky shrugged. "Cronky is old, sir. Cronky has not much left to look forward to. But Cronky is proud to have served you, and will fight by your side until the end."

"And I am grateful, and honoured, my old friend," the wizard replied, and stooping, held out his hand.

The house elf hesitated, and then grasped it with a smile of his own.

Soon after, the Death Eaters entered. The fight lasted for about half an hour, at the end of which half the Death Eaters lay sprawled on the floor, never to rise again. Two nursed severe injuries and the last panted heavily, reaching up an unsteady hand to remove the mask that hid the face. Paula Lestrange stood looking down on the twisted body of the venerable old wizard, and the pitiful remains of the ancient house elf, and gave a shout of triumph. She looked around her. The chair had been smashed to pieces, but the little mahogany table, miraculously, had survived the fight, and on it the empty goblet still stood as though waiting to be used again. In the hearth, the ashes no longer glowed, but faint wisps of smoke still curled over a small heap of something papery.

The Death Eater bent to examine it. She found several charred, unrecognisable pieces of what might have been a photograph, and was about to turn away, when she realised there was a second picture underneath. It was blackened and shrivelled, but she could still make out the faces of the people it showed. Malcolm Marley and a woman with thick, dark, curly hair. She presumed this must have been Marley's wife, the one who had been this old wizard's daughter, who had previously been married to Lothian and whom he had killed. But there was something oddly familiar about the woman in the picture, as if she had seen here somewhere before. But where? And then it came to her. Platform 9 ¾, back in the days when her mother had asked her to see Peter off when he was leaving for Hogwarts. This woman had been there, too, seeing off someone else, a boy of Peter's age, James Potter ... her son. But then James Potter had to be the old wizard's grandson, another heir of his blood line. It was impossible that he was Marley's son, however. Paula pictured him to herself. Dark-haired, hazel-eyed, very much like ... like the Death Eater who had once been married to his mother, and who upon her death had claimed that she had died childless.

The Dark Lord, she thought with a grim smile, would be very interested to hear this.

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Malcolm stood under a sturdy old oak in unfamiliar grounds, the collar of his travelling cloak turned up for protection against the rain that was pelting down on the canopy of leaves above him. He was watching the driveway leading up to a many-gabled manor house in its own grounds, whose dark windows reflected the intermittent flashes of lightning that illuminated the world around him for split seconds, and cast eerie shadows on his careworn, bearded face.

It was cold and his hair, which had grown longer again in the time since his sister had stopped insisting he let her trim it, was dripping wet, not to mention the fact that his shoes were proving less waterproof than advertised. But Malcolm was not about to go home. It had taken him months to figure out where Lothian lived and gain access to his grounds, he was not about to leave now.

Thoughts flashed across his mind like the lightning in the skies above. Thoughts of his wife lying limp and dead in his arms in the pouring rain, of feeling his heart wrenched from his chest in one drawn-out scream; thoughts of his best friend dying right before his eyes without being able to do a single thing to prevent it; thoughts of his sister, pale and feverish in a hospital bed, near death then and even now still carrying traces of a deadly venom in her veins. All these thoughts came together to form one thought that burned like fire in his brain: the thought of revenge.

Other thoughts forced themselves upon him, in contrast to his sinister mood. John's messages, wisps of silvery memory in crystal vials. Malcolm had seen them both, the message John had left for him and his message to Bridget. He knew that John had meant them as a comfort, but all they had done was remind him of the pain he felt, of the immense loss that he had suffered, for John had sealed them in their vials before Bridget had been killed, and they spoke of his affection for them both, and his wishes for their future together, a future that he had not then known would never come to pass. Thanks to Lothian, thanks to Macnair, and thanks to Dolohov.

Malcolm knew that neither Bridget nor Faith, and certainly not John, would want him to exact vengeance for what had befallen them. But without them by his side, holding him back, black thoughts clouded his brain and he was determined to get all three Death Eaters for what they had done to the people he loved and through them, to him. He had no illusions that he would get away with it, not with the Ministry so deep in Voldemort's pocket, but if Azkaban was the price he had to pay, then he was willing ...

A feeling of guilt now mingled with these reflections. When he had first talked of hunting Lothian down and taking him out, he had not been alone. James and Sirius had promised to go with him, had insisted on being there when Bridget was avenged, but now the time had come and Malcolm had not told them how far he had progressed, he had crept here alone this night, and had left them in the dark. It was one thing, he had thought, for him to be willing to sacrifice his future for revenge - he couldn't see much of a future for himself anyway. But he would never forgive himself if he led James and Sirius to their doom.

That was why he was here alone. He did not need any help to defeat the Death Eater, in any case, of that he was sure. He would give Lothian a fairer chance than John had had, but that was all the mercy the man could expect.

The lightning now became more rare, the thunder more distant. The rain eased up, though only a little. And then, at last, a figure appeared on the path. Malcolm drew his wand and watched eagerly as Vindictus Lothian approached the house. He prepared to creep closer, but then he saw something that stayed his movement, and literally turned his blood cold. Other shapes were appearing from the other side of the grounds, four of them, all masked and robed and bearing down on Lothian, and one of them exuded a terrible power which Malcolm had, apparently mistakenly, thought he had overcome, but which his body was now proving still had a strong influence on him. Voldemort was here, and in his anger, he was drawing on all the power that surrounded him, including the link that had once been forged between him and Malcolm. Something had aroused the Dark Lord's fury, and it was lucky that the object of it was so close to him, or he would surely not have missed the presence of the enemy lurking in the shadows.

Malcolm withdrew further into the underbrush and strained his ears. He stayed and listened just long enough to discern what was about to happen, then he turned and fled.

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Malcolm's Patronus was a falcon. He remembered as he cast it and taught it the words he wanted passed on how he had teased John years ago for having a Patronus whose neck was likely to be wrung for someone's dinner. He had not realised, at the time, that certain teachings prized the cockerel as a creature of the home, a protector of its family to the very last ...

The silvery falcon took flight, soaring northwards above the tree tops, while Malcolm turned on the spot, his mind focused determinedly on Godric's Hollow.

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Lily Potter had just changed for bed when her husband answered the urgent banging on the front door. There was a murmur of voices, and then a shout.

"Lily!" James yelled, bounding up the stairs and bursting into the bedroom, panting desperately, "Get dressed. Grab a couple of necessaries, but be quick, I'll get Harry - we're leaving."

"What?!" She stared at him, utterly bewildered. "Why? What's happened? Who was at the door?"

"Malcolm. Lily, I haven't got time to explain, just hurry, will you?"


	45. Part 45: Fidelius

_**Author's note: **__This chapter contains some lines of dialogue from the Harry Potter books by J.K. Rowling, which are of course not my own._

**Prequel, Part 45: Fidelius**

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**1 - Ancient Charms**

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In the early hours of October 25th, three owls departed together from the Owlery at Hogwarts. Lily Potter shivered as she watched them go, despite the cloak that she was wearing.

"You're cold," said James, "we'd better go back inside."

"I'm not cold," she replied, despite the fact that he could see her breath as it left her mouth. "I'm frightened."

He put his arms around her, and she snuggled against him.

"They killed your grandfather," Lily murmured, disbelief in her voice. "I didn't think it was possible. I thought he was imperturbable, like - like Dumbledore."

"Even Dumbledore isn't invincible."

"And Cronky, and the other house elves that died ..." Lily went on, following her own train of thought. "It seems incredible."

"Yes." James sighed heavily. "And we never even had time to give Grandfather a decent funeral."

"I know," she agreed sadly. "And your father ..."

"He's no loss."

"But he did try to protect you. Malcolm said so, didn't he? He said that when Voldemort tortured Lothian last night, he still didn't give in, he lied right until the end. Malcolm said he died denying you were his son!"

"Probably just trying to save his skin."

"I don't think so." Lily shivered again. "Everyone's dying, James. Our side is so much weaker now. How much longer do you think we can hold out?"

"As long as we have to," he said firmly. "We've got to. They're not going to win, we will stop them, somehow. You and me, and Padfoot, Moony and Wormtail. We won't let them win."

Lily hesitated. Then, very quietly, she asked, "James, who do you think betrayed your grandfather?"

"What do you mean?"

She stood back a little and said, "They got in through the back door, the secret door. They must have known the password. Someone told it to them. Someone gave them the means to enter the Hall, they could never have got in any other way. The same someone provided the Death Eaters with Sirius's password to the Lupins' house, and betrayed John. And much as I hate the thought, it must have been someone close to us."

"None of our friends would ever betray anyone!" James protested hotly. "You're not suggesting that one of them - Sirius, Peter or Remus ... No way!"

"Don't be angry, James," she pleaded. "I'm just trying to be realistic. We've got to look out for ourselves now, and we can't be too careful."

"I know, but suspecting our best friends is ridiculous! I would trust any one of those three with my life!"

"So would I, honestly, I can't believe any of them would betray us, but ... but then someone else must have overheard you telling Remus the password, so that leaves us with the rest of the Order to suspect, and that prospect isn't much more pleasing, is it? Who was near you when you told him?"

He shook his head irritably. "I can't remember, all right?! Anyone might have been, I don't know!"

"There's no need to shout, James."

"I'm sorry," he said, taking her into his arms once more. "I'm sorry, Lily, it's just ... I'm scared too."

They remained standing, arms around each other, in the Owlery for a long time, as though their presence could will the three owls to fly faster, and reach their destinations quicker. The first owl woke Peter Pettigrew an hour early for breakfast. The second turned plenty of heads by swooping low through the streets of London until it found Sirius Black just getting on his motorbike in the back yard before lunch. The third nearly startled Faith Lupin into dropping the Victoria sponge cake she was carrying to the kitchen table for afternoon tea.

At half past five that evening, Remus Lupin apparated in Hogsmeade and entered the Three Broomsticks, where he ordered half a pint of mead and looked round for an empty table near the window. It was not difficult to find one. As Madam Rosmerta lamented volubly when she brought him his drink, business was bad these days. It was exactly six o'clock when the deafening roar of an engine announced Sirius's arrival, and the headlights of his motorbike briefly illuminated the village. Remus had already paid for his mead, and refastening his travelling cloak, stepped out onto the street just as Peter apparated a few feet away.

"R-Remus, Sirius ... w-what's going on?" he stammered nervously.

"I don't know. I got an owl this morning telling me to meet you two here at six."

"So did I. Did you read the _Daily Prophet_?" Remus asked.

Sirius and Peter both nodded gravely.

"Couldn't believe it when I read about the old man. And Lothian. I was going to call on James, I was just getting on my bike, in fact, but then his owl arrived. Suppose we'd better make our way up to the castle?"

"Yes."

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"Black, Lupin, Pettigrew," Professor McGonagall greeted them at the gate. Her expression was anxious. "The headmaster is expecting you."

She led them up to the great doors, across the entrance hall and all the way up to the seventh floor.

"Fudge Flies," she told the gargoyle, and it obliged by allowing the four of them to pass into Albus Dumbledore's office.

Dumbledore was seated behind his desk, waiting for them. Malcolm was there, too, sitting on one of several extra chairs that had been placed in the room.

"Ah, here you are," said Dumbledore when they entered. "Minerva, if you would be good enough to let the Potters know ..."

"Certainly."

McGonagall departed, but a few minutes later, the door opened again.

"James!"

The relief was plain on Sirius's face as he thumped his best friend on the shoulder. Lily, meanwhile, after leaving Harry's pram in front of the shelf on which the Sorting Hat rested, embraced them all in turn, rather more tightly than usual. James led her to a chair, and she kept hold of his hand when she sat down beside him. When everyone was seated, six faces turned expectantly to Dumbledore.

"By now," he began, "I assume you all know what has happened."

"You mean about James's grandfather, and Lothian? Yes, we know."

"Good. It will obviate the necessity for lengthy explanations, of which I am glad, because time is, I believe, of the essence. A way must be found to protect James and Lily, and of course Harry, before Lord Voldemort returns from a journey abroad that I understand he has taken."

"Abroad? What, is he going to get himself a tan?" Sirius joked half-heartedly.

Dumbledore smiled. "I doubt it. Yet more supporters, would be my guess, his influence expands daily. In any case, it will not be long before he seeks to eliminate the last two heirs of Godric Gryffindor. We must make good use of the little time we have to do what we can."

"Can't they just stay here?" Sirius suggested. "Surely there's nowhere safer than Hogwarts!"

"We thought about that," Malcolm replied. "But there are too many people about here. For all we know, the Death Eaters might already have a spy within the castle. Not that I suspect anyone in particular, but even the students have taken sides."

"And not only that," went on James, "but Lily and I agreed we wouldn't want to put the school and everyone in it at risk, which we'd be doing by staying here. No, we've got to go back to Godric's Hollow."

"We could form a guard," Sirius suggested. "The more wands, the better. You wouldn't have much privacy that way, of course, but it's safety first in this case. We'll put some traps round the house, too, and extra protective spells."

"Yes," Remus chimed in, "the Ancient Egyptian wizards came up with a few good charms that ought to help. I think there's a book in the Restricted Section ..."

"There isn't," Lily interrupted him, "because I've already got it. Your dad talked Madam Pince into letting him take it off school grounds, and he gave it to me not long before he died. I've been studying it ever since."

"Find anything useful?"

"Yes, she did indeed," said Dumbledore. "An ancient charm that the Pharaohs used to protect their greatest treasures. A charm that ensured that only one person would know of the treasure's location, and if that one person died, then the knowledge required to uncover the secret would die with them. There is some dispute, however, as to whether being named as Keeper of Secrets to a Pharaoh's treasure was really as great an honour as it was made out to be."

"Why?"

"Because many Pharaohs were so keen to protect their treasures from being ransacked that they would make some poor slave the Keeper, and then kill them before they got the chance to pass the secret on to anyone else," Lily explained.

Peter shuddered. "And this charm is still known today?"

"Yes. It's been refined somewhat over the centuries, though. Now, the charm is broken if the originator kills the Keeper himself, to prevent the same thing from being done as the Egyptians did in the early days. It's called the Fidelius Charm. Basically, it involves concealing a secret within the Secret-Keeper's soul."

"How does it work?" Sirius asked Lily.

"Well, take our case, for instance. The secret we'd want to protect is our location - James's, and mine, and Harry's. But it's not possible to generalise, so the charm has to be applied not to the three of us, but to the place where we'll be hiding. I've read it all up, and I should be able to perform the spell myself. We have to be in the house when we do it. Then, I'll perform the incantation that will lock the knowledge of our house in the Secret-Keeper's soul. From that moment on, though James and I will obviously still know where our house is, because we'll be in it when the spell is cast, no one else will. Even people who knew it before will forget, and even if they were standing in front of our house, they wouldn't be able to see it, let alone get in."

"That sounds completely foolproof," Remus said thoughtfully. "But it can't be, can it?"

Lily shook her head. "It only remains foolproof for as long as the Secret-Keeper keeps the secret. Once the charm has been sealed, the Secret-Keeper's the only one who can pass it on - to as many people as they like, and to anyone they like, which of course weakens the protection. The Secret-Keeper could tell the secret to Voldemort himself, and then the protection would be useless. Not only that, but if the Secret-Keeper dies, everyone they have told the secret in turn becomes a Secret-Keeper, which multiplies Voldemort's chances of finding someone they can break, even if the original Secret-Keeper remained firm."

James and Sirius exchanged gloomy glances. Peter looked confused.

"Sorry, but ... am I the only one who still doesn't quite understand ...?"

"It is complex magic," Dumbledore agreed. "But the best option we have, I believe." He turned to James and Lily. "As I have told you, it would be my pleasure to act as your Secret-Keeper myself."

"No," James said sharply. "We want Sirius." He looked imploringly at his friend. "You will do it, won't you?"

Dumbledore frowned and interrupted before Sirius could answer, "Forgive me, James, but I do not think you quite understand ..."

"Yes, I do," James interrupted him in turn. "The Secret-Keeper has to be someone we trust absolutely, someone we believe would sooner suffer torture and death than betray us, right?"

"Correct."

"There isn't anyone in this room whom we wouldn't trust to do just that," James affirmed emphatically. "But we'd rather it was Sirius. He can go into hiding too, and we'll all be safe."

Remus caught Lily's eye at that moment. She looked as sad as he had ever seen her, and terribly pale and anxious, and yet she still incredibly found the time and the strength to shoot him what was, unmistakably, an apologetic smile.

He responded to it by saying, perhaps just with the tiniest pinch of bitterness that he could not quite suppress, "Naturally. It's only right, if Sirius is willing."

Lily looked grateful for his response. Sirius got to his feet and announced formally, "Of course I'll do it. The Death Eaters, even Voldemort himself, can threaten and torture me all they want. I'd never betray you, James, you know that."

There was a long moment where his grey eyes met James's hazel ones, and they exchanged a glance that felt weighted down with fate.

"Well," Dumbledore said discontentedly, "if you insist, I cannot change your minds for you, of course. But my offer stands, and I urge you to consider it."

He seemed to look at Lily in particular, evidently realising that she was the one more likely to be reasoned with than James, who was so adamant that his best friend must be Secret-Keeper that it made him clearly unwilling to consider any other alternative.

But Lily merely said quietly, her voice heavy with emotion, "We should do it tomorrow, I think, if that's all right with you, Sirius. Remus, Peter, you come too, I'd like us all to be together one more time before the charm's performed, because we won't be seeing you after that for I don't know how long."

Dumbledore's office emptied slowly after that, as Sirius, Peter and Remus left to return home, James accompanying them as far as the main doors, and Malcolm returned to his own office. Lily, however, hung back.

"You wanted to speak to me about something else?" she prompted Dumbledore. "You said last night ..."

The headmaster nodded. He produced a small gilded box and a tiny silver key, which he placed in the lock without turning it. There was a tinkling sound, as of tiny bells, and when it had stopped Dumbledore opened the box. Intrigued, Lily came closer, to see a small orb filled with a kind of mist resting on dark velvet padding.

"What is it?"

"A device which belonged to James's grandfather, and which I was so forward as to take from his house after his death - a globe that can see anywhere in the world, at any given moment, to the whereabouts of one particular person to whom this orb has a connection, one that is forged by a spell," he told her. "Gordon applied its magic to Bridget when she was an infant, and it allowed him to keep an eye on her whenever she left him, when she came here, after her marriage ... and all through her adult life. I do not believe she ever knew. Its spell was broken, of course, when Bridget died. And now the orb lies waiting for a new person to watch."

He did not go on, but waited. Lily looked from him to the orb, and then to Harry's pram.

"You want to use it on Harry?"

"With your permission," Dumbledore said. "It would allow me to see that he is all right. Not while the Fidelius Charm holds, of course, but in case ..."

"In case anything should happen to go wrong? In case the charm is broken and something happens to James and me? But then he would still have Sirius, and Remus, and Peter. It seems unfair to give anyone a window into his life. I mean - you would be able to spy on him whenever you wanted, and he would never know."

"I promise you I would not use it unless it were absolutely necessary. And no-one but the two of us need ever know."

"But someone might find it. In the wrong hands, it could be dangerous to him."

"I will take steps to assure its safety if I die, I promise."

Lily thought about it for a very long moment. Finally, she nodded.

"Very well. How does it work?"

"Give me Harry for a moment ..."

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**2 - Change of Plan**

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Not one of them slept much at all that night. Peter lay awake in bed, staring up at the ceiling unblinking, his heart racing in his chest. The Dark Lord was out of the country, and before he returned, the Potters would have taken steps to hide themselves away from him completely. They would be out of it, out of the fighting, out of the danger. Sirius, too, would find some place to hide after the charm had been performed. He was grateful. Grateful that they would be out of harm's way by the time the Dark Lord returned, and that he would not know where they might be found. And yet ... with the Potters and Sirius in hiding, where did that leave him?

The Dark Lord would return expecting him to know where his victims were, but he would be waiting empty-handed. He could point them to Remus, perhaps, to buy himself some time - he shrugged off the twinge of guilt he felt at the thought; Remus was braver than he was, stronger, he would face up all right, and maybe by the time they had finished with him, the Dark Lord would be convinced that the Potters were too well concealed to find them and that he, Peter, could not help him, and he could get away with it, without being pressed to give information he did not have, free to go on with his life.

Free? He could almost have laughed at the word, if he hadn't felt so bitter. He was not free, he would never be free. James and Lily would be free, tucked safely away in their little house. Sirius would be free, in hiding on his own somewhere, living it rough and probably having the time of his life into the bargain. Remus - again he suppressed that pang of guilt - would probably be beyond caring. But Peter would remain, a servant of the Dark Lord constantly surrounded by enemies on all sides, with no way out, one way or the other, because he could not go back to the side of the Order, not after he had betrayed John and Gordon, and yet he would never be fully accepted among the Death Eaters either, particularly not once the Dark Lord discovered that he had known all along who James was, and had kept his silence, just as Lothian had done ...

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"Remus?"

Faith was calling for the third or fourth time now, she thought, but still he had not replied. She put aside her knitting needles and flexed the fingers of both hands to loosen her stiff joints, frowning. She had never had this problem with her hands before, but now they became stiff very quickly, and often they ached, or she would wake up with pins and needles all the way up her arms in the morning. These were, she knew, effects of the Runespoor venom in her blood stream.

She got to her feet and went out into the hall, glancing as she did every time at the rug that covered the stained floorboards, and called her son's name again. The house was quiet. It was then that she noticed that Remus's travelling cloak was not on the hanger. Puzzled, she took down her own and pulled it around her. She tucked John's wand in the inside pocket just in case, and stepped out into the front garden.

Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness of the little clearing, compared to the cheery brightness of the hall, but then she could make out Remus's form, standing just on the edge of the grounds, slumped against a tree with his back to her.

"Remus!" she called.

He did not turn around immediately, although the change in posture revealed that he had heard her. She had come halfway across the clearing towards him by the time he turned, and offered her a wan smile.

"Still up?" he said. "I thought you'd be getting ready for bed."

"And I thought you would have let me know before you went wandering off in the dark. You had me worried."

"I'm sorry."

He held out his arm, and she came to him and leaned against him, his arm around her shoulder. He began to walk further into the forest, and neither of them spoke for a very long time, until they had come out on the hillside, where Faith sank wearily onto a rock. Remus took out his wand and directed it at the cold stone. There was a flash of light and it grew warmer. Faith smiled up at her son.

"Thank you."

He did not return the smile, but stood with his back to her again, peering out into the semi-darkness.

"Won't you tell me what's bothering you?"

She was actually quite surprised that he did not pretend there was nothing the matter, or say that he did not wish to talk about it, but answered her readily, telling her what had been said at Hogwarts that evening, or at least the gist of it, as much as was possible without going into too many details concerning the Fidelius Charm, merely outlining its effects.

"So," Faith mulled it over, "that means that once this charm has been performed, no-one but Sirius will be able to visit the Potters?"

"Exactly."

"But it won't be forever, will it? Surely it can only be temporary."

"It will be for however long it takes - until it's safe for them to resurface. Until then, Peter and I will be on our own."

"Oh Remus," she gasped. "I'm so sorry."

"I feel terribly guilty," he admitted. "It's selfish of me, I know, but ... as much as I want them to be safe, I - I can't bear the thought of not seeing them again for who knows how long."

"Seeing _them_?" his mother asked softly. "Or seeing _her_?"

He rounded on her with alarming suddenness. "What?!"

Her expression was sad. "I'm so sorry, Remus," she repeated. "If only Greyback had never met your father ..."

"Greyback? Dad? Whatever has that got to do with anything?"

"I was just thinking, if it weren't for your misfortune ..."

"It would have changed nothing in this case," Remus said firmly. "Nothing at all."

"But you ..."

"No, Mum. Some things are better left unsaid. James is the best friend I have, and I would die before I let anything ... _anything_ stand in the way of our friendship."

Her eyes filled with tears. "You deserve so much better, sweetheart."

Remus shook his head. "You mustn't think like that, Mum. I feel very fortunate to have such great friends, and such a good family." He came closer and put his arms around her. "Don't cry, Mum," he said quietly. "Please don't cry."

But she did cry, nonetheless. Remus held her all the time, feeling quite glad that she could not see his face. The truth was that he was not, at this moment, thinking only of Lily as she seemed to think he was. He would miss them both, and little Harry, and he was only just beginning to realise how much. He would miss James. His first friend, and his best friend. James the loyal, James the brave. The noble stag, the staunchest friend a man could have.

_But it won't be forever_, he told himself. _It won't be forever ..._

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"Where have you been?" James asked when Lily returned to the Room of Requirement.

"I was talking to Dumbledore," she said, gently bending to take Harry out of his pram and lay him in the cot that the Room had provided.

"About anything special?"

She shook her head.

"I want to talk to him too," James said, laying back and crossing his arms behind his head as he watched her. "I've decided to leave Grandfather's cloak with him. You never know, the Order might need it, and we certainly won't."

Lily nodded tightly, fussing a little too long over Harry's blanket. Leaning up again, James looked at her seriously.

"Hey ..."

She turned and answered the appeal by coming towards him, and sitting down on the edge of the bed. He took her hand.

"It's going to be all right, Lily," he told her. "We'll perform the charm tomorrow, and then we'll be safe. Sirius will protect us. You trust him, don't you?"

"Of course I do, but ..."

"But?"

"I wish we didn't have to do something so drastic. Cutting ourselves off from all our other friends. Remus and Peter, and the Longbottoms, and Faith and Malcolm and Dumbledore and - oh, everyone!"

"We can write to them, Lily," said James eagerly, reaching up to wipe away the tear that was now making its way down her cheek. "We can write to them. Look, I don't like the idea any more than you do. You know me, I'd rather be out there fighting with our friends, rather than hiding away while they risk their necks - but we've got to do this, for Harry's sake, if nothing else."

"I know, I know, I just ... I just wish so much that we didn't have to," she sobbed, and suddenly threw her arms around his neck to cry on his shoulder.

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Sirius was drinking Firewhisky in the dark. He was tossing it down one glass at a time, but the bottle was becoming empty alarmingly fast. His thoughts were confused. He kept coming back to the same thing: There was a traitor in the Order, and that traitor had given old Gordon's password to the Death Eaters, who had used it to get in and kill him. And all of this had happened the night after James had given the password to Remus.

Another glass of Firewhisky went down his throat as he thought that, and he refilled it with an unsteady hand. He was making a fool of himself again, surely. As Lily had said, whenever he had voiced suspicions of Remus in the past, they had proved to be unfounded, and he had been left looking like an idiot. He did not like to feel an idiot. Maybe that was why there had always been more suspicions, maybe he had been trying to cover up his own folly the first time round by proving to others, and to himself, that he had been right all along. It was crazy. Completely crazy, because when it came down to it, he didn't want to be right, he never had. Remus was just ... different than he was, he didn't think or feel - and he certainly didn't act - in the same way. Except for the day of the funeral. That had been strange, not like Remus at all, that violent outburst, the gleam of anger in his eye, the shadow of the wolf Sirius had imagined seeing for a moment.

That thought hurt more than any other. The thought that all of this, all the doubts he had ever had about Remus, might after all boil down to nothing more than plain, old-fashioned prejudice. Surely he was above that! Surely he knew better than to judge someone he called one of his closest friends the way others would judge him. _The spy must be Remus, because he's a werewolf?_ The thought made him disgusted with himself, and yet ... and yet, being a werewolf gave Remus no reason to love the rest of the wizarding world. He would have every right to be bitter and angry. As bitter and as angry as he had been at his own grandmother, a frail old woman who had just lost her only son.

The trouble with Moony was that you never could tell what he was thinking. Anything might be going on behind that calm exterior. Sirius had always, through all their disagreements, been happy to be proven wrong, and to discover that apparently, what was going on inside Remus was not what he had feared. But hadn't it been one too many times?

And what about Lily? Whatever the appearance, and whatever Remus said, Sirius remained convinced that Remus was in love with her. In which case, he would not want her to be harmed. But James? If James were to die, and maybe Harry as well, who was James's son ... Could that be a reason? A reason to betray a venerable old wizard, and one of his closest friends? It might be, for someone otherwise starved of affection, and the attention of women. And after all, whenever Sirius had tried to help him in that respect, Remus had rebuffed it. Why? Was he really so keen to condemn himself to loneliness for the sake of protecting every woman with whom he came into contact? Or was it because he had already found a woman he wanted? Could he be willing to pay such a price - his friend, his brother, for the woman he loved?

Sirius drank some more Firewhisky. Part of him despised himself for allowing these thoughts to cloud his brain, but he was desperate, desperate to give James all the protection he could. James was all he had. He loved Lily, too, and his little godson. They must be kept safe, and in order to keep them so, he could not afford to wear blinkers because he was afraid to accept certain possibilities. It was better to be too careful than too trusting. Remus might well be innocent. He hoped it was so. But he could not rely on it. And if he were guilty ...

Sirius shrugged it off. There was time enough to think about that, to follow up on his suspicions and, hopefully, disprove them to himself when he had dealt with the problem at hand. The enemy was clever, very clever. So the idea was to be even cleverer. A false trail, Sirius decided, was indicated. A false trail that had already been laid. Himself as the Secret-Keeper. All Voldemort's efforts concentrated on him, looking for him, capturing him, torturing him, possibly eventually killing him - but it would be no use to him. A grim smile spread across his face. The problem, of course, would be selling the idea to James and Lily. They would not like it, but it was necessary. It was safer that way. He made up his mind to start preparing first thing the next day.

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**3 - A Hearty Meal**

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The next evening, Sirius, Remus and Peter met in Hogsmeade as before and made their way up to the castle together, but no-one spoke, each was lost in his own thoughts. Lily, James and little Harry were waiting for them in the headmaster's office again, together with Dumbledore and Malcolm.

"How are we getting back from here to Godric's Hollow?" Peter asked. "We can't disapparate from inside Hogwarts, can we? Do we use the floo network?"

"Certainly not," said Dumbledore. "And I would advise you all to cease using it immediately. Voldemort will have told his supporters within the Ministry to keep a very sharp lookout for Lily and James. No. I have set up a Portkey to leave in ..." - he checked his watch - "... four minutes exactly."

Malcolm, who had been leaning against the desk, straightened up and said solemnly,

"Well, James ... Lily ... I wish you all the best. I hope to God this will work."

"It will," Lily said, and she hugged him warmly.

He held out his hand to James, who after just clasping it at first, then embraced his stepfather, too.

"Thanks for everything, Malcolm," he said.

"Two minutes," Dumbledore pointed out. "You had better get ready."

Lily took Harry out of his pram and held him to her. James took hold of the pram itself, but they were taking no chances of losing the baby halfway to Godric's Hollow. Remus, Peter and Sirius picked up the rest of the luggage.

"So where's this Portkey?" Sirius asked.

Dumbledore reached behind his desk and produced a child's seaside bucket. It was dark blue, with a picture of a bright red grinning crab painted on the side. Despite the gravity of the occasion, they couldn't help but smile as they all reached out and touched it. The headmaster's blue eyes flickered from Lily, to James, to Harry.

"Goodbye," he said softly, "and good luck. My thoughts go with you."

And then, in a flash, they had left Dumbledore's office and Dumbledore himself, the phoenix on its perch, Malcolm and all of Hogwarts behind them, to land seconds later on the doorstep of the Potters' own cottage in Godric's Hollow, pram, luggage and all. James hastened to the door and unlocked it with his wand, and they all entered quickly, before they could be spotted. Once inside, Lily drew her wand, too, and began performing several protective charms intended to last until the Fidelius Charm was performed. An awkward silence followed, as they all stood in the dark hallway, no-one speaking or moving, for a long moment. Finally, with a wave of his wand, James turned on the lights and looked round at his friends' faces, all equally sombre.

"Come on," he said, "let's go through into the living room. I don't know about anyone else, but I could do with a glass of Firewhisky."

There was a murmur of agreement from Sirius and Peter. Lily, however, announced that she would begin getting dinner ready, and Remus offered his assistance. So, leaving Harry to go and play with his godfather, they went into the kitchen, and Lily at once became very busy fetching ingredients from cupboards.

She was so busy, in fact, that it was unnatural, and Remus began, "Lily ..."

But she cut him short. "Remus, I don't want to talk about anything right now. At least, not about this. I - I hate the thought of being cut off from all our friends, probably as much as you hate the thought of being cut off from us, but I'm trying not to think about it at the moment, so please, can we just ... can we get on with making dinner and pretend nothing's happened? Please?"

She shot him a pleading glance, and he nodded. "I can't promise I'll be very good at it, but I'm willing to try ... which apron's mine, the pink one?"

Lily smiled gratefully at him. "Whichever one you like."

He helped her prepare all the ingredients and then, firmly dismissed from the kitchen, joined the other three in the living room.

"Moony!" James exclaimed cheerfully, taking him by the elbow and leading him to a seat. "Sit down, come on ... Have a glass of Firewhisky ... There. I'd like to propose a toast."

He raised his glass, and the other three held theirs at the ready expectantly.

"To Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs. May we always be the marauders we were, and may we always be together - even when we're apart." He grinned. "And may Hogwarts never forget us. To us, my friends!"

They all drank the toast solemnly.

Then, on a sudden impulse, Sirius said, "I have a toast, too." He too raised his glass. "To the downfall of Lord Voldemort, the ruin of the Death Eaters, and may his spy rot in hell!"

Secretly, he watched Remus as he proposed this toast, but Remus drank it as readily as the first, and Sirius was half reassured, half disconcerted. He shrugged off the thought. By his right elbow, unnoticed, Peter took a very small, hesitant sip from his glass.

They let Harry fly his toy broomstick around the living room until dinner was ready, and under the influence of the Firewhisky, Lily's cooking and several glasses of elf-made wine, their spirits lifted until they had almost forgotten that this would be their last meal together for quite some time. But when the time came to part, no amount of wine could cheer them. Sirius hung back, and Remus watched as Peter embraced first Lily, then James. Then it was his own turn. He wanted to say something, something meaningful for them to remember during their time apart, but there was a lump so large in his throat that he could barely speak at all, and fine words simply would not come.

"James," he managed. "I ... I ..."

"Moony," James said quickly, and pulled him into a crushing hug. "Take care, old friend."

"Yes ... you too."

Lily's eyes were damp. Remus gulped as he faced her, and could find even less to say. He savoured the softness and the sweet scent of her when she embraced him, and squeezed her back as tightly as he dared. She kissed his cheek with a sad little smile.

"We'll write," she said, slipping her arm around her husband's waist and leaning against him. "I promise."

Remus gave a tight little nod, and finally faced Sirius, who had meanwhile stepped forward and hugged Peter goodbye.

"You'll be going into hiding immediately?" he asked.

"Yes," Sirius replied. "Look out for yourself, Remus."

"And you." The moment dragged on, becoming awkward. At last, Remus took the initiative, and hugged Sirius, too.

Then he and Peter said goodbye to little Harry and stepped out into the night, looking back over their shoulders to wave all the way down the garden path, and along the street, until the waving figures of the two dark-haired young men, and the red-haired woman between them, had turned into tiny specks in the distance before vanishing completely.

"Will I see you this week?" Remus asked hoarsely as they stopped safely outside the lamplight, in the lane that led up to the Hall.

"I don't think so, the Ministry's so busy these days, I don't think even Saturday will be much better. Sunday, perhaps?"

"Sounds good. Why don't you come for dinner?"

"Love to."

"Good. See you then," Remus finished, patting Peter on the shoulder. Then he disapparated.

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Harry was yawning widely, and immediately snuggled comfortably against his father's shoulder as James picked him up and said,

"I'll put Harry to bed. You don't need me for the charm anyway, do you?"

"No. As long as you're in the house, it only takes two of us - me to perform the charm and Sirius as the Secret-Keeper."

James nodded, and left them alone together. Lily led the way back into the living room and drew her wand purposefully. She directed it at Sirius.

"Are you ready?"

"No," he replied.

Amazed, Lily's wand arm dropped. "What? But I thought ..."

"It's not that I'm not willing," he told her quickly. "I am. I'm more than willing. But I've been thinking about this, and I've come to the conclusion that it's too simple."

"Simple?" she echoed somewhat crossly. "Didn't you understand a word of what Dumbledore and I were saying yesterday evening? This isn't simple, it's some of the most complex magic in existence, it's taken centuries and longer to perfect. I have been up studying the charm for nights on end, there's nothing simple about it, Sirius."

He raised his hands defensively. "I'm not talking about the magic involved, I'm talking about the plan as a whole. Let's face it, Lily, everyone's going to know that if James picked anyone as Secret-Keeper, it'd be me. No, don't scowl," he went on, when she did, "you know it's true. I'm not being conceited or anything, it's just the simple truth."

"So you're scared, is that it?"

"No, of course not! I would never betray the three of you, or any of my friends, and I'm perfectly willing to be the target for Voldemort and his cronies. That's my point. I've worked out a plan ..."

"We've got a perfectly good plan already."

"Mine is better. You see, my plan means that they'll be coming after me, but they'll be barking up the wrong tree, because I won't even be _able _to tell them what they want to know. Your secret will be perfectly safe, because they'll never suspect who's really keeping it."

"What are you driving at? Who ...?"

"Wormtail," Sirius announced. "He's going to be your Secret-Keeper. It's the perfect solution! They won't be expecting you to use him, they'll come after me, and your secret will be doubly secure because if, by some stroke of bad luck, they _should_ get Peter, he'll have told me the secret and you'll still be safe, because I will have become your new Secret-Keeper. It makes perfect sense. I ..." - he hesitated, then decided he might as well admit it - "I've already arranged it all with Peter. He'll be back in half an hour."

At this, Lily stared at him open-mouthed. "You ... what? You arranged this with him, secretly, without telling us? And y-you made him pretend to leave, but come back?"

"Yes," Sirius said firmly, steeling himself for the inevitable question.

"For heaven's sake, Sirius, why?"

"I have my reasons," he said stiffly. "We can't be too careful."

"Too careful? Too careful of what?" When he did not reply, merely looked defiant, she began to understand, and her cheeks flushed with anger. "Or should I be asking 'too careful of _whom_'?"

"This isn't the time to be too trusting," he retorted.

Lily shook her head irritably. "I don't believe this. Not again, Sirius!"

"Think, Lily! For once, stop seeing what you want to see, and think! Gordon wasn't killed until Remus had learned the password!"

"In the presence of nearly the entire Order of the Phoenix!" she yelled. "It may have been foolish to tell him with all those others present, I'll admit that, but if you think it was Remus who betrayed Gordon, if you think he could possibly be working for the enemy ... they killed his father, Sirius!"

"He didn't seem terribly cut up about it though, did he? And he almost let Faith die ..."

"Not terribly cut up? You have no idea how he felt! He was heartbroken! You just don't understand him!"

"But you do, I suppose?"

"Yes, I think so!"

"Do you, Lily?" Sirius asked, his voice suddenly dropping to a quiet hiss so that James, whose footsteps he could hear on the landing upstairs, would not hear. "Do you really understand him? Do you know he's in love with you?"

Lily's jaw dropped. From red, her cheeks turned to white. She sank into an arm chair, and there was a moment's tense silence. Then she nodded, staring at the floor.

"Of course I know," she whispered. "Or at least, I have suspected it for a long time. I didn't think anyone else had realised. I - I've been trying not to think about it, because it makes me sad. I've tried to be kind ..."

"I think that's half the problem. If you hadn't been, it might never have happened."

Sirius crouched down and touched her arm, inviting her to look at him. She did so.

"I'm not blaming you, Lily. But it's happened, and it means a risk."

"No," she said quietly. "No, it doesn't. I stick by what I said, Sirius, and this makes no difference. You don't understand Remus. I hope you will, some day, because whenever you've got over your differences in the past, you two have been good friends, and I think you could be even better, I think you could be great friends - if only you'd see past the fact that he just isn't like you, and never will be. But you and he have one thing in common, if nothing else: you both feel very deeply, you're passionate."

Sirius snorted, but she went on.

"You may scoff, but it's true. He loves James every bit as much as you do, Sirius. And if you think that John's death made little difference to him, then you hardly know him at all! You told me to think. Well, now I'm telling you. Think, Sirius. For once, try to stop seeing everything only from your own point of view, stop allowing circumstances and a lack of understanding to blind you, and remember why you became friends in the first place. Think about what you know about Remus, not what you suspect."

Sirius did not reply. For one thing, he could think of nothing to answer her with. For another, he could now hear James coming down the stairs to join them. With an abrupt movement, he stood up again and strode away a few paces. James entered the room.

"Is everything all right?" he asked. "I thought I heard raised voices, but then everything went quiet. Is it done?"

"Not yet," Lily said tightly. "Sirius has suggested a change of plan."

"Oh?"

"Yes." She gave her husband the basics of the idea.

"What?" he exclaimed. "No! Sirius, we agreed we'd do it this way, we agreed you'd be Secret-Keeper! You know I don't want anyone else but you!"

"I know, but this is for my own peace of mind, James," Sirius said urgently. "I may be paranoid, but I just feel we can't be careful enough. I want to feel you're safe, really safe. I couldn't bear anything happening to you, so I want to be sure. Please, Prongs! I'll look out for Peter, I promise, I've already found him a hiding place, and I'll take care of him as best I can, and it'll be me they come after anyway, he'll be quite safe and, most importantly, so will you."

The grey eyes that faced him where so desperate that James finally relented.

"Fine, have it your own way. You'll have to let Moony know, though, or he'll be wondering why Peter's vanished, too."

The look that Sirius and Lily exchanged did not escape him.

"What is this?" James demanded suspiciously.

"Sirius," Lily told him sharply, "seems to be under the impression that Remus is the most likely suspect for Voldemort's spy in the Order."

James gaped at her, and then at Sirius. Suddenly he burst out laughing.

"Oh, come off it, Padfoot!" he cried when he was able to stop, taking a seat on the sofa and clutching his side. "You've come up with some pretty crazy theories in the past, but this takes the biscuit! Moony's still not got over eating the cat when he was a kid, and you think he could live with allying himself with people who'd murder babies in their beds if they thought they weren't pure-blood? He's not even pure-blood himself, do you honestly think Voldemort would want a half-blood, half-breed for a Death Eater?"

"What about Greyback?"

James's hilarity faded. "You're not comparing Remus to Greyback, I hope," he said quietly. "God, Sirius, I thought we were above such prejudices. I thought that's what the Marauders were all about."

"I haven't forgotten what we went through for him."

"And you think he has? Then you're a fool," James said harshly.

"I hope I am," Sirius said sincerely. "I swear, James, I hope I am. But I'd rather be too cautious than live to regret it. I won't take any risks, not with your life."

There was a knock at the front door.

"That'll be Peter."

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**4 - Farewell**

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Despite being cooped up in one place, unable to go any further than a few paces out of the back door, it was a few days before Lily got around to writing any letters. Her letter to Remus reached him Thursday morning over breakfast, and he opened it eagerly, reading the words she had penned in her neat, elegant writing.

Dear Remus,

I'm sorry for not writing sooner, but you wouldn't believe how busy we've found ourselves, now that we haven't really got anything to do.

James and I miss you terribly. Being stuck indoors is driving him absolutely mad already, even though it hasn't been that long, I don't know what he'll be like by the end of the week. He broods a lot over the Prophet and wishes he was out there with you, fighting, rather than skulking indoors. For that matter, so do I.

Harry misses you, too. I've been encouraging James to read to him lately, it keeps them both out of mischief, and we've been looking at loads of photos. Harry's getting quite good at saying people's names now, so I think that next time you see him, he'll be able to call you "Uncle Moony" properly, rather than just "Oony".

I've been testing the Fidelius Charm by trying to write our address on this piece of parchment, by the way, but I couldn't, so it really does seem to be working, which is good. I really do hope, though, that we won't have to keep this up long, because James is already complaining of prison pallor, and I suspect if I don't find something to occupy him again soon, he'll start transfiguring the furniture alive and practising hexes on it.

I hope you're well, and that you're looking after yourself, Moony. I'm sorry. I know you didn't want me to call you that, but it just sort of slipped out of the end of my quill, and I thought "Why not". I think you should be proud of it, and not associate it with the bad things that have happened to you, but with the good - the friendship to which you owe the nickname. I like it, anyway.

Give our love to your mother, and to Malcolm if you see him, and anyone else in the Order. Tell them we're all right.

Here the first page ended, and Remus turned to the second, where the gaps between the words were slightly larger, and the ends of some words bore marks of a quill having rested longer on the page, while the writer paused to think.

There is one other thing I want to say, and this is very private. Forgive me if it seems intrusive, but you know I'm only saying this because I care. I know things have been difficult for you, but don't give up hope, dear. Don't ever give up hope. Some day you'll find a wonderful young woman who will love you just the way you are. I know you'll say that can't happen, but I'm sure you're wrong. Because in spite of everything we've been through, I sort of can't stop believing in miracles.

Well, it's time to say goodbye for now, but I'll write again soon, I promise. Take care of yourself, Moony. We wish you were here.

Lots of love,

Lily (and James and Harry, of course)

She had ended the letter with a row of small Xs, and Remus stared down at it for a long moment, half smiling, half sad.

"What does it say?" Faith asked, recalling him to the present.

Remus found that he had to skim over it again before he could answer.

"That they're all right," he said, "and that James is already fed up with playing hide-and-seek. They send their love."

His mother looked at him curiously, but his face betrayed nothing. She let it lie for the present, and continued to eat her toast. Remus, meanwhile, kept glancing at the letter again, picking out certain phrases that felt warm and comforting after days of wondering how his friends were getting along. He looked again at one particular line.

I've been testing the Fidelius Charm by trying to write our address on this piece of parchment ...

He tried to think about the place where James and Lily lived, but he could not for the life of him remember the name of the village or town, the look of the house or anything about it. He pictured the Potters in an almost featureless, enclosed space that he supposed vaguely resembled a living room, because the odd arm chair and photograph presented itself to his mind's eye, but they were all very unfamiliar, as though he was only projecting them onto his image of Lily and James at home because they ought to be there, but he could not really remember having seen them. The charm, he thought, did indeed seem to be working. It was at the same time a comforting thought, and one that made him feel incredibly lonely all of a sudden.

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Peter's feelings were confused. There was still that feeling of wishing a hand would extend to him out of the blue and lift him clean out of the mess that had had somehow landed in. How had that happened, anyway? He had never asked to be placed in such a hopeless net of intrigue and danger. He had never claimed to be as brave as the others, but always they had encouraged him, dragged him along, promised to look out for him.

But in the end, they had not been able to. They had not been there on the one occasion when he had been really helpless. Only Pippa had been there, the sister he had loved and who had loved him, and who had died at the hands of the very person he served. Part of him felt that that alone should have given him enough incentive to resist, if he had really loved Pippa. But the other part of him protested that, if Pippa had really loved him, she would not have wanted him to go the same way as she had, she would have wanted him to stay alive, and as he knew Pippa _had_ loved him, consequently he must be doing what she would have wanted him to.

That, he knew, was a crazy notion. But it sustained him, as did the thought that it was the others - James, Sirius and Remus - who had made him join the Order, who had placed him in a position where he might prove valuable to the enemy, who had exposed him to the danger of attack, torture, coercion, blackmail ... without a second thought, because they had simply assumed that he was like they were. Only he wasn't. Never had been, never would be. He knew fear better than they did, and he did not want to die.

Die. The word seemed to echo around his brain. If he went through with what he had made up his mind to do, then people would die. People he had called friends. Little Harry, who was too young to know what was going on around him, what desperate times his parents lived in; Lily, who had always been gentle and kind to Peter, and had treated him like a member of the family; and finally, James.

It was the thought of James that aroused the greatest turmoil within him. James had been his friend from the very beginning, ever since the train ride to Hogwarts. Thinking about it, Peter realised there were not many people in his life he had ever really cared deeply about. Pippa had been one. He had certainly never cared about Paula. And his parents? He had to admit he did not feel terribly close to them. His friends had been his family. James, Sirius and Remus. But he had been willing, in the past, to cast suspicion on both the latter, to protect himself. And now ...

He loved James. The realisation confused him greatly, because he had never really considered it before, never paused to think that brotherly love could be as strong as any other kind - a kind he had often craved, but never known. James was like a brother to him, as close or closer than Pippa had been. He had stood by and watched Pippa die for him. Could he do the same again? Could he do it, knowing that he himself had led James to the slaughter?

The answer, unfortunately, was yes. Because he was still afraid. Because he knew that James would face death bravely, and be praised a hero for it, whereas he had not the courage to resist that snakelike face, those blood-red eyes, that high-pitched voice that sent shivers down his spine. He loved James, but he loved his own life more. Or perhaps it was not love of life so much as fear of death.

Peter pulled on his long black cloak and drew the mask down over his face. His wand was tucked securely in the pocket of his robes. It was Friday night and the Dark Lord, he knew, had returned. He would be at Malfoy Manor.

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**5 - The Last Enemy**

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"Do you want help with that?" James Potter asked his wife as she pointed her wand at the dinner plates and sent them soaring over to the sink, where the tap turned on obligingly.

"I think I can just about manage," she said with an amused grin. James did have a habit of offering assistance for those tasks about the house that could be performed easily with magic. "You boys go and play, I won't be long."

"Okay." He came round the table and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, kissing her on the cheek. "I love you, you know that?" he whispered.

She twisted round in his arms and nodded, and kissed his lips. Behind her back, the tap had turned itself on and the sink began to fill up with hot water. They stayed like this, arms around each other, while the washing up saw to itself, until Harry grew restless at last, and started trying to clamber out of the high chair on his own.

"Now now, none of that, young man," said James, lifting the child out of the chair, and tickling the front of his blue pyjamas.

Harry laughed, little hands trying to catch his daddy's fingers. James planted a kiss on top of the little black-haired head.

"Come on then," he said, "let's get out of Mummy's way."

He carried Harry into the living room, while Lily remained to oversee the kitchen while it tidied itself up. Through the window that no-one could see from outside, she watched children running and dancing in the streets, despite the wind and the rain, dressed up in their Halloween costumes, imagining themselves to be real witches and wizards - although most of the witches actually looked more like they were made out to be hags, but then, what did muggle children know of what witches were really like?

"Trick or treat!" she heard them call as they knocked at everyone's door but her own. Two little pumpkins on legs waddled by, and Lily smiled to herself. She could remember her own earliest Halloween experiences. Pet had been quite enthusiastic about dressing up as a witch, she had made her own costume and covered her face in ugly warts and stuck a large, false nose over the top of her own. Somehow Lily never had quite believed that real witches looked like that.

She could almost hear Sirius say "Amateurs!" in that only slightly superior, rather affectionately amused tone he adopted whenever he commented on muggles pretending to be wizards. She wondered vaguely whether he would be popping in later. He and James always enjoyed watching the muggles on what they called 'Amateur Night'.

By now, the dishes were clean, and at Lily's command, they soared obediently into the open cupboards. She left her wand by the draining board, and went out into the hall, and from there into the living room. James had his wand out, and was sending out puffs of brightly-coloured smoke. Harry toddled and crawled around the floor, giggling happily, trying to catch them in his tiny hands. Lily watched for a moment, smiling.

James turned his head to look at her, and she said, "I think it's bedtime for little wizards."

"Sorry, Harry," James sighed, picking his son up off the floor. "Mummy's being a spoilsport again."

She laughed. "That's it, teach him I'm always the one who spoils his fun."

James grinned, handing Harry over, and Lily carried him from the room. James threw his wand on the sofa, dropped down beside it and leaned back, stretching his arms with a wide yawn and preparing to wait for Lily to return.

A loud bang startled him to his feet in a flash. What on earth could have caused it, he had no idea, but it sounded like more than just Lily dropping something in Harry's room. It sounded - his heart pounded in his chest at the thought - like a massive explosion. He tore open the door into the hallway and darted through it.

And then, in one split second, everything had changed. What had been a normal, quiet evening in the safety of his home became a living nightmare. He was facing him. Lord Voldemort himself, here, in his own hall, his hood drawn up to cover his head, his red eyes glinting menacingly in the gloom. One thought flitted through James's brain in that moment, and his lips mouthed silently and incredulously - _Peter_? But he had no time to dwell on the terrible realisation, no time for anything at all but to do as instinct dictated, for already he could hear footsteps on the upstairs landing, and he must not let her come down.

"Lily!" he screamed in a panic. "Take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off ..."

How he would do it, he did not know, but he rushed at Voldemort anyway, knowing that he had to put up a fight for as long as he possibly could to buy them time. Too late he realised he had left his wand behind ...

From above Lily, with Harry still in her arms, heard Voldemort's cruel laugh before he raised his wand.

"_Avada Kedavra_!" cried the horrible, high-pitched voice.

She saw the hallway below fill with bright green light, saw the curse hit James in the chest, and screamed as he fell.

"James! No! James!"

In her anguish, she almost flew down the stairs to his side, but Voldemort was already coming that way, and she froze. There was nothing left for her to do but retreat. Tears streaming down her face, she raced back into Harry's room and slammed the door behind her. Reaching for everything within her grasp, she desperately piled it all up against the door and clutched Harry closer to her. It took mere seconds for Voldemort to blast through her meagre barricade. Panic filled her. James was dead, and he wanted Harry next, her baby ... But he should not have him. Without really knowing what she was doing or why, she half turned and dropped Harry into his bed, then stepped in front of him, her fragile and slender figure all that stood between him and the man who wanted to kill him, wanted to see him die like James. She saw James fall again in her mind's eye, and she no longer cared what happened to her, as long as Harry was safe.

Throwing her arms wide, she yelled frantically, "Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"

"Stand aside, you silly girl," Lord Voldemort said coldly. "Stand aside, now ..."

But she did not budge. She would die, die before she let him hurt a hair of her son's head, he was only a baby.

"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead ..."

"This is my last warning ..."

He advanced further, but Lily stayed where she was, the thought of running never even entering her head. He could have her life, if he wanted, she would give it gladly so that Harry might live.

"Not Harry!" she screamed again. "Please ... have mercy ... have mercy ... Not Harry! Not Harry! Please - I'll do anything ..."

"Stand aside ... stand aside, girl ..."

But she did not stand aside. Not even when he raised his wand to the level of her chest, not when she saw his lips begin to form the words of the same curse that had killed her husband, not when the green light left his wand. She made no movement at all, but stood perfectly still until the curse struck her, Harry standing in his cot behind her, watching until his mother's body crumpled, lifeless, to the floor, until Voldemort's wand pointed at his own forehead, and then he started to cry.

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Peter Pettigrew, cloaked all in black, stood in the shadows between two buildings across the street, watching the house of his friends. He saw the Dark Lord blast open the front door, he was even near enough to hear James's voice shout something desperately, though he could not make out the words. He felt a pain that was almost physical when the flash of green light illuminated the shattered doorway, and James's shouts died with him. Moments passed and he crept across to the dark garden hedge. He could hear Lily screaming something now, and he paused by the gate, unwilling to go any closer lest he see James's body on the floor. There was another flash of green, fainter this time because it had all of the upstairs landing and the stairs to travel before he could see it, and Lily went silent, too. He could hear Harry crying.

_Any second now_, he thought. _Any second it will be over. They'll be gone, all three of them. I won't be able to hide what I am any more then. Sirius will know, and he'll tell the others ... but I'll be safe. I have shown my loyalty to my master, and he will reward me, he'll protect me, better than Sirius or Remus or James ever could._

Even as he thought this, there was a third and final flash of green. And then, unexpectedly, a scream. The most terrible scream he had ever heard, and he backed away in terror, eyes wide open and staring up towards Harry's room on the right-hand side of the upstairs floor, where the green light had not ceased as it should have done, but continued to flash angrily, like green lightning in some freakish electric storm trapped within the nursery, then bursting through the window and sending shards of shattered glass flying in all directions. Bricks followed next, blown outwards by some inexplicable force and then falling to the ground below with a crash, along with pieces of furniture, cuddly toys ripped apart, their stuffing scattered amongst the rubble, and Harry's cot landed awry on top of the pile, the child, incredibly, still alive and yelling his little lungs out, though his scream was nowhere near as piercing as the other that still echoed from what remained of the upstairs floor of the cottage.

Finally, the screaming stopped, and no more rubble fell from above. Trembling from head to foot, Peter inched towards the gaping hole where the front door hung on its hinges, and sidled through it. People were running along the street outside, screaming and pointing, but he hardly noticed them. His eyes were fixed in horror on the motionless face of James Potter, whose unblinking hazel eyes seemed to stare up at him accusingly from behind the cracked glass of his spectacles.

Peter backed gingerly up the stairs and along the hallway until he reached the corner of the top floor, now mostly open to the outdoors, the wind and the rain already claiming it for their own. Lily's body now lay at his feet, but thankfully she had fallen forward and he could not see her face. Beside her on the ground lay a wand, one that he recognised only too well, but of its owner there was no sign. He bent to pick the wand up in his shaking hand and stared at it with confusion and dismay.

Something terrible had happened to Lord Voldemort, and he had disappeared, and Harry Potter was alive. Harry, but not his parents. Lily and James were dead, and Peter was responsible, just as he was responsible for the deaths of John Lupin and Gordon Gryffindor. He had betrayed them all, and it would not be long before Sirius realised it. Panic seized him. It had all gone wrong. In his eagerness to pick the side that would win, to support the man who would keep him safe, he had done just the opposite, and still he was not free, for now the Death Eaters would hunt him for indirectly leading the Dark Lord to his doom, and Sirius would kill him for bringing about James's death, he could expect no mercy there. He struggled frantically to think of a way out. Was there no-one who would protect him now?

He thought of Remus. Remus, he knew, was more forgiving than Sirius, and if he told the story right, if he emphasised his fears and doubts and his remorse, Remus might be able to find it in his heart to understand an old friend's dilemma, the impossible situation that had led to his crimes, maybe even help him ... The thought only went so far. There was one thing, Peter was sure, that Remus would never agree to, and that was allowing Sirius to be blamed and punished, send to Azkaban or worse, for something of which he was innocent. Remus might show sympathy, but he would expect Peter to confess publicly and exonerate Sirius, and bear the consequences of his own actions.

It occurred to him then that, as yet, no-one but Sirius actually knew anything about his involvement at all. Sirius would be the one who was blamed, but that would not last long, not once Sirius explained ... Oh, if only the earth could swallow him up. And then he had another thought, and hope sprang up inside him once more. It was a desperate and risky plan, but it might just work. He would find a place to hide for now, and think about it some more, work it out properly. Turning on the spot, both wands held in his hand, Peter disapparated.

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**6 - Discovery**

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Every night at approximately the same time, Albus Dumbledore would take out the orb that had been enchanted to watch over Harry, and stare at it for long moments to check that all was well. And every night, the mist within the orb would remain just that - a murky, impenetrable substance that revealed nothing, but told him that all was well, that Harry and his parents were still safely hidden. Therefore, when he removed the orb from its little chest and set it gently on his desk at Halloween, Dumbledore really paid it very little attention. He turned his back to it, scooping up a handful of seeds to feed to Fawkes, who had recently had a burning day and was merely a tiny, grey fledgling at present. But glancing back over his shoulder, he experienced a shock that caused him to drop the seeds on the floor, much to the baby phoenix's dismay, and stride quickly back to his desk, gripping the back of the chair so tightly with both hands that his knuckles stood out white. Harry's face swam before his eyes, the green eyes red and puffy from crying, a singularly shaped slash across his forehead.

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Sirius had mounted his motorbike and was soaring through the sky, following the tracks of the Hogwarts Express northwards for a time, then swerving off to the east for several miles. He descended on a hillside and drove his bike up an uneven track to where a lonely cottage stood overlooking a valley - the place where he had arranged for Peter to hide while the Fidelius Charm was in place. But almost immediately, as he pulled up in front of the battered little front door with its peeling red paint, he sensed that something was strangely amiss. The cottage was in total darkness. He knocked at the door, but received no answer. Drawing his wand, he tried the door and found it unlocked.

"Peter?" he called into the darkness, but was greeted by silence.

He turned on the lights with a wave of his wand, and investigated the whole house, his apprehension increasing with every step he took. Not only was there no sign of Peter, but there was no sign of anything at all. Peter's personal belongings had gone, his clothes, his photographs, his books, his trunk, his broomstick. Nothing remained but eerie silence, broken only by the creaking floorboards beneath his feet, the place emptied out completely without sign that it had ever been inhabited, and without even the tiniest hint of a struggle. Sirius literally felt the colour drain from his face, his footsteps faltering on his second investigation of the small lounge.

"No," he whispered to himself. Cold fear took hold of him. It was a new experience. He had never been this scared before. "No," he murmured again. "It - it can't be ..." And then, as he realised the depth of his mistake, "What ... have I done?"

For several seconds, he stood as if Petrified by the spell of an invisible hand. Then he whirled around abruptly, raced out the door and leapt back onto his bike, revving up the engine with a tremendous noise and taking flight at a speed even he had never dared to attempt before. It felt like an age before, at long last, he could make out the looming shape of Gryffindor Hall, and the collection of much smaller shapes nearby, the village of Hogsmeade, a hive of activity full of people running back and forth like ants, every window lit and torchlight darting this way and that in the streets. Not caring who saw him arrive and how, Sirius rode his flying motorbike right up to the front door of the Potters' cottage, and barely suppressed a scream at the sight of it, half the top floor blown apart, the rubble piled high on the ground beside it where Hagrid stood, a minuscule bundle held in his vast arms, his enormous shoulders heaving, but Sirius ignored him.

He swung his leg over his bike and stumbled through the open gate. Clutching at the frame of what had been the front door, he staggered into the hall like a drunk. And then he really did give a strangled scream, he couldn't help himself. He fell to his knees beside James's body and clutched at his dead friend's arm, shaking him violently.

"No! James, James, get up, James! Don't leave me ... No ... no ... JAMES!"

Heavy footsteps behind him caused the ground to tremble slightly, and Hagrid sniffed loudly. He tried to touch Sirius's shoulder, but the young man shrugged him off roughly, pulling his dead friend's body closer to him, shaking like a leaf. Several minutes passed before Sirius calmed down and, still shaking, struggled to his feet, holding onto the empty pram for support. He looked around wildly.

"H-Hagrid," he stammered weakly, seeming to really take in the presence half giant for the first time. "W-where's ... Lily ... Harry ...?"

"Lily's upstairs," Hagrid replied heavily. "She's dead, too."

Sirius's sore grey eyes, hollow with pain, darted upwards for a second, until Hagrid said, "I've got 'Arry right 'ere. Seems un'armed, 'part from this cut ..."

Sirius came unsteadily closer and gazed at his godson. He held out his arms and murmured distractedly, "Y-you'd better give him to me, Hagrid. I'm his godfather ... I - I'll look after him."

"Sorry," Hagrid said uncomfortably. "Can't do that. Dumbledore's orders, 'e wants me ter take 'Arry ter his aunt."

"No, no, Harry should come to me! Lily's sister's no good, she hated her, she won't show Harry any kindness. Besides, James and Lily wanted it that way, they made _me_ godfather ..."

"I know, Sirius, but Dumbledore insisted, an' I've got ter do what 'e says. I'm sorry. Maybe ye can pick 'Arry up there in day or two."

Sirius's arms dropped to his sides. "Yes," he muttered. "Yes, maybe it's for the best, after all." He looked back, staring down at James's body once more. His voice trembled. "This is all my fault. My fault ..."

"Now don' go on like tha'," Hagrid protested kindly. "Snot anyone's fault but You-Know-Who's. Don' go blamin' yerself, now."

"How can I not?" There was a silence, then Sirius gave himself a wrench. He could grieve later, for now there was work to be done. There was indeed a traitor in the Order, and he was going to pay ... In a more matter-of-fact tone, Sirius said, "Take my bike, it'll get you to the Dursleys' all right. Better engorge it before you go. I don't think I'll be needing it."

And with these words, he took one last, longing look at James's body, then turned on the spot and was gone.

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Faith Lupin gave a surprised start when, as she was preparing breakfast on the morning of November 1st, the wireless that had stood silently in the corner of the kitchen for so long suddenly crackled to life. The only thing that could possibly startle her even more were the words that the man from the WWN spoke as he made his first broadcast. She could not quite believe it at first, yet her hand flew to her mouth, stifling a cry. She could hear Remus moving about, first upstairs, then descending the stairs at a measured pace, as yet unaware of what had happened, and she quickly reached across to switch off the set, just as he pushed aside the curtain and entered, looking around with a puzzled expression.

"Hello. That's funny, I could have sworn I heard another voice, I thought maybe Uncle Mal... What's wrong?" he added, seeing the look on her face.

"Oh ... oh, Remus," his mother began, approaching him and, as he thought rather unnecessarily, stroking his cheek. "I - I hardly know how to tell you ..."

"Tell me what?"

"The wireless came back on just now ... the WWN's back, and ... and they said ..."

"The WWN?" His eyebrows rose, and he moved over to switch on the device, but she caught his hand and pulled him back.

"No, no, don't. Remus, there was some news, they said that something happened last night, something that I - I wouldn't want you to hear like that, from the wireless."

"Why, what do you mean? What has happened?"

His mother's voice was tearful. "They say You-Know-Who has been defeated, that he's ... gone."

He gaped at her. "Voldemort?" he queried. "Gone? But ... how ... what ...?"

"It's ... Lily and James ..."

"Lily and James?" he repeated with an apprehensive tremor.

And before his mother could say any more, an image sprang to his mind. He could see it as clearly as if he were standing there now, the ivy-covered cottage surrounded by a hedge, he could picture the little narrow hallway, the kitchen door, the living room, and the upstairs floor, Harry's room where he had stayed just after his father had died ...

"Godric's Hollow," he murmured incredulously, pain creeping into his voice. "I know where they are. Godric's Hollow. I shouldn't be able to say that, I shouldn't be able to remember."

"They said on the wireless that Harry survived," Faith went on, somehow feeling that she had to say something, anything, rather than linger on in silence. "The rumour seems to be that he somehow stopped You-Know-Who, though no-one knows why or how. Remus," she added anxiously, as he turned away and passed back through the curtain like a sleepwalker. "Remus, where are you going?"

He did not reply, did not even seem to hear her, and without even bothering to take his cloak off the hook, just as he was, in his everyday muggle shirt and trousers, he walked out of the house.

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**7 - Swallowed up by the Earth**

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The streets of Godric's Hollow had been cleared of muggles by now. Golden, red and brown leaves, damp with last night's rainwater, made the cobblestones slippery as Remus blindly made his way along the familiar paths. The site where the ruin of the Potters' house stood was swarming with officious-looking persons, remnants from the old Ministry of Magic that had kept going in hiding somewhere even after Voldemort had seized the building, investigating the scene, picking everything apart, tossing aside photographs and other mementoes without a second glance. No-one took any notice of the solitary young man with the windswept, light-brown hair streaked with grey, who stepped through the open gate and tremulously made his way to where two tell-tale shapes lay on the ground at the side of the house, white sheets draped over them. His footsteps slowed as he approached them, and he crouched down slowly. With trembling fingers, he drew back the sheets.

A muffled cry escaped him. It was true. Here they lay, James and Lily, both of them dead, though their eyes had been closed and they looked, now, rather as if they had fallen asleep peacefully, and had simply forgotten to wake up. And it did not matter any more whether he had loved Lily more than a friend, because he had lost them both, and the pain he felt did not distinguish between the two.

"Remus, you should not be here."

Everything felt so unreal at that moment that the voice by his side did not even startle him. He knew it at once, before Dumbledore's hand came down gently on his shoulder, inviting him to stand, and he straightened up, turning a white and miserable face to his former headmaster.

"I needed to see them for myself," he heard himself say hoarsely. "I couldn't believe ... didn't want to believe ..." He broke off, hesitated, then asked, "Where is Harry?"

"He is safe," Dumbledore assured him. He spoke very gently. "Trust me, Remus, he is safe. That is all you need to know for know. I suppose," he added cautiously, "that you do not know where we might find Sirius?"

Remus's eyes widened. At first, he did not quite understand. And then he realised.

"Sirius?" he gasped, horror-struck. "But ... no ... no, that's impossible ... Sirius ... Sirius loved James. He could never have betrayed him, never!"

"Remus," the headmaster reminded him, still in that gentle tone, "you were there when Lily explained the Fidelius Charm. You know as well as I do that no-one else could have revealed this spot to Lord Voldemort once the charm was in place. Incredible as it may seem, and I won't deny I had trouble accepting it myself, there is no other explanation but that Sirius was the spy all along."

Remus shook his head frantically. "No! No, not Sirius, no ..."

"I must ask you again. Do you know where he might be?"

There was a heavy pause, then Remus said in a defeated, hollow voice, "No, I've no idea." He reached inside his pocket for his wand. "But I'll find him somehow."

"You will do no such thing!" said his former teacher, now suddenly commanding. "Your present frame of mind is not one in which you should face a wizard more determined and more desperate than yourself. Others are already looking for him. Your uncle is with them. They will catch up with Sirius soon enough without your help, I think." He softened and added kindly, "Go home, Remus. There is nothing more you can do here, and your mother will be worrying."

His words were true. Faith had been pacing the front garden, her cloak wrapped around her to keep out the cold and John's wand clasped in her hand just in case, ever since Remus had disapparated. When he returned, she hurried towards him. He stumbled readily into her embrace, and allowed her to lead him back into the house. He felt like a small boy again, running home to his mother, but what else could he do? He did not feel as he had done when his father had died, perhaps because his friends had helped him then, had taught him how to let go and allow himself to grieve. This time, the tears came readily and unstoppably, and he was grateful that his mother was there to hold him, to gently pull his head against her chest and stroke his hair while he sobbed, reduced once more to the small boy who, so many years ago, had lain at his mother's chest and cried after being told that he would be a werewolf for the rest of his life, only this time it was worse, so much worse.

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Sirius's stomach was so empty that it ached and rumbled, but he paid it no attention. He had not eaten for twenty-four hours, and he had not slept for thirty-six, not since he had woken up at seven in the morning yesterday, the last morning when the world had still been, for the most part, all right. When James had still been alive.

_I was a fool_, he thought glumly. _Just like James said. Remus?_ He inwardly gave a mirthless laugh. _How could I be so stupid? So blind? John Lupin was the first to be betrayed, damn it, I must have known Remus would never betray his own dad, that he worshipped him! What a fool. They were right all along. Lily and James, they told me so, they knew Remus was loyal, they knew him better than I did, because I was blinded by my stupid notions, because I expected the poor devil to act like I would have done, but damn it all, I should have trusted him!_

These thoughts ran through his mind over and over again. If only he had listened to Lily and James. If only he had trusted Remus rather than Peter. If only he had never changed the plan. It was his fault they were dead, his fault Harry had been left an orphan - his own, stupid fault that the entire wizarding world must now be convinced that he himself had been the traitor. But they would soon know better. He had searched high and low for Peter Pettigrew since leaving Godric's Hollow last night, and he had not yet found him, but he would, he was determined, he would find him. He was close now, he could sense it, because his fingers itched close to the pocket of his cloak where his wand was hidden, and because his heart told him that the person he now loathed with a passion stronger than any other feeling he had had in his life was close by. He would kill him. Nothing and nobody would prevent it. Peter Pettigrew would die at his hands, just as James and Lily had died, and he would enjoy doing it.

And suddenly, there he was. He stepped out of a side street into the middle of the crowded space, packed with muggles going about their daily business without the faintest clue of what was really happening in the world. Anger and hatred burned inside Sirius, and his fingers closed around his wand. He opened his mouth to speak, but Peter got in first, and his words amazed Sirius so much that he forgot to say anything at all.

Making a great show of sobbing, with genuine tears running down his cheeks, Peter yelled, "Traitor! You sold them out! You betrayed your best friends! Lily and James, damn it! Lily and James, Sirius! How could you?!"

Before Sirius could think how to react, Peter had drawn his wand. Sirius drew his own, but to his utter astonishment, Peter made no attempt to curse him, but gave a sort of flourish, and even as Sirius's own curse shot forward at his former friend, the street blew up in a massive explosion all around him, and through the dust and debris he could just make out a glint of triumph in Wormtail's eye before he transformed and disappeared into the sewers like the filthy sewer rat that he was, swallowed up by the earth.

All around him, the muggles were screaming. A fire had broken out. Sirens sounded and people fought to subdue the flames while others ran about assisting those closest to the blast, many of whom had long since stopped moving. But Sirius only stared at the spot where Peter had disappeared.

_He fooled me_, he thought. _He fooled us all. Peter Pettigrew, of all people. We thought we knew him. We thought he was harmless. Not very bright, but soft-hearted. And yet he betrayed us. I thought I was using him to protect James, but all along he was using me instead. I made it so easy for him, too. I insisted no-one be told. I made sure everyone would believe I was the Secret-Keeper, that no-one would ever doubt that, whatever happened. No-one will doubt it, now. They'll say I was the traitor, they'll say I betrayed James, they'll say I killed Peter and all of these muggles. And the crazy thing is that, in a way, they'll be right. I was the one who talked Peter into becoming an Animagus. I persuaded him to join the Order. I made him agree to be James's Secret-Keeper, I hid him away, I made sure it stayed a secret, and I chose to confront him alone, giving him the chance he needed to fake his death, and make it look as though I'd done it. He didn't even have to frame me. I framed myself. All I wanted was to prevent James being killed, and in the end, I killed him. Isn't irony a wonderful thing?_

And there and then, in the middle of the mayhem, Sirius threw back his head and laughed, laughed because the irony of it really allowed for nothing else, and because if he didn't laugh, he knew the grief would be too much, more than breaking down and crying could ever wash away. He was still laughing when, several minutes later, a group of official-looking witches and wizards apparated on the scene to clear up the mess. Malcolm stepped out of the crowd and approached the hideously laughing man cautiously.

"Sirius," he breathed. "Why? They were your friends. We all thought ... Why?"

His expression was incredulous, his face haggard under the beard. He did not understand, and Sirius could not explain it to him. He could do nothing, nothing at all, except go on laughing. He didn't even resist when Malcolm took his wand. He laughed and laughed, a crazed gleam in his eye, until Malcolm, unable to bear the unnatural sound any longer, raised his wand arm higher and said painfully, "_Stupefy_."


	46. Part 46: Survival

**Prequel, Part 46: Survival**

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**1 - Picking up the Pieces**

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While in Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, all the lights had mysteriously gone out and a tabby cat with unique markings around its eyes was transforming into a witch, Faith Lupin was kneeling, poking the fire in the living room, and looking over her shoulder now and then, until at last her son walked into the room and dropped onto the sofa with a weary sigh. To see him looking far from well was something Faith was sadly used to, but it hurt to know that, while she could apply ointments and bandages to the physical wounds he so often bore, there was nothing she could do to ease his current pain. She understood it only too well. She did not think she would ever stop mourning John. But Remus was still so young. She opened her mouth to say something, but at that moment there was a knock at the front door.

"I'll get it," Remus said, getting to his feet again.

Out of habit, he reached for his wand on his way out into the hall. Faith stood slowly, glad that he had left the room before he could see her get up, because she did not wish to add to his worries by revealing that she could not rise from such a position as easily now as she had been able to only months ago. She heard a familiar voice in the hall, and Remus returned, his uncle close behind.

"Malcolm!"

"Hello, Faith," he replied sombrely.

He kissed her cheek, and sat down beside her on the sofa. He looked tired and awkward, as though he had something deeply unpleasant to say.

"Did you get him?" Remus asked, not eagerly, but in a defeated voice. "Sirius?"

His uncle nodded.

"Did he ... say anything?"

"No, nothing. I tried to talk to him, I wanted to know why he'd done it, but he just ..."

He broke off, but Remus prompted him to continue.

"He just - what?"

Uncomfortably, Malcolm said, "He laughed. He was laughing all the time. I don't know, I think something must have snapped inside his brain, he seemed completely crazed, I've never seen or heard anything like it. His laughter wasn't normal, it was ... maniacal. He didn't even put up a fight, just let me take his wand and stun him."

"What will happen to him now?" Faith asked.

"For the time being, he's been locked up in a safe place until his hearing. Crouch is talking about sending him to Azkaban as soon as the Ministry's in our hands again. He seems to be setting himself up as the next Minister for Magic in everybody's minds already."

"Azkaban?" Remus echoed.

"I know it's grim, but after what he did, he deserves it," said Malcolm bitterly. "He not only betrayed Lily and James, but Bridget's father, John ... all of us."

"I still can't quite believe it," said Faith. "I thought Sirius genuinely cared about James - as much as you cared about John."

"We all thought that," Remus murmured. "I believed it myself. We trusted him so completely. James insisted he should be Secret-Keeper, it was obvious that he would, and I never objected. I agreed it was only right. I wasn't the least bit concerned about him choosing Sirius, I thought they'd be safe. I was convinced that Sirius would have died sooner than give them away - as I would have done. I never dreamt of anything like this happening. It still seems incredible - impossible. If only there was some other explanation ..."

"I know how you feel, Remus, but I'm afraid there is no other possible explanation," Malcolm said heavily. "I've been over it myself time and again. Sirius was the only one who could have passed on their location to Voldemort, you know that." He paused, and then added, "I'm only glad Bridget didn't live to see this. It would have broken her heart. Speaking of which ... Remus, I'm sorry, I know you've been through enough, but there's no easy way to tell you this. I'm afraid we didn't quite catch up with Sirius soon enough."

"What do you mean?"

Malcolm said gently, "It's Peter."

"Peter?"

With a shock, Remus realised he had not thought of his friend all day, he'd been too wrapped up in his own grief. That was selfish and wrong, he should have called Peter at once. But his uncle was speaking again, and it was too late to change the past.

"Yes. It seems when he heard what had happened, he didn't hang around, he went looking for Sirius. Unfortunately, he found him."

Two pairs of eyes stared at him incredulously. Had Remus not already been as white as a sheet, he would have paled considerably.

"Peter ... found Sirius? Alone?"

"Yes. According to muggle witnesses, Peter confronted Sirius in the middle of the street and tried to duel him. He didn't last more than a few seconds, as you can imagine. Sirius was always a far better dueller. He blew up the street, killed twelve muggle bystanders ... and Peter."

"No!"

Remus was on his feet. He paced the floor, running his fingers through his hair, tears welling up in his eyes again. He should have called Peter at once. He should have gone with him, they should have confronted Sirius together, brought him to justice for what he had done to Lily and James. Together, they might have stood a chance.

"It's my fault," he breathed painfully.

"No, Remus, it's not," said his uncle sharply.

"Yes, it is. If only I'd gone with him ..."

"Then you might have died along with him!" Faith cried. The desperate look on her son's face told her the thoughts he was thinking at that moment, and she shook her head emphatically. "No, Remus. No, don't even think it!"

"But don't you understand ...?"

"Of course I understand!" she cried shrilly. "Don't you have any idea how often I still wish I had died with your father?! Do you think I'm happy to have been left behind? I'm not. Sometimes, a lot of the time, I still wish I was dead, even now! But you told me there was a reason I was still alive, remember? You said that you still needed me!"

Her words hit him harder than she could possibly know. He dropped into a chair.

"Those were Lily's words," he revealed heavily. "But I know now that she was right."

"She was a very wise, and a very kind young woman," Faith said. "And perhaps her words apply to you as well. To all of us. I think none of us is particularly glad to be alive right now. But maybe we are all still needed, somehow."

"Your mother's right," said Malcolm. "And there is one thing you and I can do, at least, Remus: Alastor and Crouch are gathering as many people as they can to take back the Ministry. Some of the Death Eaters have already been caught and others have scarpered, and some have tried - Igor Karkaroff made a very clumsy attempt to flee the country yesterday, and ran straight into Alastor - but there are still plenty there who think they're safer in numbers, and surrounded by whatever foul creatures that committee you used to work for has managed to breed. It's not going to be an easy fight, so we'll need all the help we can get. They've got all the surviving aurors, and I dare say a few more people from the Order will fight, and perhaps even some others who didn't have the guts to raise a wand against the Death Eaters while Voldemort was still around. Will you join us?"

"Of course," Remus said quickly. "When?"

"Tomorrow morning. I'll call for you. We'll go together, if that's all right by you."

Remus nodded. Faith, however, looked frightened.

"Oh please, I thought the fighting was all over now. After everything we've been through ... I can't go on like this much longer, I shall be sick with worry over you both. And what about your work? Remus, what about the library? And Malcolm ... You have students to teach, remember?"

"They won't mind having a couple of lessons off, it'll give them more time to celebrate." He patted her hand. "We can't just sit back and do nothing, sis, not while there are Death Eaters still at large who might be feeling vengeful, or desperate, or both. Besides, I think we both need to feel we're doing something. Right, Remus?"

His nephew nodded.

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Remus stepped out of one of the many gilded fireplaces at the Ministry of Magic the next morning, and looked around him. All along the walls, other witches and wizards were appearing, all wearing similar expressions of determination, all of them looking somehow different than usual, less ordinary, driven by a common cause, a magnificent sight illuminated by the slightly eerie flickering light of the green flames. There were faces he recognised - Laura Lovegood, former Gryffindor Richard Turpin, Emmeline Vance, Dedalus Diggle, Mary Crimple, Frank Longbottom, a woman he thought had once been pointed out to him as Edgar Bones's sister, Amelia - and dozens of others that he did not. Out of the fireplace immediately to his right stepped his uncle, except that today, he did not look very much like the uncle Remus knew. Today, Malcolm Marley was an imposing presence in billowing robes, his wand drawn ready for battle, the bearded face framed by wavy brown hair only just starting to turn grey at the temples, his eyes radiating a sense of purpose - a powerful wizard, and an enemy no Death Eater should want to trifle with.

Alastor Moody and Bartemius Crouch came striding along the hall, the large crowd of people they had managed to recruit for today's battle falling into step behind them, and Malcolm joined them at the head of the throng. Remus followed behind him, and was soon joined by Frank and Mary, her blonde hair tied back sensibly in a pony tail, her pretty face devoid of makeup for once, her carefully manicured right hand holding her wand out in front of her.

"Remus," she said, "it's good to see you. I was going to call on you anyway, I wanted to tell you how sorry I am ..."

"Thanks."

"The same goes for me," Frank agreed. "And Alice. We want you to know if there's anything we can do, you only have to say."

Remus nodded tightly. He had no wish to talk about his loss. It was bad enough trying not to think of Lily, James, Peter and even Sirius all the time, without talking about them.

The crowd strode along the hallway towards the golden Fountain of Magical Brethren, their footsteps echoing around the vast Atrium, many of them whispering amongst themselves, some wondering aloud where the Death Eaters were, why they had not come forward to confront them outright.

"Because they're Death Eaters," Frank muttered in Remus's ear. "Do they really expect them to fight fairly?"

Remus shrugged. At the front of the crowd, the leaders came to a stop close to the fountain, and everyone else followed their example, falling silent as a strange, magically magnified voice uttered an incantation that reverberated all around the dark walls of the Atrium, and the waters of the fountain suddenly began to bubble and spill over the edge, gradually turning a murky brown, soon no longer sparkling, clear water but a muddy swamp that covered the polished floor. A large crate was levitated close to the swamp's surface by unseen hands, and as it opened several somethings slid almost noiselessly into the bog, vanishing from sight. Malcolm pointed his wand downwards, and made to take a step into the swamp, but Moody held him back.

"False foot first," he said. "You'd better hold onto me, though."

Malcolm gripped his arm, and the older man raised his wooden leg and plunged it into the swamp. For a second, nothing happened. Then someone shouted "There!", and the dirty brown surface shifted as something slithered rapidly beneath it. There was a snapping sound, a shout from Moody, and Malcolm dragged him back to dry land. Something that resembled nothing so much as a piece of driftwood seemed to be stuck to the clawed wooden foot. Moody aimed his own wand at it, and in a flash of red light it let go of the bait it had so readily attacked, and dropped to the floor, unmoving.

"Dugbogs!" Crouch announced, loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Looks like they've decided to set us a few traps rather than face us directly," Moody added, turning around to face them all. "The cowards. All right, everyone keep back. Laura, Shacklebolt," - he indicated a bald young black man - "Giles, Brown, get to work on clearing this swamp. Frank, Remus - you come and help us with these pests."

It should have proceeded in an orderly fashion from there, but of course, additional people apart from those Moody had selected attempted to "help", and there were many shouts of pain as Dugbogs sunk their sharp teeth into the ankles of the more unwary. Finally, however, the swamp had been reduced to a very small area surrounding the fountain, and the Dugbogs were all gathered together and replaced in the crate that the Death Eaters had left behind.

"Now, we'll do this by levels, just as we discussed," Crouch announced in a commanding voice. "You" - he pointed to a group of people - "Come with me to Level One. Moody, you pick your team for Level Two ..."

Moody did so, selecting Laura and the man called Shacklebolt again, along with several other former colleagues from his days as an auror before the Ministry had fallen into the enemy's hands. Evidently, he felt that tackling the Department of Magical Law Enforcement would require a good deal of manpower. More groups were formed in this manner, and soon Remus found himself travelling upwards in the lift with Frank, Mary, Richard Turpin, Giles and Brown and three other volunteers who gave their names simply as Maureen, Caleb and Samuel. They all stepped through the grilles on Level Four, and Remus found his eyes being drawn irresistibly to one particular door. He remembered only too well the occasion when he had last been inside that room. At the time, it had still been his father's office, and he and Lily had departed from there to take the Knight Bus home, after both of them had resigned from the Ministry.

Frank took the lead, and they started along the corridor. It appeared deserted. He opened the first door cautiously. Nothing happened, the room beyond was empty. The second door, however, opened of its own accord before Frank had even touched the handle, and a swarm of tiny beings came zooming out into the hall. Small and covered in black hair, they had four arms and four legs each, and their wings were a shiny red.

"_Protego!_" Remus and Mary cried together, shielding themselves and those behind them from the creatures.

"Ow!" Frank exclaimed as sharp teeth sank into his arm.

Remus brought his wand round fast. "_Stupefy!_"

It was more by luck than by judgement that his spell struck the creature, not Frank's arm, and Giles said so.

"Sorry," Remus said to Frank, "but it was worth the risk, trust me. These are vampirical doxies. Once one of them starts sucking your blood, you have exactly seventy-five seconds before ..."

He broke off as, without warning, Brown staggered against him from behind. Giles and Richard Turpin caught him, and lowered him slowly to the ground. The vampirical doxy that had attached itself to his neck flew up and bit Richard on the nose.

"_Relashio!_" Mary cried.

The doxy released Richard, blown backwards into a flock of others, which angrily targeted Mary next, but Frank's shield charm stopped them just in time. Meanwhile, off to their right, a second body had crumpled to the floor, and the woman called Maureen was screaming.

"Stand back!" Remus shouted, and with a wave of his wand, a wall of fire sprang up in front of them, and the doxies that tried to come at them next were consumed by its flames with pitiful shrieks.

Frank bent over the second man down, checked for a pulse, and shook his head. The fire extinguished itself again slowly, leaving several tiny, charred bodies on the floor, which Remus stared at, revolted, until Mary tugged at his sleeve, pointing. The remaining creatures, only a handful now, were retreating into the room they had come from, apparently frightened off.

"_Colloportus_!" said Giles, and the office door banged and clicked shut after them.

Frank straightened up and came over to survey the mess around them.

"Good thinking," he said to Remus, looking down on the remains of the doxies.

"It wasn't quite what I had planned."

"They were just ..."

"Magical creatures," Remus finished heavily. "Things that shouldn't have existed in the first place. Was it their fault?"

Wordlessly, Frank patted him on the shoulder. He turned away, but froze suddenly, and the hand that he had not quite withdrawn yet closed more tightly on Remus's shoulder, causing him to turn round also. He let out an involuntary exclamation. Mary gave a muffled cry.

"But ..." Remus muttered. "That's ... impossible."

He stared open-mouthed at the monster at the other end of the passage, its shackles raised, fangs bared, amber eyes fixed on the group of humans that faced it, ready to spring. The world around him seemed to fade into the distance. He could feel soft earth under his heavy paws and the scent of the forest in his nostrils, a hunger burning inside him that nothing but flesh and the iron tang of blood would be able to sate, and he seemed to be gazing at his own reflection in the black, still waters of the lake at Hogwarts while overhead the full moon shone mockingly down on him.

"Remus!"

Frank was shaking his arm roughly, bringing him back to the present. Startled, Remus stared at the young auror. Frank stared back for a second, then he grabbed the two people nearest to him and dragged them with him along the corridor, the others following behind, all except Mary, who stood rooted to the spot with fear, just a few paces ahead of Remus. The great, shaggy beast ahead of them leapt. Frank yelled a warning from behind them, and Remus acted at last, grabbing Mary by the hand and pulling her behind him, he raised his left arm to shield his face and a set of powerful jaws closed over it with a crunch as he went down.

Mary had fallen forwards with a scream, her face hitting the ground. She did not see what was going on behind her. Shutting the others behind the grilles of the lift for protection, Frank raced back to her and pulled her to her feet, half carried, half dragged her back to the lift, pushed her inside, and turned again, running back.

"Go!" Remus yelled, struggling back to his feet and fumbling for his wand.

"Forget it!" Frank shouted back.

They stood shoulder to shoulder in the corridor, combining their efforts in a long, hard struggle until at last the beast began to retreat, bleeding and whining, into a corner. The others came running up behind them.

"Aim to stun, not kill!" Frank warned them, and they obeyed.

The wolf was lifted off the ground with the force of their spells, then fell back down, unmoving. Remus dropped to his knees beside it, and ran his hand through the coarse fur.

"Be careful," Mary breathed.

"Is it a real werewolf?" Frank asked. "I mean ... in broad daylight, when the full moon's not even close ..."

"No, it's not," Remus replied hoarsely. "It's just an ordinary wolf. Or it was. It has all the outward signs of a werewolf - the snout, the tufted tail, everything. It looks just like the real thing, and probably has the same effect."

He rose slowly, and as he did so, he was not entirely able to conceal his injury. Mary gasped, bending over his arm.

"Oh no - Remus ..."

"It's all right," he said quietly, cradling his throbbing arm. "One more bite won't hurt me."

Mary took a step back, gaping at him, and he avoided her eyes. The others of their group left standing, apart from Frank, were staring at him in shock and disbelief. But he was spared any further explanation at this time by the discovery that the fighting was still not over. Apparently, the doxies and the manipulated wolf had just been the advance guard. Now came the real challenge, as a group of Death Eaters stepped out of what had once been John Lupin's office, masks over their faces and wands raised to chest level.

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Meanwhile, in the Atrium, things had not gone much better. The Death Eaters had released a whole horde of Fire Crabs which, though they did not actually attack anyone intentionally, naturally could not help but feel threatened by so many witches and wizards firing off spells in all directions, and had therefore employed their only defence mechanism freely, and consequently set fire to a large portion of the elegant wood panelling, not to mention many of the fighters' cloaks and robes. Malcolm had been fighting off an Occamy - and wondering what on earth the Death Eaters were doing, keeping such a creature in the Ministry in the first place - when the Fire Crabs were released, and his cloak had gone up in flames. He had just about been able to pull it off, finish off the Occamy and encage half a dozen Fire Crabs before a fully grown mountain troll had appeared on the scene, followed by three large, fire-breathing serpents of a kind he had never seen or heard of before.

He had leapt onto the edge of the Fountain of Magical Brethren to fight off the dangerous creatures, and searched the shadows beyond the edge of the battlefield for the humans who were sending all these beings into battle on their behalf. With a well-aimed hex, he knocked one of them off his feet, then another. Several other fighters followed his example, jumping up beside him, and soon the Death Eaters were too busy shielding themselves to unleash any more magical creatures, forced at last into duelling with the aurors, Order members and others who had joined the fray.

Malcolm wiped a trickle of blood off his brow, and spun round, balancing on the edge of the Fountain, just in time to block a curse aimed at him from behind. He had cast two curses of his own and one counter-curse before he realised that the Death Eater he was now duelling had lost his hood, and he recognised the dark man with a surge of boiling hatred.

"Dolohov!"

"Malcolm Marley," the other said sneeringly in his harsh, accented voice. "Finally, an adversary who be worthy of my skill."

"You'd better pray you're worthy of mine, Dolohov," Malcolm snarled, leaping down from the Fountain, wand at the ready. "Because I've sworn to make you pay for what you did."

"Oh? And vat, if I may ask, is it that you intend to 'make me pay' for?"

"John Lupin," said Malcolm fiercely. "Or do you deny that you murdered him?"

"No. I am proud to have given the blood traitor Lupin vat he deserved. I merely regret that I could not perform the same service for his half-breed son and mudblood wife!"

Malcolm had heard enough. He struck with the same speed as the fire-breathing serpents he had fought minutes before, and soon they were circling around each other, ducking, blocking, cursing. They were evenly matched with regard to skill, but Dolohov's cool detachment and sense of superiority were no match for Malcolm's rage and determination, and he beat the Death Eater down, striking him repeated blows with his wand even after he had disarmed him, his face a mask of fury, towering above the fallen Death Eater like an angel of vengeance.

Finally, he raised his wand high. "Prepare to die, Dolohov," he spat. "With more mercy than you showed my best friend!"

"Nooo!" Dolohov moaned then, crawling backwards on the floor before him, his hands over his head.

The sight was pitiful, disgusting. And suddenly Malcolm realised he had gone as far as he was prepared to, as far as he had needed to in order to vent his rage and grief. John was dead. Killing Dolohov would not bring him back, and John himself would not have wished it, would not have wanted his best friend to stoop as low as the Death Eater who had murdered him when he had been wandless, defenceless. His hand shook, and the words of the killing curse never left his mouth.

Instead he said, "You're pathetic. You're not even half the man that John Lupin was. All right, lower your hands. I won't kill you. But see how you like a life term in Azkaban!"

And with a flick of his wand, he sent ropes flying at the fallen Death Eater, binding him securely. Only then did he become aware that he had sustained a number of injuries in the fight, and was bleeding from more wounds than just the cut on his brow. But there was no time to worry about that now. The battle went on relentlessly, and everywhere he looked there were people fighting, but also too many others no longer able to do so, some of them sprawled on the ground, their unblinking eyes staring at nothing, others dragging themselves out of the way, bleeding copiously.

Malcolm's eyes scanned the crowd quickly, as though searching for something or someone, but without really knowing who or what that might be. Moody passed him, duelling a masked figure. He appeared to be missing a piece of his nose. As Malcolm watched, the Death Eater's mask fell, and he recognised Travers, just before Moody's next spell sent him crashing to the floor.

"What happened to you?" Malcolm asked, pointing to the other man's face.

"Rosier, that's what," Moody grunted. "He's dead. I see you got Dolohov. Well done. I almost had Mulciber just now, but then this fellow came along and distracted me, and Mulciber ran off towards the lift."

"The lift?" Malcolm's head turned that way. "Did he go up or down?"

But Moody, already off to engage the next Death Eater, did not answer. Malcolm sprinted down the hallway towards the golden grilles, behind which the lift itself was currently missing, on its way to wherever Mulciber was going. He looked up. A little light above his head had stopped at the number four.

"Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures," he murmured. "Remus ..."

He broke into a run again, this time making for the hidden emergency staircase. It was narrow and dark, the steps awkward and steep, but he raced up it in record time, only to emerge onto the Level Floor corridor and almost collide with someone about to come the other way. Both men drew their wands, ready for battle, recognised each other, and lowered them again. Malcolm gave a quick, broad smile, and clasped his nephew's shoulder, before noticing the awkward way he was holding his arm, and the blood that stained his robes.

"Remus," he said. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," Remus assured him. "I'm sure I don't look much worse than you do," he added, eyes travelling up and down his uncle. "You look like you've been through hell and back - literally."

"Yes, things got a bit hot in the Atrium. And here?"

Remus glanced behind him, and Malcolm stepped further into the hallway to see several unmoving figures on the ground, some of them masked, some not. Frank, Mary and Richard Turpin were picking their way among them, seeing whether anyone was in need of help, but in most cases it appeared help would come too late.

"Is one of those Mulciber?" Malcolm asked.

"Mulciber? No, I don't think so. Why?"

"He went up in the lift, to this floor, it said."

"I haven't seen him."

"Then I'd better go and check. And you'd better do something with your arm before you lose much more blood."

And Malcolm started running again, along the corridor towards the lift that was still out of view, driven by a strange sense of urgency without really knowing why - until he saw a flash of light at the far end of the passage, and heard a shout. The nearer he came, the more he could hear, and he did not like it. Mulciber was speaking.

"... you'd have had enough of my medicine last time round! What's the matter, are you into pain? Because I can give you pain, as much of it as you like. Try this!"

Another flash, and then an ominous crunch, a cry of pain, and a much louder, metallic clanging and crashing. The scream turned to one, not of physical injury, but of alarm. Mulciber laughed.

"Looks like you're in for a bumpy ride. But surely you don't need all this light, do you?"

Another flash, and a cry, and then words came through among the screams, the worst sound that Malcolm could ever remember hearing, because he had never heard Laura Lovegood truly terrified before.

"No! No, please! Let me out! Don't - no!"

Another metallic crash, a scream of terror and a laugh. Malcolm's heart pounded in his chest as he skidded around the corner, just in time to see Mulciber use his wand to fling a load of debris down into the lift, which appeared to be stuck between floors at a crooked angle, crunching and dropping a fraction lower every time a new piece of rubble was thrown into it. Laura screamed once more, and then fell silent. Malcolm brought his wand up just as Mulciber prepared to throw something else into the opening, and called the Death Eater's name. The man whirled round. Malcolm raised his wand ready for a duel, but the brightly coloured forces of two separate spells whizzed past him on either side, taking on Mulciber together, and he turned to see Remus and Frank running towards him.

"Get her out of there!" Frank yelled. "Quickly! I'll deal with him."

The other two did not have to be told twice. Malcolm tucked his wand in his belt, and dropped to a crouch by the opening into the lift shaft. He could see nothing in the darkness below, but straining his ears, he could hear a distant, terrified whimpering. Remus conjured a rope from his wand, and tied it firmly around the golden grilles. He kept a hold of it, guiding it with his good hand while Malcolm climbed down it. Barely any light at all reached into the shaft, he was descending into total blackness.

"Laura!" he called, but all he heard in response was the sound of that desperate whimpering. He took out his wand.

"_Lumos_!"

The shaft around him became lighter, and he descended still further, his wand held between his teeth, until at last he felt the crooked floor of the lift cabin beneath his feet, and stepped on it gingerly. It creaked a little, but did not drop any further.

"I'm down!" he yelled up the shaft to Remus, holding his still lit wand into the darkness now.

And then he saw her. She was on her hands and knees on the floor, her back to him, both hands feeling the wall as though hoping it would suddenly give way and reveal an opening, making small, terrified noises.

"Laura," he said softly, and kneeling down behind her, he pulled her back against him. "Shhh," he whispered. "It's me, Malcolm."

She turned in his arms, and he saw that there was fresh blood on her face. There was blood on the hands that gripped his robes, too.

"M-Malcolm ... I ... I ... Get me out of here! Please, get me out of here!"

Tears started into her eyes and she pressed herself against him.

"It's all right," he said, holding her against his chest. "It's all right, I've got you. You're safe."

Their ascent, with both of them hanging on the rope, was difficult, but they made it at last. Malcolm steadied the young woman gently, but she was already much more composed in the light and open space than she had been in that dark, enclosed space. She was still shivering, however, and Remus removed his cloak and put it around her. Malcolm looked around for Mulciber, and saw that Frank had knocked him out with a spell, and tied him up.

"He looks too peaceful," Malcolm grumbled. "Couldn't you have broken a few of his bones before you stunned him?"

"I'd have liked to," Frank said grimly, looking at Laura. "It was him, wasn't it?" he asked. "Mulciber. He placed those two aurors under the Imperius Curse and had them torture and lock you in that cell?"

Laura gave a tight nod. Now that she was regaining some of her composure, she was clearly embarrassed by her display of weakness. Frank and Remus turned tactfully away and levitated Mulciber's unconscious form in front of them, proceeding back along the corridor. Malcolm fumbled in his pocket and finally pulled out a handkerchief.

"Here," he said, and Laura took it gratefully and wiped her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I know I shouldn't have gone to pieces like that, it was unprofessional and stupid and ... but I couldn't help it. It was so dark down there. It was like being back in that cell ..."

"I know," he said sympathetically. "It's all right. No-one would blame you for it, we all have our weaknesses."

"Most people's weaknesses don't make them unfit for fighting, though."

"Mine does ... or did."

She looked a question, and he went on,

"When the Death Eaters had me in their power, Voldemort fed me a potion that drained my energy and gave it to him. Even after so long, when I was close to him on the night that Gordon Gryffindor died, I could feel him sapping my strength. I couldn't go near him, his presence totally debilitated me."

"But that was a physical weakness, something you couldn't help."

"No, I couldn't help it - any more than you could. You're a brave woman, Laura," he said firmly. "One of the bravest I know. And that swine Mulciber deserves to have every bone in his body smashed to dust for what he did to you."

This brought a watery smile to her lips.

"Well," she sighed, "I just hope he hasn't done too much more damage to my face, I'm hideous enough as it is."

"Nonsense," said Malcolm. "Come on. Let's go downstairs."

Her smile faded, and she looked frightened again. "The emergency stairs?"

Malcolm nodded. "As quickly as possible, I promise. I'll light up my wand so it's not so gloomy down there, and you can hold onto me, all right?"

She gave a small, determined nod. They went along the passage, and found Remus and Frank waiting for them there.

"We've sent Mary and Richard on ahead with Mulciber," Frank told them. "You two ready?"

He stepped through the narrow opening, lighting his wand. Malcolm's was still lit, and Remus followed behind, also with his wand lit up, to give them as much light as possible on the way down.

The fighting in the Atrium appeared to have ended at last. The representative entrance hall of the Ministry of Magic was little more now than a smoking battlefield, over which the Fountain of Magical Brethren presided, its gleaming splendour in stark contrast to the soot and grime and the dishevelled appearance of the people around it.

"How's your arm?" Mary asked Remus solicitously.

"It will mend all right," he replied. "I'll put some dittany on it when I get home."

She looked down at the bloodied mess doubtfully. "Are you sure you ought not see a Healer?"

He shook his head. "I'm used to it."

Mary shuddered. "That's ... awful."

"I know," he said quietly. "I'd be better off dead."

Her blonde head jerked up. "I didn't mean ... I wasn't saying that! You know I never meant that. When I said that, I didn't know!"

"No. I tend not to spread it about, for obvious reasons," Remus remarked, as Richard Turpin shot him a look of fascination mingled with disgust, and walked off in the opposite direction.

"Hey!" Frank called after him. "He saved your life, the least you could do is say thank you!"

"I'm not crawling on my knees to thank some filthy half-br..."

"Don't you DARE!" roared Malcolm, stepping in with his wand drawn, his face full of anger.

"No!" said Remus sharply. "Uncle Malcolm, don't! Frank, come on - leave him. It's not worth it."

He got up from the edge of the fountain, where he had been sitting. "I'm going home. I'll see you later, Uncle. Frank - give my love to Alice?"

"Of course."

"Mary ..."

"Yes?"

"Look after yourself."

Mary nodded. "You too. I'll ... see you around, I hope."

"If you like. If you don't mind being seen around unsavoury company ..."

"Yes," she said, casting a dark look after Richard Turpin. "I do mind unsavoury company, actually." She smiled sweetly at Remus. "You, I shall always consider a friend, if I may."

He smiled back, aware far more than she was of the change in her attitude to him since she had found out what he was, the way she no longer batted her eyelids at him as she had done, the way her smile was more relaxed now, less shy, her whole manner so much more casual. "Of course," he said, and walked towards one of the fireplaces.

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Everyone who wasn't too severely wounded after the battle stayed behind at the Ministry to help tidy up, and many hours later, the place was in a much better condition than it had been immediately after the battle. Malcolm picked his way through the crowd and rejoined Moody, Frank and Laura, now carrying Remus's cloak over her arm. She offered it to him.

"Say thank you to your nephew for me, won't you?"

"I will," he said. "But you look like you could do with a drink ..."

"You're right, I could."

"Shall we stop off at the Leaky Cauldron?"

Laura smiled. "That would be nice."

The pub was crowded as it hadn't been for years. People had been celebrating ever since the news of what had occurred at Godric's Hollow, and now that news of the liberation of the Ministry was spreading also, the atmosphere was at a peak of joviality barely remembered by most of those present. Tom the barman greeted Malcolm and Laura heartily, and when he heard where they had just come from, announced that the next round of drinks was on the house.

They withdrew to a small table in the corner, and Malcolm looked down into his glass of Firewhisky for a long moment while Laura watched the people milling about in the pub, talking and laughing and proposing toasts to each other.

"Perhaps we should have a toast of our own," she said at length. "Any suggestions?"

Slowly, Malcolm nodded. "I have one. To absent friends - the people who should have been here with us to celebrate this triumph, people who shouldn't have died ..."

"To absent friends," Laura agreed. "But also to friends who are there when you need them."

They began to drink their Firewhisky in silence, neither having much to say, just allowing the newfound cheerfulness of the people around them to soothe their own weary hearts. After an age, Laura asked,

"What will you do now? Go back to Hogwarts?"

"Not before I've presented myself to Faith so she can see I really am all right."

"I didn't mean that," she said. "I wasn't talking about today. I meant the future."

"The future?"

He repeated the word in wonder, as though it had never occurred to him that such a thing might actually exist. The future. What was the future? A vast, endless, empty something-or-other that he had not contemplated for months, not since he had lost the person with whom he had meant to share it.

"Yes, the future. Will you stay on at Hogwarts? Or will you return to the Ministry? Mr. Crouch has already been talking about rebuilding, re-establishing the old departments as they were, bringing in what he calls 'the right sort of people'. I think he'd be quite willing to forget the past, and have you back in the Auror Office. Who knows, if he becomes Minister for Magic, which seems quite on the cards, he might even make you Head of Magical Law Enforcement."

"Over Moody, and plenty of others who'd deserve it far more than I would?" Malcolm shook his head. "I doubt it. There was never much love lost between us, and that hasn't changed. Besides, I don't know that I want to go back into the Ministry, I've been free of all the red tape and mutual back-scratching that goes on there for too long to relish the thought of going back."

"Then you'll go on teaching?"

Malcolm thought about it briefly, then shook his head. "I took on the Defence Against the Dark Arts post at Dumbledore's insistence, because he urgently needed someone to take John's place, and because I knew that John considered it an important job in wartime, to prepare the kids for what they'd be facing in the outside world. But now the war's over, and I don't think it's all that vital any more. Besides, I wasn't made to be a teacher. I'm not sure what I was made to be."

"It always seemed," Laura said, fingering her glass, "that you were made to be an auror."

"I know, but I'm tired of fighting."

The statement was unexpected, even for Malcolm himself. He had not thought it until he said it, but now that he had, he knew it was true. He had fought long enough, and lost more than he had thought any man could endure losing, and still keep his sanity - the only woman he had ever truly loved, the boyhood friend who had been like a brother to him, his stepson and so many other friends and allies. He was, truly, sick and tired of fighting.

"I think I'll go away," he said, again unaware that his mind had formed the thought until his lips spoke the words. "Go abroad somewhere. Somewhere really different. Africa, perhaps, or China."

"But not forever, surely?"

He looked across the table at Laura. She had spoken hurriedly, and probably as much without thinking as he had, for her cheeks were now flushed and she avoided looking at him.

"I mean," she murmured, "you'll be coming back to see your family, won't you?"

"Of course," he agreed. "It's not as if I'll never be coming back."

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**2 - A Fitting Monument**

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Malcolm hardly slept that night. In his mind, he kept going over all that had happened, both during the battle and after. The strange exhilaration he had felt while fighting for his life, knowing that every breath he took might be the last. The hatred, the bitterness, the grief and anger that had almost led him to kill the defenceless Dolohov. The horrible sound of Laura's anguished screams, and the sight of her, terrified and trembling, because of what Mulciber had done to her.

He found himself thinking of Laura as he had first met her, back when she had begun her auror training. He himself had already been working at the Auror Office for years before she had come along - a pretty, bright young woman with long, smooth, dark hair and eager blue eyes, quick to learn, deft, reliable, a skilled fighter. And he thought of her as she was now, her once flawless face marred by the scar that ran nearly the entire length of the left side of her face, the scar on her lower lip, the faded left eye, the pronounced limp. She had been through a lot in her young life, and as she had once said herself, the scars would never fade. He had known then that she had not meant the outward scars, and had now seen for himself how true her words had been.

And what of his own scars? Would they ever heal? As if in answer, the scar on his back, a reminder of the day he had vainly attempted to flee from Slytherin's Rock, twinged. Malcolm got up out of bed and went to sit by the window, looking out across the grounds of Hogwarts towards the Forbidden Forest. He felt, suddenly, very much alone, and he doubted that he would ever feel any different.

"What will you do now?" Laura had asked him.

Malcolm did not really know the answer. He wanted to get away, far away, but at the same time he was suddenly afraid to go, to leave everything behind, the little he had left. The next morning was to be the day of the Potters' funeral. They would be buried in the cemetery behind the little church at Godric's Hollow, and when that was done, the future would begin, the future that he could not envision, and the thought of it kept him up until the sun began to rise.

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Laura Lovegood had hoped to sleep a little longer this morning, the day after such a long and tiring battle. But her doorbell woke her before the sun had fully risen, and sleepily, pulling her dressing gown around her as she went, she dragged herself to the door, drawing her wand out of force of habit.

"Yes?" she yawned. "Who is it?"

"Malcolm."

Laura opened the door at once. "What's happened?"

"Nothing," he replied. "May I come in?"

"Of course."

She put her wand away and let him pass, following him into the living room. There, he turned to face her. He spoke hurriedly.

"Laura, I've been thinking about this trip abroad that I was talking about yesterday. Am I wrong to think that you ... seemed upset that I'd be leaving?"

"Well, I can't deny that I'll miss you," she admitted. "Not that we've seen an awful lot of each other just lately, but it will feel strange, somehow, knowing you're so far away. Why?"

Malcolm hesitated, mulling over his next words.

"Laura," he said at last, "will you come with me?"

She looked at him without comprehension. "What are you talking about?" she asked.

"What we've been talking about all the time. My going abroad. I'll be going as far away from here as I can get, and I'd like you to come with me."

Her cheeks flushed noticeably. "I know what you're talking about, but I'm not sure I get your meaning. You're suggesting I leave my job, my home, my family, my country ... what would I be leaving it for?"

She was clearly confused, flustered even, and that in turn confused him. He had never seen her like this before, and it made him oddly uncomfortable. It also made him realise how little he had thought this through, despite being up all night, dwelling on it.

"I suppose," he finally managed, "that I'm ... asking you to marry me."

Her eyebrows rose for a moment. She dropped onto the sofa, first looking away, then glancing at him searchingly, then staring at a tiny stain on the cushion beside her. Hearing her speak again made him feel guilty, because he had rarely heard anything so pained.

"I don't suppose," she said, "that you could have chosen a more efficient way to spoil my day than to make me turn down an offer I didn't think I'd ever get, and certainly never believed I'd be able to refuse."

"Refuse?" he echoed heavily.

He moved to sit down beside her, but she looked up so sharply, and her expression was so miserable, that he stopped halfway there, frozen.

"Laura ..."

"Don't you see?" she asked him. "Don't you understand why I can't accept your proposal? You hadn't even thought of it before you got here, had you?"

He gulped. Her remark was accurate, and it stung. He said nothing, and she went on.

"What did you think? That you'd ask me to go with you, for company, and I'd accept just like that, drop everything and come with you, without any kind of expectations?"

"No!" he protested. "That would be ... I mean to say ... I asked you to marry me!"

"No, you didn't. You said you 'supposed' you were asking me to ... marry you."

She stumbled horribly over the last two words, and Malcolm suddenly wished he had said nothing at all. Coming from her, thrown back at him like that, the way he had phrased it sounded disgusting.

"I'm sorry, Laura," he said sincerely, crouching down in front of her. He took her hand, and went on even though she looked away. "I'm sorry. I know that was a lousy way of putting it. I'll say it again, if you like, any way you want. Please, will you ..."

"No!"

She tore her hand away from him and rose abruptly, her back to him. Her voice was choked.

"I know you didn't mean it to sound the way it did. But that isn't the point, not at all. It's _why_ you asked me. You're lonely, Malcolm, and I can understand that. You've suppressed your loneliness for nearly six months, fighting all the time, filling the hole in your life with anger and aggression and venting it in the war. Now you can't do that any more. It's over, but that hole is still there, and you're desperately looking for a way to fill it. But it wouldn't work, not like this. You'd be expecting things to be all right if we were together, expecting to feel whole again, and when you found that you couldn't, you ... you'd turn bitter, and sour, and blame me for it."

Laura turned slowly to face him again. Her eyes were reddened, her cheeks damp. He couldn't imagine feeling any worse than he felt now, any more ashamed of himself for having made her feel that way. But nor could he agree with her.

"You're wrong," he protested, getting to his feet. "I'd never feel that way. How can you think that? I wouldn't blame you, never, I just feel that we both need someone, and ... I don't understand why you're fighting it. It would work, Laura."

She shook her head painfully. "Not like this," she said. Then, "Go away, Malcolm. Do what you planned to do. Go abroad, see new places, meet new people. Think about - about this, if you must. But don't ever make me an offer like this again unless you mean it."

"But ... Laura ..."

He reached for her, but she fled from the room as fast as she could go, and he could not stop her. He paced the floor for a while, brooding on what she had said. Bitter ... sour ... He certainly felt both at the moment. Of course, she had every right to refuse him if she did not want to marry him, but ... he honestly had not expected her to turn him down. He had not come here expecting to propose to her, but once the thought had entered his head, it had seemed like the ideal solution, for both of them. And he could not understand her. Annoyed, he strode back into the hall and out the front door, slamming it behind him.

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Godric's Hollow. Remus was back there again, and he wished himself far away. There had been a time not all that far gone, just over a week ago, in fact, when it would not have occurred to him that he might ever feel this way about the place, when every visit here had been a joy, but not any more. Never again.

The Ministry had been busy. The muggle villagers were all fast asleep in their beds, and would remain so until the effects of the sleeping potion wore off that had been slipped into their drinking water to keep them safely out of the way while a gathering of witches and wizards and assorted magical creatures that would have exposed their Halloween antics as the poor imitations they were crowded the village square, some in grieved silence, some bubbling over as they discussed the event that had brought them together in this place.

The funeral of James and Lily Potter. Remus had never thought himself prone to angry outbursts, but as he watched all these people, for the second time since his father's death he fought an inner battle for control. What were they all doing here? What right had they to be here, what had Lily and James been to them? Did any of them feel as he did, that they themselves would rather be lying under the ground than living to see the day when Lily and James Potter were laid in their graves?

"Remus!" a familiar voice called his name, and Remus detached himself from his mother to greet at least two more people who he felt did, indeed, belong here.

Puffy-eyed and clutching a handkerchief in one hand, Alice Longbottom hugged him ever so tightly. Frank came up beside her, pushing Neville's pram, and Alice's pet rat Cheesy lay curled up on top of the covers, fast asleep.

"All these people," Alice said, looking round her and voicing Remus's own thoughts. "This isn't right, it should have been done quietly."

"Half of them are probably only here because they hope to steal a glimpse of 'the boy who lived', as they're calling him now," Malcolm remarked, joining them. He looked bad-tempered, and sounded irritable. "You'd have thought Dumbledore could have done something about it. You're right, they're making far too much of a fuss."

"Harry's not here though, is he?" said Faith. "It would be wrong to have all these strange people gaping at the child like ... like ..."

"Like some tourist attraction?" Malcolm finished for her. "Quite. No, they're all out of luck, Dumbledore's hidden him away somewhere. But if anyone wants to do any gaping ..."

He broke off, raising his hand to point to the war memorial in the middle of the square. They all turned their heads, and as they watched, it transformed into a newly made statue of a young family, at once so lifelike and yet so far from being alive that Remus felt a most unpleasant jolt in the region of his stomach. Lily and James, he thought, would never have wanted this. And yet ... without knowing where the thought had come from, Remus suddenly found his mind wandering years back, to their days together at Hogwarts, and wondering what the young James Potter would have said if anyone then had suggested that a statue would one day be erected in his memory. He probably would have thought it was a very good joke, Remus realised with a faint smile. And Sirius would never have let him live it down. He experienced another, equally unpleasant jolt, and his smile faded again at once.

"Remus, are you all right?" Alice asked solicitously. "You've gone very pale."

"I'm fine. It's just ... I was just thinking of Sirius."

The people around him exchanged glances. All except Alice, who seemed to hesitate on the brink of saying something, until Frank whispered something to her, and she let whatever it was rest for the time being.

"We'd better go and find Dumbledore and get closer to the grave," Malcolm said. "Otherwise the only people who really were close to James and Lily will be the only ones to be nowhere near them when they're buried."

He took Faith's elbow, and led the way through the crowd. The sight of the two simple, unadorned coffins that stood side by side on the edge of the freshly dug grave gave Remus his third jolt of the day. His mother slipped her arm through his, and he was grateful, but all through the ceremony he kept wishing he were somewhere else, anywhere but here. All that was said seemed like empty, meaningless words to him, none of them expressed what he felt. A part of him wanted to stand up and yell at all of these people, these over-stuffed Ministry officials and sensation-hungry onlookers, and particularly that haughty-looking reporter woman with the short blonde hair who kept sucking her quill and eyeing everyone with eager curiosity, to get on their broomsticks and leave the mourning to people who actually cared, but the more reserved part of him won over as always, and when Dumbledore quietly asked whether he would like to say a few words himself, as the Potters' closest surviving friend, Remus declined.

And then, at last, the funeral was over, the coffins removed from sight, lowered into the ground, covered with soil, and Lily and James Potter were gone. On either side of Remus, Alice and his mother wiped the tears from their eyes. Remus was not crying. His composure, though brittle, was intact.

"I still can't quite believe it, even now," Alice said as they began to walk away. "Lily wrote to me. She explained that they'd had to go into hiding, but she didn't seem worried about it, she just said she hoped it wouldn't be for too long, because James was driving her up the wall. She said ... she said she thought it might all be all right again by Christmas."

She broke into a renewed fit of sobbing, and Frank removed one hand from the pram to put his arm around her. They had crossed the square again now, and Remus paused, looking along the street that he knew led to the Potters' cottage.

"It's still there," Frank said, answering the question he had not asked. "They're not going to pull it down. At least they've shown some sense. I think it makes a far better monument than this statue."

Remus hardly heard him. Leaving them all behind him, his feet carried him once more to the Potters' front door, maybe for the last time, he did not know. His hand came to rest on the garden gate and he made to push it open, then stopped himself. At his touch, a newly made sign had risen up before his eyes, and he read the words written upon it.

_On this spot, on the night of 31 October 1981,_

_Lily and James Potter lost their lives._

He read no more. It was enough. Enough to make his eyes burn and his hand tremble where it rested on the gate. Through a blurry haze, he saw that some people had already begun to leave messages and initials on the sign, short words of thanks in some cases, in others just the usual kind of graffiti that human beings, wizards and muggles alike, tended to leave behind in order to commemorate nothing more grand than their own presence at a certain place at one time or another.

Remus had never left such a message before. But he now took out his wand and, pointing it at the sign in front of him, thought of the words that he would have liked to say to Lily and James, if only they could hear him now. Tiny, neat letters appeared across one corner of the sign, and he signed the message with his initials.

_Wish you were here_.

_R.J.L_.

"How touching. And you would be ...?" said a high, piercing voice in his ear, and Remus jumped and whirled round.

It was the reporter he had noticed before. Her quill poised over a thick notepad, her eyes goggling at him expectantly, she asked,

"So, Lily and James Potter were friends of yours, were they? If you were close to them, perhaps you can tell me ... was Lily Potter really the sweet little innocent everyone seems to be painting her, or isn't it actually more accurate to say that she made good use of her admittedly not inconsiderable charms to wrap men around her little finger and ..."

Remus was thankfully spared the effort of having to control his anger once again by the most opportune reappearance of his uncle, who said sharply,

"Let dead heroes lie, Rita. Write your filthy little articles about people who deserve to have their names dragged through the mud."

She considered him, her eyelids fluttering, and took a step closer.

"Everyone has a little mud in their past somewhere, Mr. Marley. We all have our guilty little secrets. Even ex-aurors and Hogwarts teachers noted for their bravery in bringing down much feared Death Eaters. Not to mention gallantry when charging to the aid of damsels in distress, even if they are - shall we say, beauteously challenged?"

His colour rose. "Watch yourself, Rita," he growled. "I'm not in the mood to be riled today." He turned to Remus. "Dumbledore's calling a meeting," he said. "You coming?"

Eager to get away from the reporter, and get his uncle away from her too, before he said anything she could twist into a damaging story, Remus nodded, and they walked away together.

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**3 - The Order Disbanded**

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What was to be the last meeting of the Order of the Phoenix for many years to come took place in a venue that many of the assembled company had never entered before. In fact, Remus found himself wondering whether he was the only non-member of Hogwarts staff present who had been in the staff room before. The thought brought on a fresh wave of painful memories, recollections of many happy nights spent in mischievous pursuits with his friends. He shrugged them off as best he could, and took a seat between his mother and Minerva McGonagall.

Dumbledore filled several goblets of wine, and handed them round. Hagrid's goblet was rather larger than most, as were the tears that trickled down his face and into his tangled beard.

"Well, my friends," said the headmaster, looking round at them all with a look of both pride and sorrow in his piercing blue eyes, "plenty of toasts have been spoken in the brief time that has elapsed since Lord Voldemort's reign of terror was ended, most unexpectedly, by a one-year-old boy. I am sure that little Harry Potter has had his health drunk more times during the past four days than most of us will ever have in a lifetime. Nevertheless, I suggest we give him one more toast, for luck. But not only him."

Dumbledore raised his goblet.

"To James Potter, who died with courage as I believe he would have wished, confronting his enemy. To Lily Potter, who bravely stood before the cot of her son, shielding him from her murderer. To Peter Pettigrew, who in his grief sadly made the gallant, but fated attempt to arrest the man who had betrayed his friends. To all the people who gave their lives in this war, voluntarily or not, and to everyone in this room, for you have all been staunch and loyal, and exceedingly brave in this long struggle. And finally, of course - to Harry James Potter."

There was a scraping of chairs as they all got to their feet and drank the toast. With a rustling of feathers, Fawkes the phoenix took flight from the bookcase on which he had been sitting, and came to perch on the backrest of Dumbledore's chair. There was a silence after they had all sat down again, that was not broken until Dedalus Diggle asked eagerly,

"So where is he, then? The Boy Who Lived? Where is the child to whom we all owe our thanks?"

Everyone's eyes swivelled to Dumbledore. He drank another sip of his wine in silence before replying.

"Harry Potter is in a safe place, where those of our enemies who may remain cannot touch him."

The little man's face fell in disappointment. "And what about You-Know-Who? Are we really rid of him for good?"

Moody gave a snort. "Not likely."

"What?" Faith exclaimed. "But I thought ..."

She bit her lip, very conscious of the fact that she was not really a part of this gathering, merely a guest. But no-one apart from herself seemed to have noticed.

Frank said, "We found evidence at the Potters' ... remains ... It looks like Voldemort's body was destroyed, but we don't think he's quite finished yet. And we couldn't find his wand."

"But ... surely ... if he has no body ..." Professor McGonagall spluttered.

"We are speaking of Lord Voldemort, Minerva," Dumbledore pointed out. "If anyone can exist without a body, he can. I think it would be wisest for all of us to remain prepared, should he ever return. However, with any luck that will not be for quite some time."

"And if he does come back," Frank affirmed, "we'll be ready to fight him again."

There was a murmur of assent, in which only Malcolm, conspicuously, did not join. He had left his seat and was standing looking out of the window, apparently lost in thought. Slowly, the meeting, brief though it had been, came to a close, and the members of the Order of the Phoenix went their separate ways. In the end, the room was empty but for Dumbledore, Fawkes, and Remus, who let the door fall shut behind his mother, hesitating until his former teacher prompted him into speech.

"Yes? Was there something you wished to say?"

"It's just ... Harry," Remus said, feeling rather awkward. "You keep saying that he is safe, but you won't tell me where ..."

"Excuse me? I have not said that I 'will not' tell you where. I told you on the night that the Potters lost their lives that you need not concern yourself with Harry for the present, because I realised you had much more pressing matters on your mind, and in any case, Harry was perfectly safe. He was with Hagrid, who kept him hidden until the next evening, when we took him to a place of security."

"And is that where he is now?"

"Yes. He is at his aunt and uncle's house, in Surrey."

Remus's jaw dropped. "At ... Petunia's?" he exclaimed. "You call that a place of security? She's not even a witch!"

"I am well aware of the fact. The place is not secure because the people in it are particularly skilled at defending Harry, but because I have made it so. He should be safe there for at least the next ten years."

Remus paced the floor for several long minutes. Finally he stopped and faced Dumbledore determinedly.

"He can't stay there," he said. "Petunia despised Lily - I think it was mainly jealousy, but whatever the reason, she had no affection left in her for her sister, and I doubt she'll have any for Harry. You can't leave him with her!"

"What do you suggest?"

"I ... I don't know, but anything would be better than this. Surely there must be other homes that he could go to, people who would be pleased to have him."

"In spite of the risk that some stray Death Eater seeking for vengeance will come calling at their door? Or Voldemort himself? Anyone who took him would be in grave danger."

"Yes, in spite of that. It wouldn't worry me!"

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "You? Are you volunteering, Remus?"

"What if I am?" Remus demanded. What Dumbledore was asking was not what he had been thinking of, but now that the thought had been voiced, something was stirring inside him, an odd sort of temptation, of longing - to take Harry home, to raise him as he thought James and Lily would have wanted him raised, to tell him how wonderful his parents had been, teach him kindness and understanding ...

But Dumbledore was shaking his silver-haired head. "No, Remus," he said quietly. "I am sorry, but I'm afraid that will not be possible."

"You're thinking it would be too dangerous?" Remus guessed. "That _I_ would be a danger to him, rather than protecting him? I realise I'm not much of a prospect as a surrogate father, of course ..."

"That is not the reason," Dumbledore interrupted. "On the contrary, Remus, believe me. I am sure you would raise him well. And it is not that I do not trust you to do so. You look as though you doubt my words, but it is the truth. It may help you to know that I am giving you the same answer I gave Alice Longbottom when she approached me this morning, and offered to take Harry in and raise him as Neville's brother. Your offer is generous and appreciated, but Harry must stay where he is. He must grow up in the house where his mother's blood lives, that must be the house that he calls home. Lily sacrificed herself for him on the night of Halloween, and her sacrifice is, I believe, what rendered Voldemort incapable of killing Harry. Therefore, it is with her blood that he must be protected, and he cannot live with anyone but his mother's sister."

Remus knew that he was staring, but he could not help it. For a moment, one precious, shining moment, he had pictured himself leading Harry by the hand through the woods, taking him to see his favourite tree ... but the bubble had burst, as he must have known it would, and a part of him knew that it had to be so, because how could he hope to provide the shelter and comfort, let alone the safety, that Lily and James's son deserved? His shoulders sagged a little as he signalled his understanding with a nod.

Dumbledore said regretfully, "I am afraid there is more. Petunia Dursley and her husband have, as I dare say you are aware, a great terror of anything they consider 'abnormal'. This means that we can rely on them keeping Harry with them, where he must remain, only for as long as they are not harassed by any more unusual happenings in their vicinity than is strictly necessary, which would include such things as people popping out of their fireplace or owls knocking at the windows ..."

"Which means," Remus concluded sadly, "no visits, no letters, no Christmas presents - no more contact of any kind?"

"I am sorry," Dumbledore said, and he looked it.

Remus shook his head slowly. He could not speak, not now. In any case, everything that there was to say had been said. He only hoped that things were truly at an end now. He did not think he could stand losing many more of the people he cared about. Without another word, he turned around and left the room.

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In the passage outside the staff room, a couple of people were still milling about. Faith and Malcolm, waiting for Remus, were talking to Alice, while Frank stood a little apart with Alastor Moody.

"How long do you think we've got?" he asked in a low voice.

"Before he comes back? Who can tell?" Moody replied. "Trouble is, there's still too many of his old cronies on the loose. All it takes is for one of them to find him, and he'll be back before we know it."

"There must be something we can do."

"Yes: make sure we capture the lot of 'em, and hurry up about it! Make sure no-one ever does find him. But even then - like Dumbledore said, he'll find a way to come back, sooner or later. Hopefully the wizarding world will have learnt its lesson, though, and be more ready for him."

"Hopefully." Frank hesitated, then suggested, "Of course, we could beat the Death Eaters to it. We could go after Voldemort ourselves and destroy him while he's weak."

The older auror shot him a look that was both approving and something near to pitying.

"Don't kid yourself, Frank," he said. "Even without body or wand, I wouldn't like to see you pit your strength against him."

"It would be worth a try, if it made the world that little bit safer."

"Your time of fighting's over, at least for now. Oh, I dare say you'll come up against the odd left-over Death Eater, we all will before we're done and they're all safely tucked away in Azkaban. But you've got a wife and kid who need you. Look to your own. There may yet be plenty of time for heroics in years to come."

"I don't want to be a hero," Frank said. "I just want to help."

Moody gave a crooked smile and patted him on the shoulder. "I know, my boy, but your wife's waiting, and what she wants you for is more important right now."

Frank smiled back, and went to rejoin Alice. Behind the hulking statue of a gargoyle that stood just behind the spot that Moody was now limping away from, a fair-haired boy crouched in the shadows, his heart thumping excitedly, and crept away along the corridor even as Remus stepped out of the staff room.

"Well?" Alice prompted him eagerly. "What did Dumbledore say? Were you able to persuade him?"

"Persuade him of what?" Malcolm asked, looking from one to the other of them.

Remus shook his head, and Alice's face fell.

"Then Harry really is going to grow up with those muggles," Alice said dully. "Oh, I don't mean that the way it sounds," she added quickly to Malcolm and Faith, "it's just ... the Dursleys?"

"Let's hope they'll raise him better than we fear," said Frank. "At least he will be safe. We'll do our best, of course, at the Ministry, to make sure we capture all the remaining Death Eaters - the trials are due to start tomorrow, we're hoping to hear a few more names - but there's always a chance some will escape. The Lestranges, for instance. No-one's seen hide nor hair of them since all this started, but they must be somewhere, and I for one am glad to know there's no way they can harm Harry where he is now."

"The trials," Alice echoed quietly. Neville was starting to get restless in his pram, and she pushed it absent-mindedly back and forth, a frown on her face. "Has ... has Sirius been tried yet?" she asked her husband.

Frank shook his head. He glanced at Remus, whose expression was unreadable, though a muscle twitched at his jaw, as though it was too tightly clenched. Alice looked at him also.

"Will you be there?"

"Where?"

"At Sirius's trial, of course! To give evidence. To at least try to ... stop this."

"Stop it?" Malcolm asked sharply. "Stop what, for heaven's sake?"

"Them sending him to Azkaban!" Alice cried.

"Alice, please," Frank warned, looking around him. "Must you?"

"Yes, I must, seeing as it seems no-one else will!" she shot back at him. "What's the matter with you all? Surely you can't be thinking of letting him go on trial undefended, he won't stand a chance!"

"What defence is there?" Faith asked quietly. "The evidence ..."

"Oh, hang the evidence!" Alice interrupted her. "I don't care how much evidence they've got, I just know there has to be some mistake. I _know_ Sirius. He has his faults, but disloyalty to his friends was never one of them. He loved James!"

"So we all thought," Malcolm said guardedly, "but there is no denying that James and Lily are both dead, and Sirius was the only one who could possibly have betrayed their location to anyone."

Alice turned away from him. "Remus!" she appealed. "You know him best! Can you believe this of him?"

The expression on his face made her wish she had not spoken. He looked hurt, shattered, torn ... When he spoke, his voice was choked.

"I would never have believed it of him, no. But I can see no other explanation. As Uncle Malcolm says, he was the only one who ... who could have ... But if you have another theory," he went on, almost pleadingly, "if you have even the faintest notion of what can have gone wrong, if you can give me anything on which to go on that might possibly mean his innocence after all, then please, tell me, and I'll be only too happy to believe it! Give me anything, Alice. Can you?"

Tears filled her eyes once more, and she lowered her head. "Only my own knowledge of him, and you have that yourself. I just ... can't believe it."

Frank put his arm around her, and she leaned against him. They all proceeded downstairs and out into the grounds together in silence. Malcolm accompanied them as far as the gates.

"I'll see you tomorrow, sis," he said to Faith. "I've got lessons until lunch, I'll come round then. There's something I've got to tell you, about a decision I've made ... I'll see you tomorrow," he repeated abruptly, and turned away, leaving her confused and rather worried.

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**4 - A Final Request**

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Sirius Black had no idea what time of day it was, what day of the week, or how many days had passed since his arrest. He sat in one corner of a completely dark cell, his knees drawn up to his chest, his head leaning back against the hard stone wall, his eyes closed. Behind the eyelids that twitched every now and then, he saw it all over and over again - the empty hideout, the twinkling lights of Godric's Hollow far below, the ruined house, and James. His best friend, his brother, the one person in the world who had meant more to him even than Bridget. He felt as though part of his soul had died and was lying spread-eagled amongst the wreckage of what had once been such a happy home, the hazel eyes no longer laughing, their sparkle gone forever.

And Sirius himself felt lifeless, cold. Had he been able to see it, his breath would have swirled like mist in front of his eyes. His very bones felt frozen. But it was several seconds before he realised the cold had grown more intense and was no longer the natural chill of a lonely cell. Dementors. And here he was without a wand. Not, he thought gloomily, that he could ever hope to produce a Patronus now.

The cell door opened and the light behind it, though faint, seemed to glare like sunlight to his eyes, now so used to the darkness that had engulfed him.

"Hold out your hands," an unfamiliar voice commanded.

Sirius obeyed, because what was the point in resisting? There was a sound of chains clanking, rushing across the stone floor, then a pair of manacles magically closed around his wrists. As if he could have made any attempt to escape anyway, he thought wryly, with Dementors so close, without his wand.

"Get up."

The chains that now bound him hand and foot did not make it easy. Two Dementors swept into the cell, their cold, scabbed hands seizing his arms and hauling him out into the hallway.

"Court room ten," said the same voice that had spoken before, and Sirius saw a man with a mane of tawny hair and strange, yellowish eyes that stared at him coldly from behind a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles.

The Dementors led Sirius all the way into the courtroom and the door closed behind him with a heavy thud. He was placed on a chair in the centre of the great chamber, and still more chains snaked up and bound him to it, until he could no longer move a muscle. He wondered idly whether he really looked that dangerous, unshaven, starved and over-tired as he was. The Dementors stayed close to him, and he shivered with cold.

"You are Sirius Black?" he was asked.

He looked up to see Bartemius Crouch looking down at him. The benches around the room were half empty. It almost disappointed Sirius, in a wry, humourless sort of way, that he did not seem to have merited the presence of the full Wizengamot.

"Yes," he said in a voice that shook more than he had meant it to, "I am Sirius Black."

"You stand accused," Crouch went on, "of treason and murder, namely the betrayal of James and Lily Potter to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, which resulted in their deaths on the night of October 31st of this year, and of the murder of Peter Pettigrew on the following day, November 1st, in the presence of muggles, of whom you killed twelve."

_Peter,_ Sirius thought grimly. _The murder of Peter Pettigrew. If only ..._

Every nerve in his body seemed tense, his skin crawled in the presence of the Dementors, and the memory of James's body on the ground before him grew ever clearer, as though he were back once more in that place and on that night, frantically pleading that it were not so, that James could rise again and be there as always, happy and smiling, alive.

"You have been sentenced, by order of this court, to life imprisonment in ..."

"What?!"

Something inside him stirred as, out of all that Crouch must have been saying, this line alone penetrated the haze of his thoughts. Sentenced? No, that couldn't be, his mind had not wandered so long as all that. Where was his trial, where was his defence? Had he missed the part where they called in witnesses?

"You've got it wrong!" he protested with an effort, the despair brought on by the Dementors' presence pressing down on him. "I never betrayed Lily and James, never! I would have died before I betrayed them!"

Crouch held up a sheet of parchment.

"I have here the written testimony of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, whose word I do not think any in this courtroom would dare to challenge. It names you, Sirius Black, as the Potters' Secret-Keeper. Therefore, you alone were privy to their location, and you alone were able, by the power of the Fidelius Charm, to reveal it to any third party."

"But ..."

Crouch cut across him impatiently, "This court has agreed that this leaves no room for doubt or debate. You have been found guilty of treason and murder, and are hereby sentenced to life imprisonment in Azkaban."

Sirius could no longer even open his mouth to defend himself. He could not believe that any of this was real. Dumbledore's testimony, no other suspects to question, no additional witnesses, no-one to help him protest his innocence, the sentence agreed upon before he had ever sat on this chair. And now the Dementors were moving him again, taking him out of the chamber, and before he quite knew how he had come there, Sirius was in a boat with Crouch himself and a team of aurors, chained like some wild animal, the prison fortress looming on the horizon, little more than a black speck against a grey sky at first, but growing larger with relentless speed. They had long left the seagulls behind them. No living creature ventured near this place unless it had to.

The waters lapping against the black rock had an icy appearance, and Sirius felt colder than he had ever felt in his life before, even including that time when he had swum, as a dog, to Slytherin's Rock.

Figures now glided down towards the shore to receive him, drawing long, rattling breaths and draining all hope and happiness from the world around them. Sirius was heaved out of the boat by the aurors, who stayed close to the water's edge, evidently unwilling to go any closer to that terrifying fortress and the creatures that dwelt there.

It was only then that it truly sank in. Azkaban. He was here, and here he would stay. This impenetrable fortress, these nightmarish shapes, were all that he would see for the rest of his life. The murky sky that hung over him now was the last that he would ever set eyes on. He had looked his last on the world as he knew it. Never again would he see a tree or flower, hear the merry chirping of birds calling to each other, see a squirrel gathering its store of nuts for the winter. What he wouldn't have given, now, for just one last look at the dull, grey block of flats where he had lived, or to hear the London traffic rumbling past his kitchen window, a police siren or the neighbours' television, on too loud as usual.

All he could look forward to now was eternal cold and darkness, endless despair ...

And as the Dementors took charge of him and began leading him towards the prison, he pictured in his mind all the things that he would never see or hear again, and among them one thing suddenly stood out more clearly than anything else, and it startled him that no such thought had come to him before. He pictured Remus Lupin's face, calm and unreadable, and found himself trying to imagine what grief was contorting it now, what agony must be in the heart of the friend he had unjustly suspected, and realised with sudden horror that more than the people who had sentenced him to live out his life in this dreadful place must think him a monster, even the last person in the world whose good opinion he had ever sought to hold must now believe him guilty of unspeakable evil, would never know the truth ...

Sirius revolted at the thought. Placid, acquiescing until this point, he now struggled and yelled.

"No! N-no, wait, you can't do this, you've got to let me explain! You can't shut me away like this!"

"You brought in on yourself, Black!" Crouch shouted back.

"I know, I know, but you don't understand, there's someone I must tell ... someone I must see. Please, for pity's sake! Isn't a man allowed one final wish before his life is over?"

"And what would you wish for, Sirius Black?" Crouch asked, approaching him coldly. "What could you possibly want?"

"I need to speak to Remus Lupin," Sirius replied steadily. "Please. Tell him I must see him!"

"Remus Lupin," Crouch repeated interestedly. "What has he to do with this?"

"Nothing!" Sirius protested. "But I've got to see him, please!"

Crouch paused for a moment. Then, however, he motioned to the Dementors to take Sirius away, and they did, and Crouch ignored the continued screams and pleas of the young man being dragged into that place of horror, and got wordlessly back into the boat, which glided gently away from the shore, back to where autumn sunlight shone and seagulls soared over sparkling blue waters.

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"A Ministry spokesperson has confirmed that notorious mass murderer Sirius Black's sentence was passed and executed yesterday, and he has been deported to Azkaban prison," the newsreader on the Wizarding Wireless Network was saying. "I am sure we will all sleep a little sounder in our beds for this news."

Faith, getting breakfast ready in the kitchen on the day after Sirius's imprisonment, shook her head. She did not expect that Remus would sleep any easier for knowing that the last survivor of his best friends was now locked in a prison cell, surrounded by Dementors. She would be glad if he did, of course. She did not think he had slept much at all since the Potters' deaths.

Of course, Faith herself had not had much sleep either lately. When he had come to see them, Malcolm had beaten about the bush for a while, but he had then finally revealed to them his plan of going abroad for a time. At first, Faith had thought he meant a holiday, but it had soon become clear that something more permanent was what he had in mind, though he had not been able to tell her precisely where he intended to go or what he planned to do when he got there. The only thing he had been adamant about was the time of his departure: As soon as possible, the moment Dumbledore was able to find someone to replace him. He had remarked dryly that he would probably go down in the history of Hogwarts as the shortest-lasting Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher ever.

Faith had tried to put a brave face on her brother's news. She had told him affectionately that no-one could ever replace him in her eyes, and that night in her bedroom those eyes had filled with tears, and she had lain awake for many hours, until finally she cried herself to sleep. She had lost her parents many years ago. She had lost Bridget. She had lost John. And now she felt as though she were losing her brother also.

She put the teapot down on the kitchen table beside the almost empty sugar bowl, and made a mental note to ask Remus to buy a few things while he was out. Although ... now that Voldemort was gone and his Death Eaters were on the run, she supposed that she could go out and buy them herself.

Faith stepped out into the hall to call Remus, but just then there was a knock at the door, and she went to answer it. She was surprised to see Bartemius Crouch, reinstated head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, accompanied by a strange man with a mane of thick, tawny hair and yellow eyes, and a young woman with a scar down the left side of her cheek and one on her lower lip, whom she recognised as Laura Lovegood.

"Good morning, Mrs. Lupin," said Crouch, looking officious.

"Good morning."

"This is Miss Laura Lovegood ... Rufus Scrimgeour ... We'd like a few words with your son, if it's convenient."

He chose his words politely, but there was no request in the tone of his voice, it was much more an order. Faith stood aside to let them in, frowning a little.

"If you'll go through into the living room, I'll fetch Remus. It's the door on your right."

The men entered through the door she indicated, but Crouch motioned to Laura to stay back. She remained in the hall, watching the living room door close behind Scrimgeour, and met Faith's questioning look with a crooked smile.

"I think that Mr. Crouch wants me to make sure your son doesn't make a dash for it."

"Make a ... but why on earth should he?"

Faith was so visibly annoyed that Laura raised her hands defensively.

"Please, Mrs. Lupin, don't kill the messenger. Believe me, I wish no harm to anyone in your family."

Faith nodded. She went upstairs and returned a little while after, Remus close behind her.

"Good morning, Miss Lovegood," he said. "What's all this about?"

"I don't know exactly," she replied. "But I advise you to be careful. Watch what you say. And if there is anything, anything at all that you think might incriminate you ..."

She glanced over her shoulder at the front door behind her. Remus's eyebrows rose, but he said nothing. He walked into the living room, the two women following. Crouch had taken a seat in John's chair, and Remus stiffened a little at the sight, but made no comment. Scrimgeour stood with his back to the window, one hand in the pocket of his robes under the long, heavy travelling cloak. Laura remained close to the door, and Remus and Faith sat on the sofa.

"Well, Mr. Crouch," Remus began. "What can I do for you?"

"You may have heard that Sirius Black was transferred to Azkaban yesterday."

A muscle twitched in Remus's jaw, but he replied calmly, "I had not heard. But I have been expecting the news."

"Do you regret it?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Remus saw Laura shift almost imperceptibly. Guessing that this was her way of warning him to be cautious, he gave a wry smile.

"If I said I did, would I be sent to join him?" he asked mildly.

Suppressing a gasp, Faith grasped his arm quickly and warningly. He covered her hand with his, and continued to look steadily at Crouch, whose smile was cold.

"Very clever," he remarked. "Did you learn that from your father? Or was it your ... _sire_ ... who taught you how to avoid being caught out by the Ministry? After all, he has proved himself skilful in evading capture."

The young man's smile vanished in a heartbeat.

"If you mean Fenrir Greyback, I am glad to say I learnt nothing from him except for what I most decidedly do _not_ wish to become. I happen to be fond of children."

Crouch laughed humourlessly.

"A heart of gold beneath a silver pelt? Is that what you would have me believe?"

"It happens. Have you ever read _Hairy Snout, Human Heart_? It's a good book. I recommend it. It might help you to believe that a werewolf need be no more evil than the next man."

"The next man? That could be me, or Scrimgeour here ... or Sirius Black?"

Though Remus showed no reaction, Faith did. She looked quickly between him and Crouch, and then asked, "Mr. Crouch, what are you implying? We have been under a lot of strain lately, and I think it would be much easier on all our nerves if you would just speak plainly."

"Plain English, Mrs. Lupin? You'd like me to spell it out for you? Very well, but I warn you, you may not like it. I am sorry for your recent loss. I ... did not always see eye to eye with your husband, but I will admit he was a respectable person. However, it is not your husband's loyalties that have been put into question."

"But my son's have? How, may I ask?"

"By his association with the werewolf Fenrir Greyback, and with Sirius Black who, I may add, mentioned his name ..."

Now Faith sounded and looked unusually angry - angrier than Remus could remember ever having seen her. The calmness of her voice was obviously forced.

"My son's 'association' with Fenrir Greyback, as you call it, began and ended with Greyback biting him when he was only three years old. And as for Sirius Black - Albus Dumbledore himself admits he was deceived in him, as we all were. If Sirius is now claiming Remus had anything to do with his treachery ... it's monstrous! My husband was killed because we were betrayed. Do you think my son conspired to murder his own father?"

"Sons have been known to turn on their parents." Crouch turned to Remus. "You were seen talking to Greyback, both in Hogsmeade and at the Ministry."

"I'm glad you seem to be receiving so much cooperation from obliging eye witnesses," said Remus sardonically. "I don't suppose you have any ear witnesses who can tell you what we talked of, and what my position was during our conversations."

"Why don't you tell me that yourself?"

"Because I doubt that you would believe me anyway."

"Do not defy me, Lupin, it would be most unwise. Your kind were never popular in our world, and I do not think the events of this war will make people look any more sympathetically on you. There is that business at Fencombe ... You know about that, I trust?"

"Of course."

"And can you tell me where you yourself were that night?"

"He was he..."

"Mum ..." Remus interrupted sharply, before she could finish the lie.

"Were you?" Crouch asked. "Were you really here?"

"No," Remus confessed. "I have no memory of that night. I only know that a witness confirmed that I was not at Fencombe."

"What witness?"

"Jeremy Crowe."

"The Crowe boy? How convenient. Another werewolf, and a dead one at that."

"Before he died, he told my uncle that he knew where I spent that night. He himself drugged me with the Draught of Living Death."

"And he told your uncle this? Again, most convenient ..."

Faith broke into the conversation once more.

"Am I to take it that you're now accusing my brother as well as my son? What is the matter with you? Haven't you got Death Eaters to arrest? Or can't you get at the real ones, and do you therefore have to make the numbers up in other ways so that everyone will praise you? Are you incapable of apprehending the people who deserve to be punished? Or are you afraid to go after them?"

Crouch's colour rose angrily.

"Mrs. Lupin, I do not think you have the right to ..."

"Right?!" she demanded heatedly, getting to her feet. "What right don't I have? To defend my son against people who would condemn him just for being what he is? I've had too many years of that, I won't stand for it again. We have lost nearly everything, Mr. Crouch. We lost our friends, I lost my husband ... I very nearly lost my brother once, and both he and my son have risked their lives many times over to win this war for you, most recently helping in the battle to free your precious Ministry! Does that same Ministry now accuse my son, simply because he is a werewolf and happens to have been deceived by someone he thought was his friend?"

She paused at last, drawing breath with visible effort, and Remus, a look of both surprise and concern on his face, stepped up beside her and tried to calm her down, but she would not hear of it.

"Answer me, Mr. Crouch! What charges would you bring forward against my son? Are the 'evidence' of a bite that he couldn't defend himself against and the word of a murderer enough to send him to prison? I thought the days of the Ministry's injustice and cruelty were meant to be over!"

"Be careful what you say, Mrs. Lupin," Crouch warned her. He too was standing now. "I will make allowances for the fact that you are upset, but that only goes so far. You do not want to oppose the Ministry, believe me. Now, I think perhaps it would be better if your son accompanied me back there, then perhaps we might continue this conversation in more ... controlled surroundings."

A lot of things happened very suddenly. Faith unexpectedly drew John's wand out of her pocket and pointed it straight at Mr. Crouch. Remus leapt forward to hold her back. Scrimgeour and Laura's wands came up simultaneously, there was a flash and a bang and a spell rebounded from an invisible wall that had sprung up in the middle of the room, and Scrimgeour ducked his own hex. Then the fireplace sprang to life and Alastor Moody's head appeared there, looking particularly eerie surrounded by green flames, and with a chunk missing out of his nose.

"Crouch," he grunted, "stop mucking about and get back here."

"Don't you talk to me like ..."

"Knock it off, Barty. Dumbledore's just heard what you're up to, and he told me to tell you that if you don't pack it in, he will be forced to withhold his vote when it comes to electing the new Minister for Magic. Also, your wife's here."

"My ... my wife?" Crouch's fury turned swiftly into confusion. "Why?"

"For the same reason Dumbledore is. Your son. He's gone missing. Hasn't been seen anywhere in or around Hogwarts since dinner time yesterday. So you'd better get back here."

Moody's head disappeared again, without waiting for an answer. Crouch looked stunned. He glanced at Remus, who had finally taken his father's wand from Faith and put it aside.

"Do you want me to come along, then?" he asked quietly.

Crouch stared at him for a moment, indecisive and angry at the same time. Then, without another word, he motioned to Scrimgeour and strode right out of the room. Seconds later, they heard the front door slam.

"Well," Faith said. "Well, I ... I ..."

She glanced at her son, and dropped back onto the sofa, suddenly shaking. He sat down next to her with a faint smile and put his arm around her. Looking up at Laura, he said,

"That was your shield charm just now, wasn't it? Thank you."

"It was nothing."

"It was risky. Crouch might have charged you with obstructing justice."

"Justice? Hardly. He had no real evidence against you, this whole visit was just ridiculous. So what if Sirius Black did mention your name?"

"I wonder what exactly he did say," Remus said thoughtfully.

"I shouldn't," Laura advised. "Try not to think about it too much, and don't worry about Crouch. He wants to be Minister, he won't risk losing Dumbledore's support."

"That's another favour I owe Dumbledore. And you."

At this, Laura smiled. "Oh no, really. I owed you for the loan of your cloak, so I would say we're quits now, wouldn't you?"

"At least let us offer you a cup of tea before you go."

To this, Laura did not say no.

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November rushed by in a hurry, and by the end of the month Dumbledore had found someone willing to take over the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts, and Malcolm packed his most essential belongings in a suitcase - clothes, a couple of books, and some photographs - and placed the rest in a trunk. This he took with him when, for the last time for he did not know how long, he visited the familiar little cottage on the moors, and he left it there with his sister and nephew.

"Where will you go first?" Remus asked him when, after one last evening meal together, he and his mother walked Malcolm to the door.

Malcolm shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't know. I thought maybe Egypt. I might apply as a curse-breaker for Gringotts, they're always looking."

"Isn't that terribly dangerous?" Faith asked quietly.

Her brother shrugged again. He felt suddenly very strange, knowing that it would be such a long time before he saw them both again, and he realised that he was staring, but couldn't help it. Remus was holding up well, he thought, all things considered, after all the blows he had taken lately. He showed very little of what he might be feeling at this moment, and it was only because Malcolm knew him so well that he recognised the signs - the stiffness of his posture, the too-calm expression - that he was able to guess that this separation would be painful to the young man. Faith, on the other hand, wore her heart on her sleeve, she wasn't even attempting to smile now, and for a moment as he stood looking at her miserable face, Malcolm doubted his decision to leave, and almost thought that he couldn't do it.

But then he thought of Bridget, lying dead in his arms, of John dying right before his eyes, of the bodies of James and Lily still and cold upon the ground, and of his last conversation with Laura, and he knew that he simply had to get away, he needed a change, a new beginning, some purpose in life, and a place where he could stop dwelling on the past and think about what he really wanted to do with his future, without being hampered at every turn by consideration for the people who, though they wished him well, would always place too much importance on simply having him close.

"Goodbye, Remus," he said at last.

"Goodbye, Uncle Malcolm," came the quiet reply, and they embraced tightly.

Malcolm turned at last to Faith, who clung to him when he put his arms around her, and sobbed bitterly.

"Don't, Faith," he begged her. "I won't be gone forever. I'll come back to see you, I promise. And you can always come to see me."

He straightened up, and gently prised her fingers off his robes. Remus stepped forward and put an arm around her.

"I love you," Malcolm said softly. "Both of you. I'll see you, sis. And you, Remus. I'll write as soon as I've settled."

Remus nodded. "Take care."

With one last nod and a smile that looked rather forced, Malcolm picked up his suitcase, turned around on the spot, and was gone, and somehow it seemed as though the world had shrunk a little.

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**5 - Crucio**

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Alice Longbottom, dressed in the champagne coloured night gown Frank had given her for Christmas, came out of the bathroom and walked along the passage to the nursery door. She leaned against the frame, watching and listening to her husband's voice reading _The Tales of Beadle the Bard_ to their one-and-a-half-year-old son curled up in his cot.

"And so," Frank read in his soft, pleasant voice, "the Elixir of Life had made the wizard immortal, yet he lived a sad and lonely life, for all of his friends had long since died and there was no-one for him to talk to."

He closed the book and laid it on a little table, looking at his son. Neville was too tired to even protest that his father had stopped reading, and Frank tucked him in gently and planted a kiss on one of his soft, plump cheeks. He turned, and only then noticed Alice watching him with a loving smile. When he reached her, she slipped her arms around his neck and said,

"You have a lovely reading voice."

He laughed. "Is that a polite way of telling me I have a voice that sends people to sleep?"

"Only because it's so soothing."

She kissed him, and for several minutes, they needed no more words. When at last she pulled back her head, it was to say,

"You know, darling, now that the fighting's over, we really ought to start picking up the pieces and rebuilding."

"I thought that was what he had all been doing for the past month or so."

"Well, yes, but I didn't mean out there." She jerked her head towards the window. "I meant in here. I still have this vision of you as an old man with grey hair and a beard not quite as long as Dumbledore's, sitting in a rocking chair with half a dozen grandchildren around you, the youngest bouncing on your knee, while you tell them stories of the old days and how bravely you fought in the war. We can't expect Neville to provide all those grandchildren on his own, you know."

Frank gave a small frown.

"There isn't really all that much space though, is there? If we had another child, where would they sleep? And then there's Hogwarts to consider - robes and school books don't come cheap, my dear."

"I'm sure we'd manage. You were willing enough to have Harry ..."

"That would have been different - an emergency, and I'm sure we would have managed all right, but if we're planning this, we ought to think it through."

"Don't you want any more children?" Alice asked almost accusingly. "I thought you did."

"I do, but ... we ought to think about this properly, and discuss it. Please don't be cross, Alice," he added, and kissed her swiftly. "Come on, let's get some sleep, and we'll talk about it some more in the morning."

Slowly, Alice nodded. She snuggled against him on their way across the hall.

"I'm so glad we made it through," she said. "There were so many times when I was afraid of losing you."

"That's all behind us now. No more war, no more fighting. Plenty of tomorrows to ..."

He was interrupted by an ear-splitting squeal, and something very small shot off the pillow on Alice's side of the bed and raced around their feet, then sped across the hall and into Neville's room.

"Cheesy!" Alice called after the rat.

"What the ...?"

Frank made to go after the creature, but he did not get far. An almighty crash sounded suddenly from the downstairs hall, and the house shook so violently that Alice grabbed her husband's arm for support.

"What was that?"

"I - I don't know," he stammered, but his face had turned very white.

Unlike his wife, Frank was still fully dressed, and his trained auror reflexes now led him to plunge his hand into his pocket and draw out his wand. He gently pushed Alice into the bedroom, then stepped out into the hall. A series of further crashes sounded below, and flashes of coloured light illuminated the stairs. Frank stood frozen, undecided for a moment where to take up his position, with his wife in one room and his son in the other. As the first of the intruders appeared on the stairs, however, Neville's door somehow slammed shut from the inside, and Frank headed into the bedroom.

"What is it?" Alice cried. "What's happening?"

"Get behind me," he told her hurriedly.

"What? No! Frank ... Neville ..."

"He'll be all right, just get behind me!"

She tried to pass him, but he pulled her back and leapt in front of her just as the first spell shot through the open door.

"_Protego_!"

It rebounded against the door frame, showering splinters everywhere. Frank aimed his wand at a chest of drawers and sent it flying at the doorway. The Death Eater who had been about to enter jumped back with a yell as the drawers left their places and pummelled him angrily.

"_Reducto_!" Frank shouted, and the chest exploded into the hallway, wrenching more yells from the attackers, but not stopping them.

Flames engulfed the pile of clothing that had fallen out of the drawers, then took on the shape of a giant serpent and came at them. Frank repelled it with water from his wand, shouting,

"Alice, see if you can get through to one of them, I'll cover you!"

Clinging to the back of his shirt, she struggled to concentrate on something other than the spells flying back and forth and the baby lying in a room across the hall, where she could not reach him. Muddled thoughts assailed her as she opened her mind. The first were desperate thoughts, filled with love. His wife, his child ... they would not get them, would not harm them, he'd die first ...

Alice's fingers closed more tightly on the fabric of Frank's shirt. Then came other thoughts, she was looking through the eyes of a baby standing in its cot, frightened by the loud bangs, wanting Mummy.

_Don't cry, Neville,_ she told him quickly through her thoughts. _Do as Mummy says, darling, lie down, and don't cry._

She felt him obey. The next thoughts were strange, inhuman, just a vague sense of danger, of the need to protect. Very briefly, she saw the nursery again, this time through the rat's eyes, everything overlarge and the human child lying in its cot, fighting back the tears. _Protect_.

And then, at last, she felt them. Consciousnesses that were new and unknown to her, bent on destruction, but not murder, oddly enough.

"There are four of them," she breathed.

"I know!" Frank panted, staggering backwards and nearly knocking her over.

Her eyes refocused on the real world. The room lay in ruins already, and the last of the four Death Eaters had just passed the threshold. So far, Frank had fought them off magnificently. Despite there being four of them while he fought alone, he had torn holes in their robes, singed their hoods, given one of them a limp and caused him to lose the use of his wand arm, forcing him to use the other hand.

Alice concentrated on the Death Eater nearest to them. He had torn off his hood when Frank's spell had set it on fire, and she thought that the narrow, pale young face looked familiar. She searched for a name, and found it within his own thoughts. Barty Crouch, jr. Her discovery must have startled him, for his hand became unsteady at just the right moment, and Frank's curse penetrated, shattering his wand arm so that he howled in pain.

But as Alice prepared to reach for the next mind, she met with a powerful resistance. One of the others had discovered her, and appearing to be skilled at Occlumency was keeping her out, trying to turn the connection around.

The last Death Eater who had entered the room raised his wand and aimed it, not at Frank, but at her. It took Frank a split second to send a wooden bed post, sharpened to a point, flying at the man like a spear. One of the others seized the opportunity. In a flash of purple, he swung his wand through the air like a sword, slashing Frank's left leg open. Unprepared, Frank cried out in pain, and it was only Alice's support that kept him on his feet. He brought his wand back up and aimed at the man who had wounded him, but the pain weakened his spell, and it was too easily deflected. Once again, the Death Eaters sent flames at them. Frank pulled Alice close to him and enveloped them both in a shield charm while the fire consumed everything around them. She looked up into his face, and only now realised that it was bleeding from many other wounds that she had not seen caused while she struggled to find the Death Eaters' minds.

The moment the fire died down, Frank moved in front of her again, but he was visibly weaker now, the shield charm and his wounds had drained him of power, and now all four Death Eaters were combining forces against him at once.

"_Incarcerous_!" they chanted together, and the force of their combined spells was too much.

Though Frank's wand worked quickly, slicing through half the ropes that assailed him, there were still enough to bind him. Alice snatched the wand from his hand as he fell to the floor, but it was mere seconds before she had joined him, and the figures of their attackers loomed over them both, ruthless and menacing. Then her world went black.

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Alice woke to find herself lying on wooden floorboards in an unfamiliar room with a sloping ceiling that made her think it must be some sort of loft. There were two skylights, but both had been boarded up, so that only very little moonlight penetrated the slats. The space was bare and dusty, and the only opening besides the boarded up windows appeared to be a trap door with a rusty iron ring in it. Without really expecting any success, Alice tugged at this, but found the wooden flap as tightly shut as she had expected. She sat down on the floor again, shivering. There was a draught coming from somewhere, and she was still only wearing the thin night gown, but her shivers were not due only to the cold. Alice did not think she had ever been so frightened in her life. Not only had she never been able to get over the fear of lofts like this that had been with her since that day in her childhood when she had lost both her parents. Far worse was the fact that she was quite alone, with no way of knowing where she was or why she had been brought here, or what had become of the two people she loved most in the world.

The minutes dragged on until they felt like hours. Finally, after an age, Alice heard footsteps somewhere below, and then the trap door opened with a creak. Before she could reach it, a large shape rose through the opening, was levitated towards her, and landed on the floor with a heavy thud and a grunt.

"Think about it, Longbottom!" a woman's voice called up through the hole. "You have a wife and child. I'm sure you have a very pleasant little life planned out for yourselves. You don't want to ruin it out of sheer stubbornness."

The trap door banged shut. The figure on the ground beside it did not move, and Alice crawled closer while her heart thumped fearfully in her chest.

"Frank?" she whispered.

At the sound of her voice, he shifted, sat up, and his eyes searched the gloom for her. Alice crawled to his side and threw her arms around his neck. He clutched her so tightly that she could barely breathe, and she felt his warm breath against her shoulder as he pressed his face against her skin. He was trembling, and this frightened her even more than the darkness and the cold. She stroked his hair as she had often stroked Neville's when he woke up crying, and after a little while, Frank seemed to become calmer, and to relax a little in her arms.

"Darling, what did they do to you?" Alice asked tremulously, not at all sure she wanted to hear the answer.

He did not give her one for a long moment, just went on holding her. Then, at last, he sat up straighter and looked at her. His face still bore the marks of the Death Eaters' spells, and looking down she saw that they had not bothered to heal his leg wound either. There was blood on his lip that looked like he had bitten it.

"They ... questioned me," he replied. His voice was strained and strangely hoarse, as if he had a sore throat.

"What about?"

"Lord Voldemort's whereabouts."

"What? But ... that's ridiculous. How should you know anything about that? Why would they think ...?"

"I'm afraid it's my own fault," Frank replied heavily. "I was talking to Moody after the last Order meeting, saying that we should see if we couldn't find Voldemort and finish him off before any of his Death Eaters have a chance to rejoin him. Apparently we were overheard."

"After the last Order meeting? But that was at Hogwarts, who could have ...?" She broke off, suddenly realising. "Of course. Barty Crouch. He was one of the ones who attacked us. Who are the other three, do you know?"

Frank nodded. "The Lestranges. Peter's sister, her husband and his brother. They're determined to find their old master and restore him to power."

"And they think we can tell them where to look?"

"Yes."

"And I suppose they wouldn't believe you that we don't have any idea where he is ... Frank?" she prompted when he did not answer.

He sighed. "I haven't told them that."

Alice gaped at him confusedly. "You didn't ... but why not? Surely, if we can convince them that we can't tell them what they want to know, they'll realise kidnapping us was pointless and ... and ..."

"And that we're of absolutely no value to them whatsoever, and they may as well kill us," Frank finished. "That is why I'm going to let them believe anything they want, for as long as I can, and you must do the same. Promise me, Alice," he added, looking deep into her eyes. "Promise me that whatever happens, you won't tell them you don't know where Voldemort is."

"Whatever happens?" she echoed feebly. "What _will_ happen? What has been happening, while I was still unconscious? What have they been doing to you, Frank?"

Once again, he did not answer. Instead, he stroked her cheek gently and said,

"You know, Alice, I've been thinking about what you said earlier, about having more children. I thought if we partitioned our room, we could convert Neville's nursery into a main bedroom and turn our old room into two kids' rooms. And we don't really use the loft, I'm sure that could be redone, and Neville could move up there when he's old enough. It's silly to worry about things like school robes and books, because any other children we have can use Neville's ..."

Alice just stared at him for a while, and then understood. She said miserably, "You ... you're just saying that, aren't you? To make me feel better. You don't think we'll ever have any more children ..."

She read her answer in his face, but though his eyes looked sore and moist, he went on as if he had not heard her.

"We should think about names. I thought if the next one's a girl, we could call her Aurora. I haven't thought of a boy's name yet. What would you fancy?"

But Alice did not answer. Instead, she put her arms around him again, and Frank held her tightly as before, stroking her back soothingly while she cried her heart out.

Some time later, they heard the footsteps again, and Frank whispered an urgent reminder to her not to say anything. The trap door opened, and a man's voice called up to them.

"Get down here, both of you!"

Frank's leg was a hindrance, and he lowered himself through the hole with difficulty. Alice followed, and slipped her shoulder under his arm.

"So," said Rabastan Lestrange, keeping his wand trained on Frank while Barty Crouch, standing a couple of paces behind him, directed his at Alice, "have you spoken to your wife about why you were brought here, Longbottom?"

"Yes."

"And has she persuaded you that it would be much easier on you both if you just told us what we want to know?"

"You're wasting your time, Lestrange. All you'll be getting is four one-way tickets to Azkaban when our friends find you. I'll die before I tell you anything."

Lestrange laughed humourlessly. "Oh no, you won't."

He motioned with his wand. Frank made to withdraw his arm from Alice's shoulder, but Lestrange shook his head.

"No," he said. "I think your wife had better come with us this time."

Frank protested, but the Death Eater only gave a cruelly satisfied smile and said,

"Move, both of you. Barty, you follow after them. Make sure you watch them closely, and if you feel her digging into your mind again ... well, I don't think her husband will be needing that leg any more anyway, it's pretty useless already."

Alice paled. Frank looked at her, and gave her what was the mere shadow of an encouraging smile. She helped him follow Rabastan Lestrange, along a narrow hallway, down a flight of stairs, through a door and into what must have been quite a grand parlour before it had been abandoned. The other two Lestranges, husband and wife, were waiting there. The woman stepped forward eagerly.

"Well?" she prompted her brother-in-law. "Will we be getting the information we want this time, or must we dig further for it?"

"He claims he'll die before he tells us anything," Rabastan replied.

"Really?" The woman did not look at all disappointed. Her crooked smile was almost gleeful as she turned to Frank. "Not even a tiny little clue?"

"Not even the time of day," he replied firmly.

"Now now, there's no need to be facetious," she scolded playfully.

Alice shivered. The woman's eyes gleamed maliciously, she seemed overly eager to retrieve the information she wanted against the potential source's will, and Alice wondered if she had always been like this, or if it was her master's destruction that had turned her, apparently, mad. Madam Lestrange approached her now, her head a little to one side.

"What about you?" she asked. "Won't you tell us where the Dark Lord has gone? You could spare your husband a lot of pain if you do."

Not trusting herself to speak, Alice only shook her head. The other woman ran her wand through her fingers in a slow, tender, caressing motion.

"Hmmm," she murmured. "Well, we shall see if we can't persuade you. If you will stand back, Mrs. Longbottom, I will be happy to give you a small demonstration of what the consequences will be if you persist in being so unfortunately stubborn."

With that, she jerked her head, and Rabastan and Barty Crouch stepped forward, each seizing Alice by one arm, and pulled her away from Frank. He stood quite still facing the Death Eater. His fists were tightly clenched, and his expression determined. It was clear that he knew what was coming, even if Alice did not, and dreaded it. The woman strolled a few paces towards her husband. Then, with a rapid motion, she spun round, raised her wand over her head and pointed it directly at him.

"_Crucio_!"

Alice stared, transfixed with horror, as Frank's body arched with pain. The veins stood out on his forehead, temples and neck, and she could see the tightness of the muscles in his jaw, which he pressed together with tremendous effort, determined not to scream if he could help it, not to give the Death Eaters the satisfaction, or more importantly to let Alice know how much he suffered. But he did not need to scream for her to understand, she could see the agony in every line of his face, and her heart pounded painfully in her chest as she understood the weaknesses he had shown up in the loft, and watched him stumble against the wall and press his arms against it, still fighting the pain and struggling with all his might to stay on his feet. The Death Eaters beside her let go of her arms, but she could not move a muscle, it was all she could bring herself to do to cover her face with her hands until she heard a gleeful cackle and looked across again at Madam Lestrange, whose eyes were wide and whose lips were parted with a crazed, evil pleasure as she stood twitching her wand now this way, now that, until finally she cocked her head to one side as though considering for a moment, then lowered her wand.

Frank's body relaxed, and he slumped against the wall, then slid to the floor with a groan. Alice ran to his side, and pulled him into her arms. His eyes were closed, his face completely drained of colour. He had passed out, and yet his body was still jerking with the memory of the pain the curse had caused him, and his brow was cold and clammy as if he were in the grip of some fever.

For the first time since they had entered the room, the third man moved. The elder of the Lestrange brothers came forward for a closer look at Frank. He bent down and pulled up one of the unconscious young man's eyelids, then felt his wrist. Finally he turned back towards his wife, who looked a question. The man nodded.

"Good," said his wife.

Paula Lestrange raised her wand once more, pointed it at Frank and said, "_Renervate_."

He woke with a startled cry and a tremendous jerk, and Alice held him tightly to her. He looked up into her face.

"A-Ali..."

"_Crucio_!"

Madam Lestrange had timed her curse well, catching Frank off guard so that this time he was unprepared, and at once began to scream like a soul in torment, writhing in agony so that Alice could no longer hold him, only watch helplessly, unable to close her ears and eyes to his pain, and tears flooded down her cheeks.

"Stop it!" she screamed at last when she could stand it no longer, and she sprang to her feet and flew at the other woman.

Rabastan raised his wand, there was a flash and a bang, and Alice was thrown off her feet and against the far wall, crying. Frank's screaming had stopped, he had passed out once more. Again, however, he got little rest. After the same assessment of his condition as before, the Death Eaters revived him again, and the process was repeated several more times. Alice cowered in a corner, her hands over her head, trying desperately to believe that none of this was real, that it was all just a nightmare in which she was trapped, and that eventually she would wake up and Frank would be beside her, at home in their bed, ready to take her in his arms and kiss her and tell her everything would be all right.

After an age, during one of the brief respites she allowed him, Madam Lestrange turned Frank over onto his back and gave a kind of snort.

"What is it?" Barty Crouch asked.

It was the first time he had spoken, and his young voice sounded at the same time awestruck and a little afraid.

"He's almost gone," said the woman, and she did not sound at all sorry.

Alice's head came up with a jerk.

"What? No ... Frank!"

She crawled quickly across the room and bent over him anxiously.

"Frank," she repeated desperately, patting his cheek. "Frank?"

His eyes opened and he looked up at her, but at first the look in them was strange, as though he did not know who she was. Then, thankfully, they cleared and he spoke to her, though his voice was barely a whisper.

"You ... haven't said ...?"

"I haven't said a word," she sobbed. "But I'll have to, darling, I can't let this go on, I can't let them keep doing this to you!"

He shook his head. Even that small action seemed to cause him pain.

"Don't," he croaked. "I don't ... care ... what happens to me ..."

"But I care!"

"Really?" Lestrange's voice cut in. "In that case, Mrs. Longbottom, you had better start to prove it by telling us what we want to know. A little more of this treatment, and your husband won't remember his name, let alone your face."

He raised his wand as he said it, and his wife raised hers also. They spoke the incantation together this time, redoubling the force of the spell and the agony. Frank's screams went beyond any sound Alice had ever thought a human voice capable of making, and in them she could make out one word before he fell unconscious again.

"Rora!" he screamed. "Rora!"

He writhed and twitched so violently that her arms could barely hold him, and his face was so badly contorted as to be almost unrecognisable. With tears streaming down her face, Alice looked up at the Lestranges.

"Stop it!" she screamed at the top of her voice. "Please! We can't tell you anything! We don't know where Voldemort is! I swear we don't know! Just ... just stop. Please!"

Both curses were lifted at the same time, and Alice turned her attention back to Frank. She held him as tightly as she could to try and make him lie still, sobbing uncontrollably as she did so. Frank opened his eyes, but this time the strange look in them did not go away, it was as though there was hardly anything left behind them of the man she had known. He tried to speak, but was shaking too wildly, so instead he clutched her arm, his grip so tight that his fingers dug into her flesh, but she didn't care that it hurt her, she cared about nothing but the fact that she loved him, and was closer to losing him now than she had ever believed she could be.

"So," Madam Lestrange said with quiet menace in her voice. "You claim you don't know where the Dark Lord is?"

"No," moaned Alice, shaking her head and bending over to kiss Frank tenderly. "We don't know."

"Why should we believe that?" asked Rabastan Lestrange.

"Why should I lie?" Alice asked back, looking hard at him. "Do you think I want him to go on suffering? Please, I've told you the truth, there's nothing more I can tell you. You must believe me!"

Madam Lestrange crouched down in front of her, grasped her chin with one hand and looked straight into her eyes for a moment. When she let go, her expression was unfathomable. She straightened up and returned to her husband's side, giving a curt nod. He frowned and said slowly,

"So, you never had any idea where the Dark Lord is hiding? And yet your husband let us believe it, he let us torture him without once defending himself ... why?"

"Because he loves me," Alice sobbed brokenly. "He wanted to protect me, he hoped if we could buy enough time, somehow someone would find us." She shook her head desperately. Frank gave a murmur in her lap and she held his head against her, stroking his hair and kissing him. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "Darling, I'm so sorry."

There was no reply.

"Enough!" Paula Lestrange shrieked suddenly. She whirled round. "All right, you're telling the truth," she said quickly and breathlessly, then she threw back her head and laughed - it was a wicked, high-pitched cackle. "Yes, I believe you. You wouldn't lie to us now. But do you know what that means, stupid, senseless creature? It means you're of no further value to us. None whatever!"

"I know," Alice said, speaking just as quickly, pleadingly. "I know we're no use to you. So why not just leave us here? You know you can't stay here forever, someone will come looking for us and they will find you, you will be locked up for the rest of your lives in Azkaban. You don't want that!" She looked appealingly round at the three men, especially the boy. "You don't want to spend the rest of your life in a prison cell," she said to him directly. "With nothing for company but Dementors and your own, miserable thoughts. Please! Just go. Go as far away as you can and just leave us here. I swear," she added forcefully, looking up at the woman again, "I swear that we will tell no-one what you did here today if you only go, if you leave us in peace. Please," she begged again.

Paula Lestrange began stroking her wand again as she had done right at the beginning, looking as if she had not heard a word. When Alice stopped speaking she said quietly,

"Barty, what do you think of the young lady's suggestion? Would you like to run away? Or would you rather finish what we have started?"

For a minute there was no answer and she turned her head to look at the youth. Alice stared at him too, hoping against hope that her words had had some effect on him, at least. If she could only win this one ally ... But he stiffened under the gaze of his fellow Death Eaters, the flicker of uncertainty that had been there for a moment vanishing completely.

"I say we finish it. If we leave them dead, then they can tell no tales."

The others nodded.

"Not a bad idea," said Madam Lestrange slowly. "But I would suggest a slight variation. Why should we kill them, when we can have so much more fun and still leave them speechless? I will finish our fallen hero here," she said, and once again she directed her wand lazily at Frank.

Alice began shaking her head frantically. "No," she murmured. "No, please, you can't ... no ... Frank!"

But the Death Eaters knew no mercy. Frank screamed and writhed as before and Alice screamed with him. She hardly felt it when Rabastan Lestrange dragged her away, and she was barely even aware of the young boy facing her, his wand raised. She knew what was coming, but she didn't care, it didn't matter. Nothing mattered any more. She thought of days gone by, of laughing and making plans, of Neville and of all the other children they had wanted to have, and how she had pictured her future with Frank, one day when they were old and grey and tired, but happy. And when the physical pain of the curse set in it was almost a relief to her, because it was so much more painful to think of all that they had lost, and all that they would never have.

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Twenty-four hours later, Remus Lupin answered the summons sent to him by Professor Dumbledore at once. He had not bothered to shave and the clothes he wore were merely the next best he had been able to pull on in a hurry. His face was anxious when he approached the Hogwarts headmaster in a corridor at St. Mungo's hospital. The professor looked grave and upset.

"Remus," he said in a voice that was heavy with grief.

"Sir, I just got your message about the Longbottoms. You said something's happened to them. What is it?"

"They were kidnapped from their home by fugitive Death Eaters and tortured for information - the Cruciatus curse."

"The Cruciatus ... will they be all right?"

He read his answer in Dumbledore's blue eyes.

"Are they … dead?" he asked quietly.

"It would perhaps be better for them if they were," was the rather cryptic reply. "But maybe you had better see for yourself."

Remus followed Dumbledore through a pair of double doors into a closed ward. Right at the other end, another door led to a smaller corridor from which further doors led off. Dumbledore stopped at one of them and indicated the small window. Remus looked in apprehensively. A figure was huddled on the floor in one corner, knees drawn up and arms wrapped around them, rocking back and forth.

"Oh my god," he murmured. "Frank."

"He has been like that since they brought him here, apart from short moments when he tried to beat off the Healers."

"Can I go in and … talk to him?"

"You can try," said Dumbledore. "But Remus, don't expect too much. And be careful."

Remus nodded. When he entered the room, Frank didn't even look up. His lips moved ceaselessly as he rocked himself, and amid the indistinguishable murmurs, every now and then Remus could make out a few words from a lullaby her remembered his mother singing to him in his childhood. He approached Frank cautiously and crouched down beside him.

"Frank," he said gently. "Frank, it's me, Remus. Do you remember me?"

Frank turned his head at last, though he remained in that huddled position, and fell silent. His eyes were vacant.

"Somebody hurt you," Remus went on. "You and Alice."

"Alice?"

The voice was strange, placid and filled with a childlike kind of wonder.

"Your wife."

"Wife?"

"Don't you remember? You love her."

Frank shook his head. "I don't remember anything. Only ... pain."

He gave a shudder, his eyes filling with tears, and Remus placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. Frank moved suddenly at the touch, pushing Remus away from him and jumping to his feet, backing against the wall, his eyes wide with sudden terror. Remus stood.

"It's all right, Frank," he said quickly. "Don't be afraid. I won't hurt you. I swear I won't hurt you! We're friends. You know what that means, don't you? Surely you remember having friends?"

Slowly, calming down a little, Frank nodded.

"And you know friends don't hurt each other. They help each other."

Another nod.

"Will you shake hands?"

Remus held out his hand. Frank looked down at it for a moment, then took it cautiously. The moment their hands touched, another change came over him. He slid back to the floor and buried his face in his hands. Then he began to cry. Remus crouched down again, and again placed his hand on Frank's shoulder. This time Frank did not push him away, but nor did he show any other kind of reaction. Remus stayed with him until his crying ceased. Then he left the room quietly and rejoined Dumbledore.

"Is Alice the same?" he asked, shaken.

"A little more stable. She seems almost content … but she has no idea of who she is. She behaves rather like a naïve, curious, innocent child. From what we have been able to discover using Legilimency, she almost welcomed the torture when it was administered. I think she preferred it to watching him suffer."

Remus closed his eyes tightly for a second.

"It appears Frank was tortured all night long," Dumbledore went on. "That he has any spirit left at all is a miracle. He made a great sacrifice. From what we have learnt, it appears the Death Eaters wanted to know the whereabouts of Lord Voldemort."

Opening his eyes, Remus exclaimed, "What? But ... why Frank and Alice? Surely the Longbottoms had no idea ..."

"Alice didn't, right until the end. Frank, on the other hand, had spoken to Alastor about finding Lord Voldemort and destroying him for good, and although Alastor tried to discourage him, we have discovered that he seems to have investigated the matter further. We think he probably did have a very shrewd idea of Voldemort's current whereabouts. But he revealed nothing to the Death Eaters, and pretended to his wife not to know anything. He was willing to sacrifice his sanity to keep his knowledge safe … and buy her as much time as he could. He loved her very much."

"And now he has no memory of her."

"Perhaps. But there was one word he said over and over again when they found him."

"What was it?"

"Rora," said Dumbledore.

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**6 - Always Close**

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Remus Lupin was taking a walk. It was three hours into New Year's Day, and freshly fallen snow covered the pavements, roads and hedgerows he passed, and made the large, square houses look as though their roofs had been made of icing sugar. He stopped close to a lamp post and looked across the street at a house very like those on either side of it, with a brass number four fastened to its wall.

Remus looked up towards the top story, and tried to imagine the people that lay fast asleep in their beds, or rather one particular member of the household, a little boy with a scar the shape of a lightning bolt on his forehead, slumbering peacefully, oblivious to his own importance and the tragedy that had brought him where he was now. He hoped fervently that Harry Potter would be all right.

Not only Harry Potter, but every child that had been left behind as he had, orphaned by the terrible war that had torn apart their families. Like Neville Longbottom.

Frank's parents had arrived at St. Mungo's the other day, just when Remus had been on the point of leaving, and Neville had been with them. He had been found safe and sound in his own cot in the Longbottoms' house, with Cheesy the rat lying just inside the door to his room rather like a parody of a guard dog, ready to hurl himself at anyone who dared to enter and tried to harm the child. When the door had been opened by Neville's grandfather, the rat had sped past him, across the hall and into the main bedroom, then all around the house in search of its mistress, so Remus had been told. This had happened nearly a week ago. Remus had taken the rat home with him after that, but it had refused its food, merely curled up in the corner and not moved again. He had had to bury it yesterday.

One more death. One more life ended by the war. One more little piece of his past, gone forever. Remus leaned against the lamp post and thought back over his life, and all the events, the joys and the griefs that had brought him to this point. He had known friendship, he had known comfort, he had known love. All of it was now gone, past, done with. There had been so many deaths, so much loss. The faces of Professor Darkhardt, of Bridget, of his father, of James and Lily and Peter, of Frank and Alice and, yes, even of Sirius, stood out clearly in his mind, and Remus felt overwhelmed by that loss. How could he ever go on? Why should he even try?

His eyes focussed once more on the top story of the house across the street, and words from the past rose up from his memories.

_"Dreams are there to be followed, Remus. You must become a teacher. I want you to teach this Little Prongs, and any little brothers and sisters he may have."_

Well, Harry would never have any brothers and sisters. But Lily's wish had been heartfelt, and he felt that he should not give up on his dreams just yet, if only because she had not wished him to. He and Harry had been left behind, and separated though the were at Dumbledore's insistence, yet they had so much in common, and something told Remus that some day Lily's wish would come true, that he and Harry would meet again and the loss that they had shared might bridge the gap of years that would lie between them.

_Well, I can always hope_, he thought to himself. Then, "Good luck, Harry," he murmured, and then turned on the spot and disapparated.

The little cottage on the edge of the clearing was plunged into darkness when Remus returned to it. He let himself in and hung up his cloak by the door. Despite the hour he did not go up to bed, but made himself a cup of hot chocolate in the kitchen and took it with him into the living room, where a merry fire still burnt, kept magically alight. He stood for a long moment, undecided. In spite of the fire, he felt a faint chill.

His gaze fell on his father's violin, lying silently on the little table beside the arm chair, and for the second time that early morning, words from the past drifted back into the present, and though these words had only ever been memory, as he recalled them they seemed as real as if they were being spoken here and now.

"_I'll always be close_," he heard his father's say softly. "_Much closer than you think._"

He smiled faintly as he crossed the room and looked down at the empty arm chair, and then he turned and lowered himself slowly into it. He drew out his wand and tapped the violin once, and it rose obediently into the air and began to play a gentle melody. Remus set his mug down on the little table and leaned back, closing his eyes. The music played on and as it did so, he began to feel as though the distance between him and the people he had lost grew smaller, and he half expected that if he opened his eyes, his father's face would be looking down on him, smiling, and the chill seemed to lift, and he felt warmed and comforted, and no longer so very much alone.

THE END

(epilogue to follow)


	47. Epilogue: Between Wars

_**Author's note: **__**Well, it's done. After all this time the story has finally come to a close. It's ended much as I planned it, although many of the characters somehow took on lives of their own along the way and brought about developments I had never intended.**_

_**Thanks, everyone, for taking the time to read my ramblings - and a lot of time it must have been. You may be interested to know that you have, according to the latest word count, now read an incredible 499,977 words of this fanfic! I swear I never meant it to get that long, it just happened.**_

_**Thanks also for all the praise and encouragement you've all given me over the years, and I hope you will enjoy this final instalment, short though it is.**_

_**One other thing. This epilogue briefly mentions a profession within the wizarding world that was not entirely my own idea. I picked it up in a fanfic I read ages ago and thought it was a brilliant idea, but I honestly can't remember who wrote that story, or I would give them proper credit here. Of course, credit also goes to J.K. Rowling for having created so many of the wonderful characters I've been playing with for the past five years :)**_

_**Anyway, that's it from me. Take care. Don't let the Nargles bite.**_

_**huggles**_

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**Epilogue: Between Wars**

The dusty bottle of elf-made wine stood unopened upon the kitchen table, while the man who had opened it sat erectly on one of the mismatched chairs. His right hand was absent-mindedly playing with the empty wineglass, catching the glow of the single lit candle that stood in the middle of the table. It was not so much a candle, really, as the stump of one, with only a very short life left to it. The sort of candle most other people would have taken one look at and deemed unworthy of ever being lit again, and thrown unceremoniously into a rubbish bin. But most other people did not have to be as careful with money as the owner of this candle - correction: stump of a candle. And one last bottle of elf-made wine.

Remus John Lupin, thirty-four, werewolf, formerly Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry, remembered very clearly the occasion on which he had opened the previous bottle. August 27th, 1993. Another correction: He had not opened the bottle, it had been opened for him. His uncle had opened it, after they had returned from the cemetery. That was almost a year ago now. It seemed incredible that so much time should have passed, when the memory of that day was still so fresh in his mind, the thought of it still so painful. Yet so many things had happened since then. Things that had led him to go to the larder and take out the last bottle, and set it upon the table, ready for drinking. Things that occupied his mind so much that he had not got round to opening the bottle for dwelling on them.

Remus gave a heavy sigh and stopped playing with the glass. His left hand reached for the bottle, while his right picked up his wand. But the motion was suspended again almost immediately, as he thought he heard a strange scraping sound outside the back door and then, unmistakably, a dog barked. It was only one bark, and muffled by the door, but Remus would have known it anywhere. There were few sounds that could have been more welcome to him, or have caused him more anxiety - both at the same time.

He got quickly to his feet and wrenched open the back door. A large, black dog bounded straight into the room. By the time Remus had closed the door, bolted it and turned around, there was no sign of any dog, but a man stood before him, a man with a gaunt face and matted black hair that hung down to his elbows. The man grinned into Remus's astounded face.

"You seem surprised to see me, Moony," he said in a rough voice. "In fact, you don't look altogether pleased."

"I'd be more pleased if I wasn't so concerned," Remus replied. His voice was slightly hoarse, as it had been for years now.

"Relax, the Aurors aren't looking for stray dogs. They're hunting a notorious mass murderer on two legs, not four," Sirius Black said, dropping onto the chair Remus had vacated.

"If they happened to be watching the house," Remus said, taking the chair opposite, "what they were looking for wouldn't make much difference - they'd take what they found."

"Watching the house? Why would they do that? They don't suspect you of helping me to escape, do they?"

"According to Dumbledore, they don't. Though I wouldn't like to know just how much it cost him to persuade them."

"Good old Dumbledore," Sirius remarked. "Now there's a trusting nature, if ever there was one. Pity he didn't trust me more thirteen years ago."

"It's a pity none of us did."

"Well, I did lay a pretty incriminating trail of evidence against myself. Still, I had flattered myself that I was popular. I never dreamed my friends would believe so wholeheartedly in my guilt."

"Not wholeheartedly, Sirius," Remus amended with feeling. "Never that."

"No? I thought, after you never responded to my message ..."

"Message?"

Remus frowned in confusion, and Sirius's grey eyes narrowed.

"I asked Crouch to tell you I needed to talk to you. I was going to tell you the truth. Throw myself on your mercy. Hope that you would believe me I hadn't done what I was accused of - or at least, not deliberately," he finished darkly.

"Crouch never told me any such ..." Remus began, then broke off as realisation hit him. "Wait! He did say that you had mentioned my name. But he made us believe it was in some way incriminating me."

Sirius gave a snort. "Well, it wasn't. I just wanted to talk to you, that's all. When you didn't come, I thought that you'd made up your mind definitely that I was guilty." He paused, then asked, "If Crouch had told you what I'd said - would you have come?"

Slowly, Remus replied honestly, "I don't know, Sirius."

Their eyes met across the table. But where, once upon a time, such a reply might have angered Sirius, now he merely nodded his understanding.

"I don't know whether I would have, if it had been the other way round," he admitted.

Suddenly he smiled. Remus's eyebrows rose questioningly.

"I was just thinking," Sirius said. "Lily would be very happy with me, I think. She always hoped we'd set aside our differences one day, they both did. I think they'd be glad to see us sitting together at a table after all these years, sharing a bottle of wine. Well, we could be sharing it, if you'd only open it."

Now Remus smiled also. He tapped the wine bottle with his wand so that the cork flew out obligingly, and then he fetched a second glass and filled them both.

"You'd better drink it slowly, though," he warned. "That bottle's all I've got left. Some things haven't changed in the past thirteen years. Elf-made wine still doesn't come cheap."

"I thought the wages at Hogwarts weren't all that bad."

To this Remus did not reply, but drank a sip - a much smaller sip than his friend - of his wine, then set down his glass again.

"So," said Sirius, sliding a little lower on his chair, his glass still held in his hand. "What's the world like these days? What's Harry like? Apart from being the spitting image of his father."

"He seems to be like James in more ways than one, rule-breaking being one of them. But I think there's a lot of Lily in him, too."

"You think? Still the same old reserved Remus, eh? You've had thirteen years to study the boy, I'd have thought you'd have a pretty good idea ..."

"I've only had one year, actually," Remus corrected. "As you will have found out, Harry has been living with his aunt and uncle since James and Lily died. I never saw him for many years, not until I went to teach at Hogwarts, and that was only for one year."

Sirius gaped at him. "You ... what? But I thought ... what _have_ you been doing with yourself all this time then, if not teaching?"

"A bit of this, a bit of that. Actually, I did start out with a few teaching jobs to begin with, in various parts of the country. They only ever lasted until the parents found out about my condition."

"Same old prejudice still firmly in place, is it?"

"More firmly than ever, I'm afraid. Especially since Dolores Umbridge has risen through the ranks of the Ministry of Magic."

"Who?"

Remus reached behind him and handed Sirius a copy of the _Daily Prophet _dated the previous July, which was open at a page entitled _Ministry's Modern Monster Management_ - _Dolores Umbridge makes wizarding working world safer_. A moving photograph of a woman with an incredibly toad-like face, wearing a big bow on top of her head, accompanied the article.

"The days when wizarding businesses could be hoodwinked into employing half-breeds without their knowledge, often experiencing a rude awakening when the true nature of their dangerous staff members was revealed, are long gone," Sirius read aloud. "Now Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic and the driving force behind the stricter job application laws for beings, half-breeds and non-wizard part humans, has gone one step further to making our lives that little bit safer. According to the new law passed by the Ministry yesterday, businesses and institutions wishing to employ dangerous magical creatures will, in future, be required to install special Ministry-approved safety measures, as well as paying the new Safety Tax ..."

Here, Sirius broke off and looked up at Remus.

"Dangerous magical creatures?! They can't put you in that class, you're a human being!"

"Not according to the Ministry," said Remus with a touch of bitterness, taking the newspaper out of Sirius's hands. "In their eyes, I'm nothing more nor less than a registered beast - class five. '_Known wizard killer, impossible to train or domesticate_'."

"Rubbish!"

Remus smiled briefly at his friend's outrage, but nevertheless said heavily, "Unfortunately, not many people would agree with you. The new laws have made it practically impossible for someone like me to find legal employment. Since I'm not keen to stray down the path of illegality, that has meant that finding paid employment has been something of a Herculean feat for the past several years. There was a time when the Ministry offered jobs - of the most unpleasant sort, of course. Exterminating magical creatures in private homes was one of them - getting rid of doxies, ghouls ..."

"You didn't ..."

"I did. I had to, I had no choice. We needed the money. But in any case, the Ministry changed their minds about that after they'd had one too many respectable citizen saying that, far from exterminating, we ought to be exterminated ourselves. Umbridge supported those opinions wholeheartedly, of course. All in all, I'll admit I was nearing the end of my tether when Dumbledore offered me the Defence Against the Dark Arts job."

"So it was back to the old Whomping Willow again?"

"Not quite. Thankfully, there are some wizards and witches who aren't quite as anti-werewolf as Dolores Umbridge. Damocles Belby discovered a potion a few years ago - Wolfsbane Potion. It's hard to come by - expensive to buy, and difficult to make - but it really works. It's not a cure, but it reduces a dangerous half-breed to just a half-breed. Provided they remember to take it," he added heavily.

"Belby? I remember that name. He worked with you in that committee, right?"

"Yes." There was a pause, then Remus added slowly, "You may be interested to know that there's a Mrs. Belby, too - Heather."

Sirius's jaw dropped. "Heather? You do mean _the _Heather? Curly-haired kid, scared of werewolves?"

"The very same. She almost had me arrested."

"No!"

"She didn't know it was me. Someone at the Ministry had told her they'd sent an exterminator who was a werewolf to deal with the plague of doxies in her children's bedroom. Her husband had arranged it, he had no idea she didn't know what I was. He thought as long as it was me, it would be all right. Maybe even that she'd be pleased to see me. When Heather came home with the wizards from Law Enforcement, of course, it all came out. Belby sent them away. I only saw her once after that, she came to see me the next day. Seemed to think that if only I'd told her sooner, things might have worked out for us. I told her I didn't think so. She protested, but ... well, there was a Boggart stuck in the cupboard under the sink at the time. I let it out ... that was all the proof I needed. That we both needed, really."

Sirius whistled. Remus picked up his glass again.

"I must admit," he said quietly, "that was one occasion when I used up a bottle of this wine."

"What were the others?" asked Sirius, taking a generous few gulps from his own glass, so that it was almost empty.

Remus replied slowly, thinking back and recalling the events.

"The first anniversary of Dad's death - I meant to open a bottle of wine each year on that day, but there were too many years and not enough bottles. Then there was Uncle Malcolm's fiftieth birthday, not that he was here. He went abroad after Voldemort was gone, and didn't come back at all for two years. I think he was trying to run away from his memories, but I'm not sure that it worked entirely as he planned it. We opened another bottle when he came home."

"Is he living in the old flat again?"

"No, he didn't come back permanently. He was only here for ... about a month, I think it was on that visit. Yes, it must have been, because he was here when Mum first started having breathing difficulties, and he got married in September ..."

"Married?" Sirius spluttered, and nearly choked on his wine.

Remus nodded. "He was different when he came back that year. I won't say he seemed happy, but he did seem more settled. I think he was more at peace with the world. Laura, on the other hand ..."

"Laura? Not - Laura Lovegood?"

"Yes. I wasn't aware of it at the time, but it seems Uncle Malcolm had rather disastrously proposed to her before he left - the day of Lily and James's funeral, in fact. He admitted to me that he hadn't really thought it through at the time, and Laura had refused him. Rightly so, he says. He was very grateful to her for it."

Sirius sat in stunned silence. Finally he said, "I thought that ... Bridget ..."

"He never stopped loving her," Remus assured him quickly. "I don't think he could ever have loved anyone the way he loved Bridget. Laura knows that. But he has always been very fond of Laura, and even though he says himself that he made a total hash of that first proposal, I think he genuinely missed her while he was away. It took him a long time to swallow his pride and come crawling back to apologise," Remus added with a faint smile. "He was actually rather anxious she still wouldn't have him. But there was no way Laura was going to refuse him again, that was quite clear from the start. She'd tried to move on while he was away, even made herself quite a name at the Ministry. I think if she'd stayed, she might have been the next Head of the Auror Office. But Mum and I both knew she hadn't been happy."

"Oh? Did you see much of her, then?"

"Yes. She offered her help at a time when we could do with a friend, and she and Mum became very close. Mum was a bit upset about them getting married, actually. She was very close to Laura by then, and felt like she was losing them both when they went back to Egypt after the wedding. But they often came back to see us. Uncle Malcolm was working as a curse-breaker for Gringotts when they got married, but Laura couldn't join him there because of her claustrophobia. Now they're helping wizarding communities in Africa escape the notice of muggles and establish their own schools."

"Now that calls for another glass of wine!" Sirius pronounced, flabbergasted, and helped himself. "Malcolm, building schools? I thought he'd always be an Auror at heart."

"I think he will, but even Aurors grow older and wearier. He was sixty-two this year."

Sirius shook his head. "It doesn't seem possible."

"I know. So much has changed." Remus paused, then asked, "Did you ever hear about Frank and Alice?"

"Yes," said Sirius grimly. "I saw the Dementors bring in the Lestranges and young Crouch, damn them. Have you ... ever been to see them?"

"I have looked in on them from time to time, when I was at St. Mungo's with Mum. But I'm afraid they don't recognise me."

"How are they?" Sirius asked quietly, unsure whether he really wanted the answer.

"Alice is docile," Remus said, "almost childlike in the way she enjoys little things, especially sweets. Frank ... Well, usually he's quite placid, and his mother tells me he likes Neville to read to him. But the Healers say he sometimes still has nightmares where he half remembers what happened."

Sirius shook his head gravely. There was a silence for a while, and then he asked,

"And what about your mum, how is she? You keep mentioning her, but she's not here, is she? You said she has trouble breathing? Is she at St. Mungo's, too?"

Remus's expression darkened. He looked down into his glass and said quietly, "Mum died last August."

Then he took another sip of wine. There was a stunned silence that lasted several moments.

"Faith ... dead?" Sirius breathed at long last. "I - I'm very sorry to hear it, Moony."

His friend nodded slowly.

"I know that she's better off, really," he said haltingly. "But I can't pretend that it wasn't difficult. She got gradually worse over the years. It was the poison at work. It made her stiff, and weak. In the end it caused her a lot of pain. She didn't want to take too many pain-relieving potions, she was always so conscious of what everything cost, but ... I couldn't watch her suffer. I never told her I was giving her the full dose the Healers had prescribed, she was trying so hard to make do with less. In the end, her breathing got so bad that I couldn't have gone out to work even if I'd had a job. She had fits where she could barely breathe at all. Uncle Malcolm and Laura came back last July to help look after her, but she didn't last long after that. I think she'd more or less been hanging on until they got here, to be honest. She was tired of living. The problem was that she'd never got over losing Dad."

"So she'd only just died when you ..."

"When I started teaching at Hogwarts? Yes. Dumbledore came to the funeral, and he asked me then. It was all very short notice, I had less than a week to get everything sorted out, and one of those nights was a full moon. On the other hand there wasn't really anything to keep me here any more. You had just escaped, giving us all every reason to believe you were after Harry. So I took the Hogwarts Express, because Dumbledore wanted someone on there who'd know how to deal with you if anything happened on the way to Hogwarts." He smiled wryly. "I must admit I'd dozed off when the kids got on the train, but when I woke up and found Harry and his friends were actually in the same compartment with me, I couldn't believe my luck. I let them think I was still fast asleep so they would stay ... and then the Dementors came."

Sirius shuddered. "Please, no talk of Dementors. I've had enough of them to last me two lifetimes, at least. I'd have liked to see _you _try and take _me _on, though," he added with a half amused snort.

"I'd have done my best, I can assure you," said Remus, genuinely smiling now.

"I bet you would have." He paused, and then said, "You know what? I don't think I've ever heard you talk so much in one go. Let alone about your own experiences."

"Perhaps, if I had talked more to you before ..."

"Don't blame yourself, Remus. Everything bad that's happened isn't your fault."

"Nor yours," Remus countered.

Silence fell between them again, but it was a comfortable silence, a silence between two old friends who understood each other at last. When it ended their conversation continued far more casually, almost as though the years in between had just slipped away into nothingness and they had been sitting together like this only yesterday, though Sirius's sunken face and tattered clothing and the premature lines on Remus's face and the liberal sprinkling of grey in his hair told another story.

"What will you do now?" Remus asked much later, when the bottle had long stood empty on the table.

"Oh, I shall roam about a bit. Make sure I'm spotted far away from Surrey, from Hogwarts and from here, so the Ministry don't get any silly ideas into their head that you've been aiding a dangerous criminal. I might go abroad. Perhaps I'll pay your uncle a visit."

"You'd better give me time to write to him first and explain. He hasn't forgotten his Auror skills. He may be getting older, but he could still curse you off your feet and feed you to a Tebo faster than you can say 'snitch'."

Sirius gave a bark-like laugh.

"As for my aiding a dangerous criminal," Remus went on. "I hate to tell you this, Sirius, but that new hairdo of yours is less than flattering. And I know you never liked my style, but I think even something from my wardrobe might look more appealing on you than those old rags."

"What, this lot?" Sirius tugged at his own sleeve, and pretended to look offended. "I thought the dark, careless rogue look rather suited me."

Remus continued to smile, and hoped that Sirius would not notice the underlying sadness he felt, seeing what had become of the once so handsome young man.

"Well," said Sirius, "while you're volunteering to give a mass murderer a free haircut and a change of clothes, do you reckon you might be able to throw in a bed for the night and - oh, I don't know, maybe a spot of breakfast?"

"Any time, old friend." He paused, then added with feeling, "It's good to have you back, Padfoot."

Sirius gave the ghost of one of his old, charming grins, and raised his empty glass.

"It's good to be back, Moony."

_**- MISCHIEF MANAGED -**_


End file.
